One Year After: A Novel

by William R. Forstchen

  Dale stood up and sighed. He walked about behind his desk for a moment and then pointed to an old map of the United States on the wall behind his desk. “The federal government is reconstituting at last,” Dale announced, and he nodded toward the map. The gesture seemed a bit ham-handed to John, a professor for many years, but he could sense that Dale was nervous and building a case, so he did not show anything other than a forced expression of interest.

  “The situation overseas, though unstable, is at least for the moment relatively calm. Our overseas nuclear assets survived intact, and, as you undoubtedly know, a swift and terrible retribution was rained down on North Korea and Iran. After that, secondary wars did break out, such as the conflict raging now between India and Pakistan, which we are standing clear of. There are numerous low-intensity wars raging around the globe. The only thing ensuring our security is the certain knowledge that our nuclear boomers are still out there under the seas ready with swift retaliation if there is another launch against the United States.”

  “Wish we had made that message clearer before the Day,” Makala said softly, her voice filled with bitterness.

  “We all do,” Dale replied.

  John said nothing. Was it really Iran and Korea, or were others involved? Those were questions for which no one had a clear answer. If it had been Russia that provided technical support for the attack, they were suffering now as well because an EMP burst, which—believed by some to have been off course—had detonated over Eastern Europe rather than what many assumed was the target of Western Europe. Moscow and Saint Petersburg had ceased to exist in the months afterward, the same as every major city in America.

  “But here,” Dale continued, “we are struggling to regain our national borders. The rhetoric with the so-called Chinese aid and fraternity mission is clearly transitioning into a permanent occupation force. The president has decided that we must mobilize for this national emergency, and thus the letters arrived here in Asheville shortly after my own arrival. John, I wish I had been able to establish better community relations with everyone after arriving here before these draft notices hit. All our regular military assets and the army that existed prior to the attack that have returned to the continental United States are being shifted to our southern and western borders. The new Army of National Recovery is therefore needed to help reestablish order and government control in the rest of the country. I heard how you organized the fight against a group called the Posse and soundly defeated them. John, there are still scores of Posse-like groups wandering the countryside, some of them in our own backyard, such as these so-called reiver groups harassing law-abiding communities like yours.

  “I tell you…” He sighed, sitting back down in his chair, taking a long drink of cold water, and then setting the glass down. “This was not what I thought my job would be when I first got here. I thought it would be to help network communities together, stitch back the fabric of our society, getting us working again as a single team as we did in the old days, and our flag would again represent a real working nation and not just a memory. It was a shock to me when orders came down to mobilize several thousand out of my district for national service and that my first job was to be the bearer of these tidings.”

  He nodded toward the draft notice resting on the desk between them, his features remorseful.

  “Whoever thought this up—the selection of personnel—I assume it is not you?” John asked.

  “Oh, definitely not. Most definitely not.”

  “Well, whoever did is clueless about the situation here. We barely hung on by the skin of our teeth when the Posse hit us a year and a half ago. I assume you are aware of that situation?”

  “I know about the fight you put up and your leadership. A masterful victory.”

  “It was a bloody slaughter for both sides. If that is the definition of victory, I pray I do not have another like it. The young men and women receiving draft notices are the backbone of our own internal defense force. We’ve had a dozen incidents since with raiders, gangs of thieves, and now these reivers just on the other side of Mount Mitchell. Strip out the backbone of my command and we are defenseless.”

  “Your command?” Dale asked softly.

  John hesitated and then nodded. “Yes, I am commander of the local self-defense force.”

  “Isn’t it perhaps time that we began to shift that a bit, to work together more as a team, bring back state and federal authority? That is the intent of the Army of National Recovery—a federally organized force to bring stability back to America nationwide. When fully in place, local communities will no longer have to fend for themselves. I would think that would actually be welcome news for you, John.”

  John was silent with that. Of course that was an ideal. But how could they make it a working, functional ideal?

  “When I can see and feel clearly that such is the case and that our local security is firmly in place, maybe then I’d feel more comfortable with so many of my community’s personnel being pulled out for duty elsewhere.”

  “The times are no longer Fort Apache on the frontier or medieval barons holed up in their castles,” Dale replied. “It is time to bring back a broader authority and stability.”

  “But stripping out the core of the strength of my community now? I’d like to see something else in place first.”

  “In fact, you’re about to see that, John. I have assets reporting in this weekend that I think you’ll find to be rather impressive and definitely reassuring. I wish they had come in first before the draft notices went out. Their presence would have alleviated your concerns about defense of your community in the future.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’ve been promised some air support, for starters.”

  “Air?”

  “Not for public consumption, so keep that under your hat for now. For some folks here, I’d prefer it to be a surprise, if you know what I mean.”

  “Air support from where? Nearly everything stateside was fried by the EMP.”

