One Year After: A Novel (15 page)

He sighed. “I got a bit of a concussion and a cracked rib. How about we go home? I’ll fill everyone in on what happened. It actually turns out the whole affair could be to our advantage, though we’ll have to figure out how to deal with the fact that old Pat got killed.”

“Not tomorrow morning,” Ed said.

“Why?”

“Yesterday afternoon, Fredericks has ordered ‘select leaders of the community,’ as he put it, to come to Asheville.”

“Did he know I was captured?”

“Of course. It was news across the entire valley.”

John took it in. It was getting hard to think. “I’m going home for now,” he replied, and he looked at Makala, who was gazing intently at him and pressed in close to his right side in the backseat of the Jeep, Elizabeth on his left.

“Damn right. A week of rest and bed for a concussion, at the least.” It wasn’t a suggestion; it was an order.

“And this meeting?”

“The hell with him,” she said. “He figured you were dead, John, and was summoning the rest of us for an audience. Don’t respond at all, and let’s see what he does in reply.”

John looked at her and smiled. “You ever read Machiavelli?” he asked.

CHAPTER SIX

DAY 736

The day promised to be a hot one even in the cove of Montreat. He had slept peacefully through the night and now rested on the sofa bed out on the sunporch. Someone had actually stopped by with two freshly laid eggs for John, and Makala had fried them up for breakfast. There was no coffee, of course, to help kick-start him awake, and he had to chew even the eggs carefully because of his tooth. Makala had vetoed having it pulled while he recovered from the concussion.

Sunlight streamed in through the south-facing windows, the world outside the open windows quiet, peaceful, the silence disturbed by the sharp ringing of the phone. Makala answered, spoke briefly, and hung up.

“You were masterful.” He pitched his voice higher in a vain attempt to sound like his wife. “‘I’m so sorry, Mr. Fredericks. Yes, thank you, John is fine, but he’s suffered a severe concussion. He’s confined to bed rest for at least the next three days and not able to travel.’”

She smiled.

“Well, it’s the truth. I’d prefer a week, and that granny nurse you told me about was right; you got a cracked rib next to your sternum.” Her features became serious. “Another hard blow there, the rib breaks free and gets driven right into your heart or lungs, so no driving around in that damn Jeep until it starts to knit.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She kissed him on the forehead.

“Anyhow, what did Fredericks say?”

“He tried to force the issue of you going to Asheville, but he backed off.” She shrugged. “You heard the rest. He’s coming here in an hour.”

“There must be some fire under his butt from further up if he’s doing that. I guess I should get dressed and go to the office.”

“You idiot, that defeats what I just said about you not being able to move. I’ll prop you up and get a clean shirt on you and a shave. You really do look like hell.”

“At least I had real coffee while being held.”

“What?”

“I’d darn near kill for a cup now.”

“Cruel even to mention it,” she replied, and there was a real touch of longing in her voice.

*   *   *

Propped
up on the sofa in the sunroom, John caught a glimpse of Fredericks’s Humvee pulling into his driveway. The driver looked like the character he had tangled with in front of the courthouse earlier in the week.

In spite of the heat, Dale still wore the blue blazer as if it were a uniform but, perhaps in a gesture of informality, had foregone the necktie, which, ever since the Day, was something rarely seen. Makala was out to meet him with a courteous smile, directing him around the back walkway to the sunroom. Elizabeth, with Ben in her arms, had agreed with the suggestion that she take the toddler for a walk to avoid any maudlin encounter and for Jen to just stand clear, even though the woman was eager to “give that bastard a piece of my mind”—said, of course, with proper Southern ladylike charm.

John made a slight gesture to get up, but Dale, smiling, extended a hand.

“Don’t bother; you’re the one that’s wounded. Just relax, John.”

Makala, role-playing a proper hostess, returned a few minutes later with a tray and two cups of fresh mint tea, and then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

“How you doing, John? When I heard what happened, I was preparing to send an operation up over the mountain to see if we could pull you out.”

