John carried Tyler in, Jen following, and headed for Jennifer’s room, putting him down on her bed, and then stood up.
Jen pulled a chair over and was by Tyler’s side, gently brushing his cheek.
“It’s ok, Tyler. We’re home; we’re home,” she whispered.
John stepped back, suddenly feeling a terrible need to wash. Elizabeth stood in the living room, looking wide-eyed towards Jen’s room.
“Elizabeth.”
She was crying.
“It’s going to be hard, but we’ve got to handle it. I want you to go get a bucket of water. Heat it up on the grill, find some soap, some towels, then go in and help Grandma.”
Elizabeth stifled back a sob and nodded.
He was glad Jennifer was not home to have seen this.
He went into the master bathroom. He poured some water from a bucket into the sink and thoroughly washed his hands; then grimacing, the pain coursing up his arm, he doused his wound with some rubbing alcohol.
He cut a piece of old sheeting taken from the linen closet and wrapped it around the cut on his hand and went back to Jennifer’s room. “Mom, you ok?” She looked up at him and smiled. “Sure. I can handle this now, John. Thank you.”
Ben came in carrying the warm bucket, Elizabeth hesitating before coming in with a towel and soap.
“Elizabeth honey. Your Pop-pop is a proud man,” Jen said, her features serious. “I don’t think he’d want his granddaughter helping with this.”
Jen looked at John.
“And you, John, have the weakest stomach in the world. Why don’t you two go outside?”
“I’ll stay,” Ben said quietly.
All three looked at him with surprise.
“Heck, I diapered my kid brother a hundred times. I’ll help Miss Jen.”
“Good man, Ben.”
“Actually, I better go into town,” John said. “I’ll see if we can get some help up there.”
“That’s good, John.”
He hesitated and looked at Elizabeth.
“Maybe you should come along.”
“You sure, Dad?”
“It’s ok.”
She looked at him with relief and the two went to the car and got in. “Sorry, Dad, I don’t think I could have handled that. I’d of tried, though.”
“Listen, kid, I barely handled it myself. Buckle up.” She laughed softly, though still shaken. “This is a ’59 Edsel, Dad, no seat belts.”
They drove into town and he immediately felt as if he was now coming into an entirely different world.
Pete’s free barbecue was shut down, the small-town feel of an outdoor fair atmosphere gone. Two police officers, both armed with shotguns, stood outside the elementary school, a large crowd standing in line. An open fire was burning, a kettle hung over it.
There were half a dozen more cops and an equal number of firemen in a loose cordon around the town hall, police station, and firehouse. Several men were at the back of Jim Bartlett’s Volkswagen Bus, off-loading boxes. There was an assortment of bicycles, a few motorbikes, an old Harley motorcycle, a Jeep from the garage, the antique World War Two jeep, and a few old farm pickup trucks parked there as well, the doors into the firehouse open, the engines rolled out. Boxes, crates, containers filling up inside.
There was another line formed, an old military-style water tank on wheels, a guard by the side of it, the line of people carrying plastic jugs. John rolled to a stop and got out with Elizabeth.
“One gallon per person,” the guard was saying, repeating himself over and over, as John pulled Elizabeth closer in to his side and headed towards the mayor’s office.
* * *
Though the downtown area had water, those living upslope were out and now having to do the long walk just to get a single gallon. One of the guards saw John and nodded. “Hi, Professor.”
It was one of his old students, graduated several years back, now a teacher in the middle school, and he was embarrassed that he couldn’t remember his name.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, Charlie declared martial law. We’re moving all medical supplies here to the firehouse and any food that can still be retrieved from the supermarkets, but most of that got cleaned out.”
“I saw Food Lion, but all of the markets?”
“Well, sir, I guess you could say it was a riot. Folks just started storming into the markets taking what they wanted and then getting out. It got pretty ugly there for a while. Mostly the outsiders.”
“Outsiders?”
“You know, the folks from the highway.”
The way he said “outsiders” hit a nerve with John. It didn’t feel right.
“We had a lot of people coming down the road from Asheville, a lot of them people who live here who got stranded, but a lot of people just getting out of the city as well. A thousand or more flooded in here last night. Word is it’s pretty bad up there.
“The folks coming in from Asheville said a mob, mostly kids, started busting up the Asheville Mall, vandals, and part of it burned. Somebody said over fifty people were killed, hundreds of people rampaging through the stores along Tunnel Road.”
He took it in.
“Quite a few dead on the road they say as well. People collapsing, bad hearts, elderly. Somebody said he counted at least twenty dead between here and Exit 53.”
It was hard to believe.
“Thanks. Is the mayor in?”
“She sure is. They’re having some sort of conference in there.”
He didn’t ask for permission; he just headed in and parked Elizabeth by the door, telling her not to move. As he walked in, his eye caught the commemorative plaque: “9.11.01 In Remembrance of the First Responders Who Gave Their Lives. .. Rest in Peace.”
Half a dozen men and women milled about in the corridor. The door into the conference room was closed.
“I’d like to see the mayor,” John said to one of the cops standing by the door.