  “Again, not allowed to discuss that. Let’s just say some overseas equipment is finally making its way back here. The government decided some of it can be spared as needed by local administrative areas. I put in a strong request. So even as your personnel head off for training, I’ll have some darn good backup in place for your community and this entire region. Is that fair enough?”

  “We’ll see, but there is a second question just as burning. Just where in the hell are these kids going to serve with this ANR?”

  “Ours not to reason why,” Dale said softly.

  “‘Theirs but to do and die’?” Makala interjected.

  Dale looked at her a bit taken aback, and John realized that Dale did not know the line from the ironic poem.

  “Tennyson describing the disaster of the Charge of the Light Brigade in a long-ago war,” Makala said. “That is not a fate for any of the young men and women of our town.”

  “I spoke too flippantly; forgive me,” Dale replied. “John—” He hesitated and then nodded to Makala. “And you too, ma’am—I have no idea as to where your daughter will be assigned. This is a national mobilization, a million strong. We need to constitute an army within our own continent. Most of our military based here in the States when all this started was as decimated as the civilian population. We have, at best, a few hundred thousand under arms within our borders. We have to secure our borders, hopefully just by a show of will.”

  “Why not just federalize the National Guard?” John asked.

  “Good question, John. That was seriously discussed, but it was quickly realized it would be all but impossible. The high casualty rate within the United States decimated Guard members the same as everyone else. Databases have been lost, and there isn’t a single state government that is running efficiently enough to coordinate bringing Guard units into national service. It was realized we needed to start from scratch again—and thus the Army of National Recovery. This force, once created, will not even have to fight other
than containing lawlessness in some regions. Once our borders are resecured, the military can return to its mission of stabilizing places still in chaos. When that happens, the ANR stands down, and all your sons and daughters will be back home by Christmas.”

  “I seem to recall that kind of promise at the start of nearly every war,” Makala replied coolly. “‘They’ll be home by Christmas.’ That is most reassuring.”

  There appeared to be a glint of anger in Dale’s eyes, even though he held his smile without flinching. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, standing up, clearly indicating the meeting was drawing to a close. “I can at least do this, but for heaven’s sake, don’t let anyone outside your community know this. The notices said to report here in three days. Let’s just say that was a misprint, and it is thirty days hence. That will give me time to file your concerns back to Bluemont and give you a chance to see that I am a man of my word when it comes to the fact that I promise we’ll have a region-wide defense force in place to cover for communities such as yours so that you no longer need your small, independent commands—and I’ll see if I can better clarify terms of service. Is that fair for right now?”

  John hesitated but then finally nodded in agreement. He looked over to Makala, who smiled, nodded as well, and actually said, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Good, then that’s settled. Now you must excuse me; I am swamped, which I think you can understand. Get back to your people, calm things down, and we’ll be in touch and see what can be done, let’s say in a week or so. Does that work for you?”

  John stood and nodded.

  “And please don’t construe this the wrong way. Your daughter’s age?”

  “Eighteen, and she is the mother of a fourteen-month-old boy whose father was killed in the fighting with the Posse.” He hesitated, ashamed to mention it as if seeking sympathy, but it spilled from him. “Her younger sister died of diabetes last year, as well. She is all we have left.”

  Dale looked at Makala with soulful eyes. “I am sorry about the loss of your daughter, ma’am. I know deferments for draftees with dependent children have been dropped, but—and again, please don’t take this the wrong way—I think you have good grounds for an appeal that I can move forward. Especially if she is serving as your assistant or in some capacity vital to the area’s security beyond that of just simply carrying arms.”

  “Elizabeth is my adopted daughter,” Makala replied. “And at the moment, she serves in the local militia, helps with the community farm acreage, and takes care of her son and her grandmother, like so many of the other kids in our community.” She stared straight at him, and his eyes dropped.

  “We’ve all lost someone,” he said.

  “And you?”

  He hesitated. “Strange, but maybe lucky. I had no one special when the Day hit. I was part of the personnel evacuated out of Washington. I had two sisters; we were never close, really. I married some years ago and then divorced and lost track of where my ex was even before the war hit us. And so I just buried myself in work.”

  “Such as?” Makala pressed.

  There was a look in his eyes, but it passed like a shadow. “Working for the federal government, of course, to try to bring order out of chaos. I was ordered to report up to Bluemont to help with the work of reorganization and then was assigned to the field—meaning here—two months ago. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really am late for my next meeting. I’ll take care of the thirty-day extension on the draft in your community and will be in touch. I know you’ll clearly see that our district has become safe for law-abiding citizens within a matter of days.”

  John looked at him quizzically, but long experience told him that this man was not going to say anything more. He had at least gotten a temporary reprieve for his entire community. Whatever Fredericks’s actions were going to be, he’d have to let him play them out.