That would have been one helluva mess,
John thought without replying at first, sipping the soothing brew. Not coffee, with which Burnett had spoiled him for several days, but still good.

“So what happened?” Dale asked, leaning forward attentively. Then he hesitated. “If you feel okay to talk. Your wife said you were pretty banged up.”

“Not too bad, actually. They didn’t kill me on the spot, and once the trade for salt was arranged, I knew I’d get out of it alive.”

He didn’t mention that he had also been shot and if not for the Kevlar vest, he most certainly would have been dead.

“Trading you for salt. Damn barbaric. Perhaps we should talk about working together on this. It’s about time these—what do you call them? Reivers? I just call them damn bandits—got taken out.”

John sipped at his tea and nodded. Perhaps it was the way Makala had first reacted to Dale, but his instinct was to just sit back and play the concussed and very fatigued ex-prisoner for a while.

“Do you have the personnel to launch that kind of operation?” John finally asked. “Once off Interstate 26, you get into some pretty wild country now. There are reiver groups holed up in every county from Tennessee clear on up to Virginia and most likely beyond.”

Dale smiled. “More assets are coming in every day. Bluemont is really pulling out all the stops to bring places like this back in line. From what I’ve learned about you, John, you’re a man worth saving.”

“Appreciate that, Dale. But it didn’t prove necessary, after all.”

There was a long pause, Dale absently stirring his untouched tea with a spoon and then looking back at John. “I think I got some good news for you regarding that draft call.”

With that, John did sit up slightly.

“I kicked your concerns straight up the ladder to Bluemont. We have a good radio hookup now. Even got through to the new secretary of National Unification.”

“The what?”

“Secretary of National Unification.”

“Never heard of it till just now.”

“Well, word does travel a bit slow yet. The president decided that the task of reestablishing functioning government in the lower forty-eight states required a separate branch of government.”

“What about the Department of Defense? Its mission since the day the Constitution went into effect was to protect and defend this nation.”

“But that does get a bit dicey when it is matters of internal security, John. As a military man, you know that. We’re fighting a situation here on two fronts. Foreign incursions under the guise of humanitarian aid, but we all know they came here maybe to help at the start but are now here to stay. That is obviously a task for our traditional military. The lawlessness inside our country, though, that used to be the job of the various states themselves. It was decided we needed a new kind of national force to address that while Department of Defense handled the border situations.”

“So who is this secretary of National Unification?”

“Secretary Jensen. Used to be a senator from the Midwest. Good, solid man—I know him personally. He’s the one who pushed for this new national mobilization.”

“I see. And the men and women mobilized, will they be sworn into our army or into some new force?”

“Standard oath to defend the Constitution and acknowledge the president as commander in chief, but they will answer in chain of command through Jensen to the president,” he replied casually. “We’re trying to work at the local levels to find out who did service in the traditional military and call them back in to train and lead these new troops. It is one of the reasons I felt it essential to see you as soon as possible, and thank God you are alive.”

“Why?” John asked cautiously.

“I spoke personally to Jensen about you. What you accomplished. John, though you’re over fifty, we feel your country needs you. You’ve done your job here in Black Mountain; in fact, it could serve as a model for a thousand other towns that all but collapsed. They want to promote you to the rank of major general—in fact, even arrange transport by air up to Bluemont and put you to work up there.”

“My God,” John whispered.
Major general?
He had turned down a one-star promotion because of Mary and cancer, moving here so many years ago. The path in life not taken, which he never for a moment regretted. But major general?

“John, you accomplished a miracle here, and everyone knows it. Think of what you could do for your country working at the federal level at Bluemont, helping to pull things back together.”

“But what about here?” John asked.

“I have a second piece of news for you, General Matherson,” Dale said, smiling broadly, interrupting John’s musings.

“Don’t call me that yet,” John replied, his tone a bit icy. “A soldier is not addressed by a rank until it becomes formal, sir.”

Dale fumbled a bit and muttered an apology.

“So what’s the news?” John asked, trying to sound relaxed again.

