One Year After: A Novel Page 20

  “Would you have three years ago? Before everything fell apart?”

  She did not reply. Outwardly, she was doing her job, but he could see she was in shock and struggling to barely maintain control.

  John turned to face the silent crowd, many of whom were still praying. “People, listen up. We need blood donors now. Most of you know your types. O positives over here. A, B, and AB form separate lines off to the right. Tell the medic what type you are, and that will be marked on your forehead. We need blood now!”

  Half a hundred onlookers stepped forward, and again, a lump was in John’s throat. It took him back to the terrible days after the Posse fight, when those near death from malnourishment volunteered blood as a final gesture before dying.

  Makala cleared the last casualty, an elderly woman who simply smiled at the lie that three meant they’d see to her soon.

  “You’re a good soul, nurse,” the old woman whispered, “but I know I’m seeing my Maker today.”

  John looked at her and sighed. It was Nurse Maggie, who had checked his concussion. He went up to take her hand, and she smiled wanly.

  “So it’s you. Thank you for what you’re doing for us,” she said.

  He could not reply.

  “John?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The trucks have to go back. There’s fifty or more wounded waiting back at our camp. We sent the women, children, and badly hurt ahead first.”

  “I’ll see to it.”

  “Don’t trouble about me,” she whispered, and then the stretcher-bearers took her off to that place that all knew and whispered about with dread—the dying room.

  He looked at Makala, who came up and leaned against his shoulder as he put his arm around her.

  “Fifty-three packed into those trucks. Nearly half were threes, after that trip. If I could have gotten to them in that first golden hour, we could have most likely saved all but three or four of them.” A shuddering sob ran through her. “Oh, God, I could have saved that little girl if I had gotten to her quick enough.”

  He started to break, as well. And his Jennifer could have been saved if only they had some more vials of insulin. He knew hundreds were watching, and again he was forced to act his role, drawing in a deep breath. “We got to get to work,” he whispered to her, and she nodded.

  “Sorry we argued, John.”

  He kissed her on the forehead. “My fault, and I love you.”

  She looked up and smiled. “Same here,” she managed to whisper, and then she drew in a deep breath and backed away from his embrace. “I got to scrub up.” She again sounded all business. “You really want that Forrest character saved, don’t you?”

  “Hell yes I do.”

  “Why? He damn near had you killed.”

  “Because I respect him, that’s why. He did what he had to do, same as I did. And besides, if for nothing else, he gave an arm and half his sight for this country long ago.”

  She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I want to save him too. I’ll try my best.”

  He started to step back.

  “John, you have to call Memorial Mission. They have enough anesthesia and antibiotics and painkillers on hand now, and we need all of it. We got enough hoarded up to help with the primary surgeries, but to ease the suffering of the rest, there just isn’t enough to go around. We’re giving aspirins out as a primary painkiller, at least to those who aren’t bleeding heavily. We have those batches of antibiotics made up from silver, but I’d prefer some stronger stuff, especially for the gut shots.”

  “I know; I was going to make the call. But you know what that means. Release of medications requires authorization, and Asheville then knows we’re taking care of the wounded.”

  “Yes, and tell that son of a bitch to come down here and take a good look at his handiwork.”

  She kissed him again on the cheek and then went into the hospital. John looked at those of his community, many of them in line to donate blood.

  “I need volunteers. Drivers for these trucks. There’s more wounded back in their camp, and we got to get them in here. Two medics to go with each truck. I’ll drive one of them.”

  Ed came up to his side, shaking his head. “John, you’re staying here.”

  “The hell you say.”

  “John, be a leader again. You put your ass on the line once too often for any of us to sit back now. The shit will most likely hit the fan with Asheville when they find out what we are doing. Besides, I hunted the woods since I was a kid and know every fire lane and back trail. I’ll lead them back.”

  To his surprise, a couple of the Stepps came forward to stand with Ed.

  “Sons of bitches,” one of them growled. “Someone tangles with someone we have fun squabbling with, it isn’t right with us. Okay to shoot at each other man to man, but kids and women like this? We know the trails better than anyone. We’ll get their wounded out.”

  Before he could argue any further, Ed and the Stepps were getting into the trucks, and volunteer medics were piling into the backs, calling for additional supplies of bandages, clean bottled water, and gear.

  John stood silent, filled with pride, and watched them head out.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAY 744

  “John, they’re coming.”

  It was Maury, who was up at the Swannanoa roadblock just west of Exit 59.

  “What do they have?”

  “He’s in a Humvee, a deuce and a half with a lot of heavy weapons on board following, and that’s it.”

  “Okay.”

  “John. He’s got a helluva lot of backup just over the hill. I got a watcher down at Exit 55 who just reported in. A dozen trucks, half a dozen Humvees with Kevlar armor curtains, and get this, they got a Bradley.”

  “A what?”

  “You heard me straight. A Bradley, a big honking armored personnel carrier. My watcher says a kid came in on a moped by back roads reporting that all four helicopters are prepped, warmed up, and ready to lift off. He’s loaded for bear, John.”