“There’s a meeting on in there, sir.”
“I know, but this is urgent.”
“I think, sir, you’ll have to wait.”
“This can’t wait,” John said loudly.
“Sir, please just go outside and wait.”
The memory of the vet, begging for a drink of water, pushed John forward.
“I think I’ll see her now,” John said sharply. “Now step aside.”
“Sir, don’t force me to stop you.”
He could see that the cop, not much more than a kid, was still out of his league. A week ago he was most likely the junior kid on the force, the biggest challenge ever faced a drunk on a Saturday night.
John reached past him, grabbed the doorknob, and pushed the door open.
“Sir! Please step back.”
Charlie, Kate, and Tom were in the room, along with Doc Kellor and, interestingly, Washington Parker and an elderly couple who looked vaguely familiar.
“It’s ok, Gene. That’s Professor Matherson. Come on in, John.”
John gave a curt nod to the young policeman and walked in. Everyone was gazing at John, and he suddenly felt a touch of embarrassment for barging in thus, but the memory of what he had seen in the nursing home stilled that.
“What is it, John, that’s got you all fired up?” Charlie asked. “I was just up at Miller’s Nursing Home. My God, it’s a hellhole up there.”
“We know all about it, John,” Kate said. “Mr. Parker here is sending a bunch of kids, volunteers from the college, to help out with some food and water. Kellor’s canvassing the refugees for nurses to go help as well.”
“I think it’s going to take more than some kids and a few nurses,” John replied, “but thanks, Washington.”
“You know they were robbed? Some punks stole all the morphine and painkillers?”
“We’re on that, too, John,” Tom said softly. Now John did feel embarrassed.
Charlie hesitated, made eye contact with Kate, and she nodded. “John, actually, I should have inv
ited you to this meeting,” Charlie said softly. “We’re talking some things over. Maybe you can give us some input. “Do you know the Barbers?”
John looked over at the elderly couple. In fact, he did know them. They had a summer home, actually more of a mansion, up in the Cove, just up the road from his in-laws.
They looked haggard, Mrs. Barber pale, struggling, it seemed, to stay awake.
“They just got through from Charlotte.” Don Barber nodded slowly. “Go on, please,” Kate said.
“Well, as I was saying,” Don continued. “By yesterday morning it was out of control. And what I was just telling you, absolute utter stupidity. A couple of helicopters flew in from Fort Bragg the morning after the power went off, landed near town hall, a dozen armed troopers got out, some ass of a major goes in, comes out twenty minutes later, they take off, and then someone comes running out saying we’re at war.”
No one spoke.
“War with who?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know; nobody knows. That one idiot, running out, shouting we were at war, that we were hit with nuclear weapons and had already lost, set everything off. Just one loudmouth bastard.”
He paused and looked over at his wife.
“Sorry, Wendy.”
“Well, he was a stupid bastard,” she whispered, barely keeping her eyes open, and John smiled.
“Look, I’m old enough to remember 1941. Kennedy in 1963, when Reagan was shot, 2001 of course. Always we at least had radios, television. Someone to tell us what was going on, what to do, offering leadership, and that rallied us together.
“This time it’s a vacuum. Just that one idiot running out, and of course a crowd had gathered because of the helicopters landing, then taking off.
“I got down to the street and rumor was building on rumor; you could hear it. People talking about nukes, someone starts shouting about fallout killing them all, and that was it. Within an hour downtown was in chaos. People looting, fighting with each other, and impossible to control.
“The police were caught completely off guard. Things had been quiet throughout the night. A couple of old cars had been taken by the police and fire departments, driven up and down the streets, someone leaning out the window with an old megaphone and telling folks to stay calm, help was on the way, and so far it was working. But that panic ended it.”
John hesitated but had to ask.
“Were we nuked? I mean a full attack?”
Don shook his head.
“I know the District Attorney for the county. I got my way into his office. That goddamn fool running out, some half-ass bureaucrat, heard a few minutes of the briefing, panicked, and was out the door.
“As for the truth of it, there’s precious little. Remember it was a couple of days after nine-eleven before things started to sort out, and we had full communications then. Now, well, according to the District Attorney they were told that one, maybe two or three nuclear weapons were detonated over the United States, up high, a couple of hundred miles up.”
“It’s EMP for certain then,” John interjected.
“That’s what the DA said. Also, they were told some communications at Fort Bragg survived, aircraft parked inside protective shelters, some vehicles as well.
“Other than that, it’s shut down the entire power grid of the United States, except for a few radios and machines that this major said were ‘hardened.’ He said the army was going to be working on getting things up and running and for folks to stay calm till then. But it was going to take several weeks.”
Don shook his head.
“It’d of been better if he never showed up. The way he flew in, then took off, made it look like he was running out, and that helped the panic.”
“Several weeks my ass,” John muttered. Don fell silent. He looked at Kate.
“You read that report I left here?” John asked. She nodded.
“Start thinking months, years. What Mr. Barber just told us confirmed it.”
“I know, John.”
Her tone indicated to him that she wanted him to stand back a bit, and he realized she was right.