  Dale stepped out from behind his desk, opened the door to his office, and motioned for Makala, who nodded her thanks as she exited with John following her. Dale shook John’s hand in the hallway and then returned to his office while they headed for the exit and out into the early afternoon heat. John spared a sharp glance for the sergeant who had troubled him earlier, but the man’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as if John didn’t exist. John and Makala walked slowly to where Ed and Grace were leaning against the hood of the Edsel.

  “What do you think?” Makala whispered.

  “Well, I didn’t expect the extension. I’m highly skeptical that a central government can secure our communities. We understand the nuances and threats better than they ever can. If they had shown up with a million extra rations as a reserve for the winter ahead, some farming equipment, electrical generators, additional communications gear, some tech people to help us get things up and running, or a darn-good, fully stocked field medical unit that can move from community to community, now those would be blessings I’d be overjoyed to see. That’s the kind of help I was hoping for, not this pulling out of those we need the most not just for defense but also for rebuilding.”

  “All of those would be great,” Makala replied. “I don’t like the idea of them being plucked from our midst, and six weeks from now, they’re thrown into some godforsaken no-man’s-land fighting Posse groups in New York or the nightmare in Chicago.”

  He sighed as they headed to the car where Ed and Grace stood, weapons slung, both of them relieved to see John and Makala out of the building and heading their way.

  “If everything he said is true, it is essentially a lawful order of the emergency government. But to go against it?” Makala said.

  He shook his head ruefully. “I was a military man once, Makala. I swore an oath to defend the Constitution, and as long as that point held, I followed orders, even when I didn’t like them. I feel caught in the middle with this thing. This is about Elizabeth but also about damn near every other family I feel responsible for.”

  “Let’s go home and try to calm things down first. He certainly didn’t volunteer to come with us. And once we get back, you have that postponed appointment with your friendly dentist, Doc Weiderman.”

  The mere mention of it reminded him of the damned toothache. The crisis of the moment had diverted him from the pain, but mention of it was a forceful reminder.

  She gave him that reassuring nurse smile that usually meant what was coming would not be pleasant. He sighed and nodded.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “About your tooth or Dale?” she asked.

  “Dale.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it. “I think he’s full of shit.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Come on in, John; no more dodging now.”

  Richard Weiderman was an old friend from long before the Day—the family dentist who had taken care of his kids and had even belonged to the town’s Civil War Roundtable group. Richard took delight in giving talks on what medicine and dentistry were like back then, and that knowledge had put him into an important position after the Day. Gone were pneumatic-driven, high-speed dental drills and suction tubes, and the mere sight of a Novocain needle always creeped John out.

  When John came in for checkups, he used to nervously joke with Richard about a favorite comedy musical that featured an insane dentist who winds up getting fed to a man-eating plant. Everyone had some sort of dark joke about dentists, but on the other hand, all were darn grateful for their existence and took it as an ordinary part of their lives even if it was a few unpleasant hours a year in the chair.

  No longer. Richard’s supply of Novocain and other anesthesia had immediately gone into the town’s emergency supply. He had become more than “just a dentist” during the battle with the Posse, helping to patch up facial wounds and repair shattered jaws and agonizing wounds to the mouth. In the year and a half after those dreadful days, he had resumed his practice, using what had been a hobby knowledge of dental history to put himself back into business. In the basement storage room of a long-deceased dentist, he found a foot-powe
red treadle drill and a variety of dental tools not used in a hundred years. From a hidden reserve in a jewelry store, he snatched up thin sheets of hammered-out gold for fillings. He had moved his office from a posh location in an upscale development at the edge of town into an abandoned jewelry store on Cherry Street, where reluctant patients came for treatment. There was even a hand-lettered sign over the entryway, painted in ornate, nineteenth-century script, complete with the image of a tooth, proclaiming, “Pain-free extraction!”

  That at least was no longer just an advertising line. The chemistry teacher at the college had put together a team at Makala’s behest, and they had actually managed to start the production of ether. It had, after all, first been manufactured in the early nineteenth century with supplies and equipment any modern college or even high school chemistry classroom lab could duplicate.

  When first discovered in the early nineteenth century and for nearly forty years afterward, ether and nitrous oxide were not used for medical purposes, but instead for what could be called “stoner parties.” The “ether man” traveled from town to town with bottles of ether and tightly woven bags containing the nitrous oxide to be dispensed at two bits a whiff—a favorite form of entertainment. It was finally a dentist in Georgia in the early 1840s who had connected the dots that ether was far more than just entertainment. The Civil War historian in John was always grateful for that realization when he contemplated the agony of the hundreds of thousands of wounded who, if the war had been fought but twenty years earlier, would have gone under the saw and knife wide awake. Ether and chloroform were readily available then, and they were even sent through the lines as a humanitarian gesture if an enemy’s hospital was running short. The tragedy after the Day was that the art of making anesthesia locally had to be relearned, and thus many of the wounded after the war with the Posse had indeed suffered. After that experience, Makala made it a top priority for the college lab to resume manufacturing the precious gas and fumes, along with silver-based antibiotics.