  “But just the Humvee and one truck for now?”

  “That’s a rog, John.”

  John could not help but smile. Fredericks was at least showing some nerve.

  “Okay. No hassles. Let them through.”

  “You sure, John?”

  “Time to talk, Maury. It’s just time to talk and pray it stays that way.”

  “It’s your call.”

  John put the phone down and smiled at the town council gathered in his office. “We wait here,” John said. “But please, let me do the talking. Okay?”

  He looked straight at Makala, who had not had a wink of sleep since the morning before. She had a lab coat on, and it was splattered with blood. He gently tried to suggest that she change but was met with silence and knew not to press the issue. Reverend Black was hollow eyed, obviously in shock. More wounded had come in just before dawn, brought back by Ed and his volunteers, most of them lightly injured, the trucks having been sent back, using town gas, to pick them up, parents of children who had been brought in with the first load making the trek, and Black had to perform the grim task of telling a number of them that their child was dead. The trucks also had four dead on board, and only five vehicles had returned. Slipping across the parkway at night, the last vehicle was ambushed, apparently by troops from Asheville, and it burst into flames, one of the Stepps dying in the ambush.

  The way Reverend Black looked at John when he asked that all hold back from the conversation was chilling. Black had been a pillar of strength for the community ever since the Day. He had never fired a shot in anger, but he had presided over hundreds of funerals, he and his wonderful wife, Portia, taking the nursing and then physician assistant courses. They had bravely stood in with every emergency, included the dreaded epidemics that had swept the country in the year after the collapse, and were the moral strength of the community. The two of them were all so crucial to John and his family in the weeks after Jennifer died, stopping by
every day to pray with him and offer comfort. And now John could see that long-suppressed anger was about to boil over.

  He heard the vehicles pull up into the parking lot and now looked at Black. “Please, my friends, this might be our last chance to talk this thing out and prevent more killing, so let’s stay calm,” John whispered as he stood up to look out the window.

  Dale, wearing his usual blue blazer, shirt, and tie, was getting out, and a dozen troops, heavily armed, were piling out of the back of the truck. John had wisely ordered his troops to form a cordon on the far side of State Street, directly in front of the hospital, so the parking lot was empty of any armed response and the potential of an immediate confrontation. There was enough rage on his side that he feared a Lexington Green incident of someone intentionally or accidentally triggering a firefight.

  The troops with Dale looked around cautiously, a sergeant, yet again the same one John had taken such an intense dislike for, was leading them. Dale said something to him, and the group spread out a few feet and formed a cordon around the two vehicles. Dale waited for a moment, as if expecting a welcoming committee or some sort of formal greeting, and it began to drag out.

  “Oh, damn it, this is ridiculous.” John sighed but did not move. Then finally, in frustration, he rapped loudly on the window. Dale looked over to him, and John just pointed to the front door, motioning for him to come in.

  Dale, features flushed, waited another minute and then finally came into the building. Elayne, remaining at her switchboard, stuck her head out the door of her work cubical. “You want John? He’s in his office down that way,” she announced icily as Dale came through the door, and then she returned to work, doing exactly as John had ordered—acting as if nothing out of the ordinary was transpiring with Dale’s visit.

  John had left the door cracked open, and Dale pushed it open, coming in. “John, just what the hell—” He fell silent at the sight of the rest of the town committee silently gazing at him. “I’d prefer we talked alone.”

  “What you have to say to me you can say to them, as well. They’re the town council and have a voice in all decisions here.”

  “This is private between us.”

  “It became very public yesterday.”

  “I insist we talk alone, and I’ll have time later for the rest of you.”

  “It doesn’t work that way here, Dale.” There was a moment of silence, and then John smiled. “And besides, if I take that commission, it will be these folks here who will be running this town after I’m gone. And if Ernie Franklin is on the town committee after I’ve left, you’ll really have your hands full.”

  Dale took that in as several of those gathered actually chuckled, the tension easing for just a brief moment with mention of Ernie, who had insisted upon sitting in on this meeting whether he was on the town council or not.

  “We have to talk about that commission now, too, John. A lot has happened since yesterday morning. And I think that topic is still private between you and me.”

  “Yes, a helluva lot has happened, Dale. So either we talk here in front of the leaders of this community or not.”

  Dale stood his ground and then slowly reached into the breast pocket of his blazer, drew out an envelope, and handed it to John. “Open it.” He spoke the two words as a command.

  John took the envelope and then deliberately placed it on the desk, his eyes not leaving Dale. “From you, Bluemont, or whom?” he asked.

  “I suggest you read it, Mr. Matherson. Then we can discuss the contents.”

  John made a very deliberate display of waiting another minute before finally picking the envelope back up and opening it. He scanned the note and tossed it on the table. Reverend Black picked it up.

  “That is a legal document for your eyes only, John, not a community gathering.”

  “It is an arrest warrant for capital crimes,” Black announced, holding the document up. “A list of names, twenty or more, with Forrest Burnett at the top.”

  John looked back at Dale. “You’ve got to be kidding, Dale. Capital crimes? Under what authorization?”