“Sir, what happened then?” Charlie asked.
“Well, it was already edgy. Two planes had crashed in the downtown, one of them a seven-thirty-seven, right after the power went off. Hell of a mess. Some people were thinking it might have been some sort of failed terrorist strike. Like I said, without any radios, without any communications, rumors running ahead of the truth, the way they always do, no one knew and thus everyone was an expert, and everyone was soon scaring the hell out of each other.
“It was then that I realized I better get Wendy and myself out of Charlotte and up here.”
“Why here?” Kate asked.
“Because it’s safe here,” Don said. He looked around the room as if seeking some assurance.
“Sure, Don,” Charlie said. “You’re ok now; you’re with neighbors now.”
“So I walked home from my office downtown. Four miles, at that moment I thought the toughest four miles I’ve ever been through since I got shot down over Korea and had to hike back to our lines.
“I got Wendy and from there it took us two days to walk to the airstrip where I keep my L-3.”
“An L-3, what the heck is that?” Tom asked.
“Military designation for a World War II Aeronca recon plane. We used them in Korea as well for liaison and artillery spotting. It’s nearly identical to the one I flew as an artillery spotter in Korea.”
He smiled. “Found her as a junker about ten years back and fully restored her to original shape. She’s a beauty to fly, slow and low.”
John could not help but smile. Like a lot of older vets, when Don talked about something like that, the years seemed to drift away from his face and his eyes were young again as he spoke of a happy memory.
“All the time we were walking I was afraid she’d be taken or ruined. But sure enough, she was still in the hangar. Nothing fancy in her. Restored to original condition, maybe that’s what saved her. No electronics whatsoever, could never find a period radio, so all I used was a small handheld GPS when I took her up. Of course that piece of equipment was fried, but the plane was ok.”
He paused.
“In the old days, you worked your throttle, primed the cylinders by pumping, magneto switch on, and got someone to grab the propeller, and she started right up.”
“So you flew here?” John asked.
“Sure did. Got airborne about four hours ago and circled over Charlotte.”
He paused and lowered his head.
“I saw some bad things in Korea. I was there the second time the commies took Seoul. I never thought I’d see the likes of it here, in America.”
“What did you see?” Kate asked quietly.
“Nine-eleven for example. The way people in New York and Washington acted that day and pulled together. No panic really when you think back on it. Guiliani on television, then the president, it pulled us together.
“But it’s a vacuum now and in the cities especially it went out of control like I said. Downtown Charlotte was burning. I could see there was no firefighting equipment out. The water pressure was already failing by the time I decided to walk home, and at my house it was already dry.
“Looting, people running crazy.” He paused. “I saw dead people lying in the streets. National Guard ringing a shopping plaza, thousands swarming around trying to break through to get at the food inside, and you could see the guardsmen falling back, shooting into the crowd.
“It looked, it looked like the old newsreels from the Second World War, or like Saigon when it fell, like what happened over there in Somalia. I never dreamed I’d see it here, never here.”
He fell silent for a moment, gazing out the window.
“We flew along 1-85, then up through Hickory Nut Gorge. My first thought was to land in Asheville, but then what? We’d still be thirty miles from home.”
“Did you see anything moving?” Charlie asked. “Esp
ecially over in Asheville.”
“It looked like a couple of cars, but nothing else. A lot of burning, some houses, several forest fires, I could see the one up on Craggy from fifty miles away. Passed over the wreck of a commuter plane just short of Asheville that was still burning.”
“Why this talk about so many planes down?” Kate asked.
“Because nearly every commercial liner out there is so loaded with electronics now,” Don replied. “Hell, the stick isn’t even connected to a wire anymore like in the old days; it’s computer links for the control surfaces. Pop that and most likely every last plane in America nosed in.”
“Jesus,” Tom sighed. “On nine-eleven we only lost four.”
“Figure around three thousand planes falling out of the sky, which is the typical number airborne around that time of day,” Don said coldly. “Two hundred passengers on average per plane… do the math.”
He sighed again, looking off as if a great distance into a dark land.
“The mall was burning, big fire there. That convinced me to set down as close to home as possible. If I had landed at the airport, I’d never have gotten here. There was a couple of hundred yards on I-40 just west of town that was wide open and that little baby of mine just squeezed right in.”
Tom grinned.
“Damnedest sight I’ve ever seen. A plane taxiing down the exit ramp, then parking in the Ingram’s lot. Painted just like the old army planes, complete with D-day invasion stripes, hell, it made my heart leap at the sight of it.”
“You’ve got it guarded?” Charlie asked.
“Of course I do. It’s an asset for us.”
“Thank you, Mr. Barber,” Charlie said. “I’m glad you made it home.”
“Look, we’re kind of bushed. Is there any way we can find a ride up to our place?”
“I think we can arrange something special for you,” Charlie said, “for a swap.”
“And that is?”
“We can use your plane.”
“As long as I’m flying it you can,” he said defensively. “I put five years into restoring her, so no one else touches her but me. A little work and I can retro fit her to burn automobile gas. But wherever you want me to go, I’ll do it.”
One Second After Page 11
