One Second After

by William R. Forstchen

  “He was an idiot.”

  “John, you hardly know me,” she smiled, “so don’t just judge by exteriors. I have my bad side, too.”

  “Well, I’ve yet to see it. Volunteering to go up and help at the nursing home. That took guts.”

  “Or it could have been calculation,” she replied, “get into the community that way.”

  He looked straight at her, remembering what she said on the day he had shot Larry, and shook his head.

  “No, you’d of done it regardless of the situation.”

  He hesitated, looking back down at the soup bowl.

  “And any guys for you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just trying to put the pieces together.”

  “No one serious, if that’s what you mean. Gun-shy.”

  “And no kids?”

  “Thank God no.”

  “Why?”

  “Now, with this? You think I’d want that worry on top of everything else? Suppose we did have children and I was up here the day it happened. I’d of been clawing through the tide of refugees to get back to Charlotte.”

  He nodded. The way she said “clawing through” told him a lot. She liked kids, maybe wished she had some, and had the instinct to kill to protect them, no matter whose they were.

  “Let’s talk about Jennifer,” she said quietly.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, suddenly anxious.

  “Of course there is, John. You got enough insulin for a little more than four months, though the water temperature where you are storing the vials is just over fifty degrees. I checked it. That will degrade the shelf life somewhat.”

  “By how much?” he asked, feeling a sense of panic.

  “I’m not sure, John. We’ll start to know when the regular dose doesn’t control her blood sugar. Besides that, we have to start getting conservative with her testing kit. The new one, as you know, is junked, the old one, thank God, survived, but the test strips, no replacements now. So we’re going to have to learn to just eyeball the situation more and only use the strips when we absolutely have to.”

  He couldn’t speak, just staring off across the valley. It was all so peaceful. No noise, some plumes from small fires rising up, drifting with the westerly breeze. He reached to his breast pocket. No pocket; he was still in a sweat-soaked T-shirt.

  “Cigarette?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I’ll get them.”

  She came back out a minute later with two, struck a lighter and puffed one to life, hesitated for a second, then handed it to John, putting the second one on the table.

  “Ex-smoker?” John asked.

  “Yup. Surprising how many nurses smoke. But I looked at one too many cancerous lungs, though.”

  “Don’t need to hear it.” She smiled.

  “Well, you’re going to run out in about two weeks anyhow. Stretch it and you might make it to four weeks or six, but sooner or later you will quit. Maybe one of the few blessings to come out of this. An entire nation going cold turkey on tobacco, alcohol, drugs. No cars, so we have to walk or ride bikes. Might do us some good.”

  “Back to Jennifer,” he said, after taking several puffs. The meal was sitting well on his stomach, but the tobacco hit him after so many days away. He felt shaky and suddenly weak.

  “Tyler’s death, the funeral,” she said. “If I had been around and knew, I’d of kept Jennifer home during the burial. It really traumatized her.

  “It’s tough enough on any kid of that age to lose their grandpa. But we, all of us, have really isolated death away, kept it hidden. Tyler died in her bedroom. In fact, she is terrified to even go back in there. When she’d come to see you when you were sick, she’d just stand by the doorway. It’s just that she saw it all, and it registered.

  “John, she’s a diabetic, and even at twelve that makes anyone very conscious of their mortality. They know their life is dependent on that needle and the vial, but for seventy years now those vials just came across the pharmacy counter, no questions asked. She knows that’s finished.”

  “How?”

  “Damn it, John, she isn’t deaf or blind. Every day since this started people have been dying and she knows she’s on the short list once the insulin in the basement runs out.”

  He shook his head angrily.

  “No, God, please no. That’s four months off. By then we’ll have something back in place. At least communications, some emergency medicines.”

  “John, you’ve been the very person going around saying that this is bad, real bad, that it might take years, if ever, to come back from it.”

  “I never said a word around her.”

  “Oh, John, you’re such a father, but you don’t understand kids. I’ve worked in hospitals with kids like Jennifer. Kids that were terminal. They had it figured long before their parents would ever admit it to themselves.”

  “She is not terminal,” he snarled, glaring at Makala angrily.

  She said nothing.

  “Damn you, no,” and he was humiliated by the tears that suddenly clouded his vision.

  He struggled to choke back the sobs that now overwhelmed him.

  She put her hand out, touching him, and he jerked back, looking at her, filled with impotent rage.

  “My girl will live through this,” he gasped. “Jennifer will live through this.”

  She leaned over, gently touching his face, paused, and then half stood up, kissing him on the forehead, and drew her chair closer to his side.

  “John, with luck, if things straighten out, we’ll get hooked back up to hospitals that work before the insulin runs out.”

  He noticed how she said “we.”

  “I’ve gotten close to her, John. Very close these last few days. She’s a sweet child. Not a twelve-year-old dressing, talking, and sometimes acting like she’s twenty-one. She still sleeps with Rabs in her arms, plays with Beanie Babies, reads a lot. The way perhaps twelve-year-olds were long ago. Rather nerdy actually.”