  “Federal law. They raided interstate, which, even by prewar standards, brought in the federal government. They have been a threat to national security since the start of the war, and they have killed federal officers, two of them last night. That’s grounds enough.”

  “I’ll grant the first point, perhaps, but you damn well better be able to prove it was them.”

  “When you were their guest, they talked about raiding into Tennessee, and that is interstate.”

  Just how in the hell did he know the content of any conversation while he was being held prisoner? Had Fredericks infiltrated spies in all along and knew everything that had transpired?

  “My response. Last night, a column of wounded refugees was ambushed. A truck with wounded aboard, several of them children driven by a member of my community on a mission mercy, was ambushed. Your people fired first; those in the trucks had a right to defend themselves from unknown assailants.”

  “Not by the report I got,” Dale snapped back sharply. “They ambushed my personnel and attacked first.”

  “What kind of trial will these people get?” Black interjected.

  Dale smiled. “Same one you folks gave to the Posse, the drug thieves, and others.”

  “That was martial law,” John retorted. “We’re moving away from that.”

  “I have not,” Fredericks replied. “The federal government is acting in proper accordance in a time of national emergency. I represent that government and demand that those listed be turned over immediately. If not willing to comply, you know what that means.”

  “Whose law?” Black shouted, standing up. “You call machine-gunning kids an act of law?”

  “Tragic collateral damage,” Dale said.

  “Go down to the hospital, damn you, and take a look at your collateral damage!” Black cried, and for an instant, John feared the minister was about to rush Dale. In all their years of friendship, he had never heard Black use a foul word or see him so publicly lose his temper. The man stood there trembling with rage, Makala standing up to come by his side, whispering for him to sit down.

  “I am going down to the hospital,” Dale said, features still fixed in a smile. “I know you have Burnett and most likely others on that list. I’m putting them under arrest and taking them back to Asheville.”

  “No, you are not,” Makala said, emphasizing each word sharply, coldly. “They are under my care, and I will not release them, and I say that as director of public health and safety for this community.”

  “And this community is under my authority, Mrs. Matherson.” Dale pointed at the document Black had tossed on the table. “You have been properly served with notification. I thank you in advance for your cooperation, and now I have to do my duty as the federal official in charge of this administrative district.” Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

  His departure left all of them stunned, eyes shifting to John. “Stay here,” he snapped. “Reverend, call Maury at the checkpoint at Exit 59. Tell him to report if their helicopters start to lift off, and if so, send someone out to tell me. The rest of you please stay here.”

  His voice carried a sharp authority, and Black got up as John sprinted for the door, Makala and Ed moving to restrain him. John hated the fact that he was trailing behind Dale, who was already out the door and shouting orders for his squad to fall in with him. It was the wrong display in public for this moment, but he had to stop him now, or in another minute, there would be a fight … and killing.

  John came up to his side and actually grabbed him by the shoulder, the gesture causing one of Dale’s security team to raise a weapon.

  “Step away from the director!” the man shouted. “Do it now!”

  “So is that your title with them?” John asked sharply, glaring back at the black-clad trooper, that same damn sergeant.

  Da
le, startled with how John had grabbed him, tried to shrug John’s grip off his shoulder, but John did not let go.

  “What’s it going to be, Dale?” he whispered softly. “Either I’m dead in five seconds and the rest of you are dead in ten seconds, or you and I talk this out.”

  John let his glance shift to the roof of the fire station to their right, which adjoined the town hall. A dozen of his best reaction team were up there, weapons half-raised but not yet aimed.

  “You drop me and, orders or not, they’ll slaughter all of you. Now I am going to take my hand off your shoulder, the two of us will smile as if there’s been a foolish misunderstanding. We walk down to the park, sit down, and have a friendly little chat. It’s your call, Dale.”

  And for the first time, John could see hatred in the man’s eyes. After weeks of cat and mouse, of the smooth trained government bureaucrat, the darker gaze of the political maneuverer and climber had flashed out for a brief instant.

  “Sure, John,” he whispered. “Now get your hand off my shoulder, you son of a bitch.”

  John smiled and let his hand drop.

  Dale looked at his troopers, and the threat clearly registered that for the survival of all, a little face saving had to be played out. “Just a brief misunderstanding. Everything is fine now,” he said with a smile.

  John returned his gaze to the roof of the fire station.

  “Grace, let’s not overreact. I want you and your troops to sit down and relax.”

  He chuckled inwardly as the sergeant heading Dale’s security team looked up and for the first time actually noticed that a dozen trained killers, who two years earlier had been typical college students, were staring down at them with weapons raised.

  “Your sergeant really is incompetent,” John whispered. “He has a shoe-size IQ, and he’d never have made it when I commanded troops, other than perpetual KP and toilet cleaning.”

  John pointed toward the garden-like town square a few dozen yards away and started for it, Dale waiting an instant and then walking briskly, not wishing to lose any more face, coming up to John’s side and keeping pace with him. John motioned to a wooden bench and sat down without waiting for Dale.