“I got deferments from the draft for most of your people from this town, so you don’t have to worry about security here.”

“What?”

“Deferments for the draft from your community. It took some talking, but Secretary Jensen relented—said we can cut the number by half with you coming aboard. I explained that with your leaving, additional personnel needed to be left behind for security purposes.” He paused. “At least for now.”

“For now? What do you mean?”

“I daresay by the time there would be any additional call-ups, you and the team up in Bluemont will have set things straight. But anyhow, the draft allotment for Black Mountain, Montreat, and Swannanoa has been cut from 113 to 56. We’ll need to discuss who you have here who are vets with combat experience. If they are not on the draft list but volunteer, they’ll most likely step in as NCOs and officers. That will cut the number drafted, as well. We got a promise as well that the unit from here will most likely go with you to Bluemont to help provide security there. Light duty and not some of the tougher assignments like the rebellions in Pittsburgh, Cleveland, and Chicago.”

“Who will pick the fifty-six?” John asked.

“You, of course,” Dale replied, smiling broadly. “You know the community, the hardship cases, the ones that can be called up without too much stress on their families.”

“So I become the judge, the head of the draft board, is that it?”

“I think you are the best man qualified. I read that was how it was done back during the Second World War and Vietnam. Local draft boards. If you feel strongly about particular cases, you can assign someone else to go. When we drew up the draft list, we had to rely on a list of those who signed up for ration cards when the army was here last year. I worried that the list was incomplete and believe you can work it out in a fair manner.”

So that is how they got the names,
John thought. There had been some limited allotments of rations, MREs from the army battalion based in Asheville, but those who took them had to fill out ration cards.

“John, I know you are a man of integrity and fair play. I assume you’ll pick your daughter for the draft as an example for the rest of the community. Do so and she can then serve as your adjutant up in Bluemont. I heard how you trained the unit here and the way they fought in the action against the Posse and provided security for the community ever since. I think with experienced young men and women like that, the basic training can be skipped, and they just go into a unit that would serve directly under you.”

“It sounds good, Dale, and I appreciate your effort on my behalf. Please don’t think I’m not grateful, but honestly, at the moment, I feel like a size-ten head stuffed into a size-five hat. I need a little time to think this over.”

“Sure, John, sure. Sleep on it. Why don’t you and your lovely wife come up my way for dinner when you’re feeling better, and we can talk about it more then?”

John nodded, not replying.

Dale stood up as if to leave, saying he’d show himself out. He reached for the back door and then stopped. “Say. I heard some of your old students got a new electrical generator system running and are looking at starting to wire up the town. Is that right?”

“How did you hear that?”

“Word of such wonders travels fast. Mind if I go up to take a look at what they’re doing? If those kids are all that some are reporting, I got far bigger projects waiting for them in Asheville.”

“I’m sure they’ll be glad to show you around their workshop and power plant.”

“Thanks, John. Now get some rest.”

As the screen door slammed shut, the Humvee outside roared to life.

There was a gentle tapping on the door. It cracked open, and Makala peeked in.

“Enter?” she asked with a smile, and he nodded. “You look exhausted, John. We’ll talk about whatever happened later, but for now, dear patient, you need to get some sleep.”

She slipped out of the darkened room, but sleep would not come. There was far too much to think about now.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DAY 738

“So that’s the offer,” John said to the hundreds gathered in the town square, finishing up a recounting of his discussion with Dale two days earlier.

The members of the town council had come to sit down with John the day after Fredericks’s visit. No one was really sure how to read their new district administrator. He seemed friendly enough, but all were bothered by the fact that, after finishing his visit with John, he had spent a fair part of the day “poking around,” as Ed put it. He had indeed been up to the dam to talk to Paul and Becka, then to the campus to watch as the students still living there were running through a practice drill of clearing a house, using the MacGregor dorm with several “aggressors” hiding inside. The fact that Dale had seen only that troubled John; he was concerned it would leave the wrong impression that the college had become nothing more than a military barrack.