  He struggled for control as Makala described his little girl. He let the burned-out cigarette fall and without comment she lit the second one and handed it over, taking a puff on it first before doing so.

  She smiled, and he realized that tears were in her eyes as well.

  “It’s just the poor child has really been obsessive about dying since she saw her grandfather go and the way he was buried, the way we’re burying people now by the hundreds.”

  “I’ll talk with her.”

  “I already have,” Makala said quietly.

  “About what?”

  She hesitated.

  “Go on; about what?”

  “About death,” she whispered. “She asked me for the truth. About how long she had if the insulin ran out.”

  “And what did you tell her?” he snapped, and she grimaced as he grasped her arm with his hand. “What did you tell her?”

  “John, I told you, I’ve worked with kids like her. I know when to lie; I know when it is time to tell the truth. I reassured her that she’d be OK. That you and others were working to get things reestablished and soon medical supplies would start coming in.”

  He released his grip.

  “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “But you’ve got to talk with her, too, John.”

  He nodded, head lowered, again struggling for control. He felt so damn weak. Not just physically but emotionally. Tyler’s time had played out and though John had come to love that old man as if he were John’s own father, he took solace knowing Tyler had lived a good life. But Jennifer?

  “You better keep reassuring her if you want her to be happy.” Makala paused.

  “In the time she has left?” he asked, staring at her.

  “Let’s just pray for the best.”

  He finished his cigarette and sat back.

  “You said hundreds have been buried?”

  She nodded and then looked away.

  He heard barking and then laughter. From out of the fi
eld above the house his family was coming. The dogs, seeing him up and about again, made a beeline straight to him. He could not help but laugh, both dogs grinning at him and dancing around his chair. And then with noses raised they were sniffing at the soup pot, Ginger standing up on her hind legs to peer in, nearly burning her feet as she lost balance and almost fell against the stove.

  Jennifer came running down and jumped into his arms.

  “You’re better, Daddy!”

  “Well, not exactly, but almost, pumpkin.”

  She buried her head against his shoulder and he wondered for a moment if she was crying. And then she pulled back slightly. “Daddy, you really stink.”

  He laughed, tempted to play the old “armpit” game of grabbing her and forcing her up against his armpit. She loved it when she was eight, even as she shrieked in protest. But not now; he knew he really did stink.

  “I promise I’ll take a bath later today; I could use it.”

  “Outdoors now, Daddy,” she said, pointing to a small kiddie wading pool and a rough-built shower made out of a six-foot ladder with a one-gallon plastic bucket suspended from the top rung by a two-by-four, the bottom of the bucket perforated with a couple of dozen small holes.

  “Ben built it. One person showers; the other pours the water into the bucket while standing on the ladder.”

  Ben made that and John nodded and then suddenly wondered…

  Makala laughed. “I do the pouring for Elizabeth, John.”

  “Well, Ben can pour for me and you ladies can go somewhere else.”

  Jennifer hugged him tight, let go, and looked into the pot.

  “What is it?”

  “Hot dogs and potatoes,” Makala announced.

  “Yuk, sounds gross.”

  “Really, it’s quite good,” John said.

  “Can Zach and Ginger have some?”

  The two dogs were by his side, tongues hanging out, panting, both with eyes fixed on his empty bowl. Across the years it had become an unconscious act: leave a little extra on the plate, set it down. When Ginger joined the family John would make sure two plates would go down at the same time, because no matter how much the dogs cared for each other, if there was only one plate there’d be a lunge and a yelp, usually from Ginger losing out to Zach, but now, as Zach was starting to show his age, he was becoming the loser in those squabbles.

  “We ran out of dog food yesterday,” Makala said quietly.

  Damn, he had never even thought of that. “Even the canned stuff?”

  Makala didn’t say anything and he realized with a shock that the reason she said nothing was because she or Jen had stashed the canned dog food for emergency use if need be. He suddenly wondered if they made a canned dog food of hot dogs but knew it was best not to ask.

  “Come on, Dad; they’re starving.”

  He looked down at his two buddies. His companions on many a late night of writing or research, they’d always be curled up in his office. Once it was time for sleep, Ginger would usually paddle off to Jennifer’s room, Zach always to his.

  He looked at Jennifer, then back to the dogs.

  “Sure, come on, you two fools.”

  He picked up his bowl and Makala’s, doled out one ladleful each of the soup, and put the bowls down. The two lunged, devouring the meal within seconds.

  Jennifer smiled, watching them. Makala said nothing. “I think I want to go into town to see what’s going on, maybe over to the campus.”

  “Don’t press your luck, John,” Jen said, a bit breathless from hiking down from the field, coming up to his side and standing on tiptoes to kiss him.

  “Damn, you really do stink,” she said disapprovingly, stepping back.

  “I’ll drive,” Makala interjected. “Besides, now that our patient is better, I think I should go back up to the nursing home and oversee the transfer up to the conference center.”

  Jen said nothing as Makala went into the house. Elizabeth pecked him on the check and sat down to eat.

  “She’s a nice girl,” Jen said.

  “I think she’s in love with you, Dad,” Elizabeth announced, saying it as if just commenting on the weather or the time of day. Jennifer giggled at that. John looked over at Jen.

  “She sat up with you three nights straight. You were in a bad way there, John.”

  Jen smiled, but he could see she was just about in tears. “What is it, Mom?”

  “Oh, nothing,” and she turned away. And he knew she was thinking of Mary.

  * * *

  The drive into town things looked pretty much the same, except for the fact that several of the men he passed were toting shotguns or rifles. At the elementary school there was a huge stack of firewood, a number of kettles set over a fire boiling.

  “How are things in there?”

  “John, people who just can’t make it are dying off,” Makala sighed. “Hundreds dead, but things are under control for right now.”

  At the station he found out that Charlie was up in Swannanoa, Tom up at the barrier in the gap. He read the town notice board, printed with red marker on the whiteboards tacked to the side of town hall:

  Martial Law Still in Effect

  John noticed the eraser marks for everything else on the board except for those five words; “Martial Law Still in Effect.”

  1. It is estimated that twenty escapees from the interstate are still at large in the region. If they are sighted, apprehend, detain, or if need be use whatever force necessary, then report sighting to this office.

  2. Ration cards will be issued starting today for everyone in the community. If you are a resident with a home and you apply for a ration card, you must submit to your property being searched for food. If food is found it will be confiscated and then distributed to the community. Do not apply for rations unless you are in true need. Starting tomorrow, you will not be issued food at any public facility without presentation of the ration card, along With proper identification.

  John paused at that one and thought about it. He realized it was a good decision. No threat of taking food, only if you asked for food. It’d keep hoarders from trying to eat off the public weal while continuing to sit on their own stockpiles. He continued to read.

  3. The outbreak of salmonella at the Emergency Refugee Center has been brought under control. Our thanks to the volunteers from Montreat College and the staff, led by Dr. Kellor. We regret to report a total of sixty-one dead from the outbreak at the center. Community-wide it is reported that 310 have died from salmonella, with over three thousand cases reported.

  4. The new emergency hospital at the Ingram’s shopping plaza in Swannanoa is open. If you need transportation to that facility, a public vehicle will leave here at noon every day hereafter.

  5. Principal Greene, acting now as superintendent of schools for our community, has officially announced that all schools are now closed for the academic year. Classes will resume the day after Labor Day. Upon resumption of school, grades for the previous academic year will be posted.

  John found that to be curious, that they had finally gotten around to canceling school. He’d have to tell the girls; they’d be delighted. Also, it was a touch of optimism that some sort of continuity would continue come fall and he was glad to read it.

  6. Death notices: eighty-one deaths reported in the communities of Black Mountain and Swannanoa yesterday. Remember, all bodies are to be interred at the new community cemeteries, the golf course in Black Mountain, the upper grounds of the Swannanoa Christian Academy, above the floodplain for the Swannanoa River. Cause of death must be confirmed by the physician on duty in the respective town offices between the hours of eight in the morning and five in the afternoon.

  The names were listed and John scanned it. One he knew, a student of his, cute girl, a sophomore, a bit overweight, with a smile that could light up a room. He remembered she suffered from severe allergies to bee stings, a notice having been sent around to all her professors at the start of each semester to be aware of that situ
ation and immediately get her out of the room if a stinging insect flew in. He wondered if that had been the cause of death.

  7. TAKE NOTICE. If there is a death in your family and your family has accepted ration cards and that death is concealed, all ration cards for the immediate family will be permanently confiscated except for those for children under the age of eleven, but said children will then be moved to the refugee center. If you are not a permanent resident of the community, you and all immediate family will be expelled except for children under the age of eleven.

  That bothered him, the last sentence. It was still the defining of a different class within the community. Makala was standing beside him, reading the notice board, and he wondered how she felt about it.

  8. NEWS! It is reported by one of our residents who has reached us after walking from Greensboro that there is an operating shortwave radio in Morganton. The resident claims to have heard a broadcast from the BBC in London. The British government has declared solidarity with America and even now is mobilizing massive relief aid. Long Live Our Allies of Old and of Today!

  John smiled at that. And if true, it could mean that perhaps, just perhaps, communications gear was on the way to help reestablish links. The downside… why only Great Britain?

  9. WAR NEWS! This same resident reports that the attack is now believed to have been three missiles, fired from a containership in the Gulf of Mexico. Our forces overseas are engaged in heavy combat in Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and Korea. There is progress on all fronts. Responsibility for the attack rests upon an alliance of forces in the Middle East and North Korea. Reports now confirm that a weapon similar to the ones that struck the United States has also been detonated over the western Pacific, creating the same widespread outages in Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan. A similar missile is also reported to have been detonated over Eastern Europe.

  It is reported as well that the federal government, even now, is organizing the distribution of radios, which shall originate out of a stockpile kept in a secret reserve. Communications are soon to be reestablished with central authorities.