One Second After (32 page)

Charlie sighed, rubbing his beard, and then nodded.

“I authorize you to have the authority to declare a person to be mentally deranged and to have them incarcerated, if need be against their will or that of their family. Tom, you will be responsible for arrest. I'll post that notice later today.”

Kellor nodded.

“I think in at least thirty or forty cases we should move preemptively, meaning now, even if they still have some meds left. As a doctor, I know which of my patients were truly over the edge long before this happened. Patients who had repeated hospitalizations and incidents. Tom, you would know some of them, too, from incidents that led to their going to a psychiatric unit or jail. I think we should grab those people now before it gets bad.”

“One thing,” John said quietly.

“Go on.”

“Keep in the back of our minds how that power was also used to lock
up those that neighbors just didn't like, political dissenters, and, in a darker time, the belief that insanity was satanic and the resulting witch hunts. We got a couple small churches in this community that are already preaching that this disaster is God's punishment to a sinful nation, and/or that it is now the end-time. I never thought about what Doc here was saying in regards to mass psychosis, but we might see some of these deranged people being seen either as prophets if they have a good gift for gab even though they're crazy or, on the other side, demonically possessed.”

“Damn, this is starting to sound medieval,” Kate sighed.

“We are medieval, Kate,” John shot back. “If we got people going off the deep end, and definitely if there is prior record of severe mental disorder, yes indeed, we'll have to lock them up, for everyone's protection. All we need is a bunch of people following some mad prophet around or a mob stoning a witch and it could come to that, but it's a fine line and we can't go overboard on it. We all know the news leaking in from Knoxville about that crazy cult; we don't want even the beginnings of it here.”

John looked over at Kellor, who nodded in agreement.

“And one other item related to this,” Kellor said. “Alcohol. The rush on the ABC store pretty well cleaned it out on Day One and the looting afterwards finished it.”

John found himself thinking about single-malt scotch, the few ounces left in his bottle behind the desk.

“So the drunks, the hard-core alcoholics, are out by now, and that can get tough. My concern: some will try anything for a drink, trying to distill it.”

“Every ear of corn goes to food,” Charlie snapped. “We catch anyone trying to steal corn to turn into booze and there will be hell to pay.”

“Not that, Charlie. I mean trying to distill out of
any
potential source, right down to people thinking they can get something out of hydraulic fluid. I've already got one idiot blinded because of wood alcohol. That's going to go up as well.”

“A dry community,” Kate chuckled softly. “We were for a long time after the Depression. Guess we are again.”

“Now down to the harder issue,” Kellor continued. “Food.”

There were sighs around the table.

“With the cutting of rations yet again, we are, at best, doling out little more than twelve hundred calories a day per person. Our reserve stockpiles
are down to not much more than ten days. I am going to have to suggest a further cut, by a third or so, to extend that out to fifteen days.”

“What I was thinking as well,” Charlie replied.

“What about the food on the hoof, cattle, pigs, horses?”

“We've gone through a third of that stock, and we must stretch that reserve out as long as possible.”

“For how long?” Kate asked.

“The radio, though,” Tom said. “If things are coming back online down on the coast, hell, help might be up here in another month or two. All they need is one diesel-electric locomotive and it can haul ten thousand tons of food and supplies.”

“Easier said than done,” John announced. “When we got hit, every train on every track in the country stalled. It's not like a highway, where you just move around it. Once they get some locomotives working, every stalled train on every line will have to be pushed somewhere to clear the line. All switches will have to be set manually.

“I've been hoping the folks up at Smoky Mountain Railroad might actually get something running with their steam locomotive, their track actually connects down into Asheville, but there hasn't been a word about it.

“Whatever help is coming in now, it will be from the coast. We are now like America of two hundred years ago. Get a day's walk in from the coast or a major river and you are in wilderness. So don't plan anything here with the hope that just maybe the legendary ‘they' will show up.”

“Maybe isn't definite,” Charlie replied. “I agree with John on this one. Think of it, Tom; let's say the navy did steam into Charleston. There's a million people there without food. Anything beyond spitting distance of the sea I'm not optimistic for right now. Doc, tell us what you are thinking.”

“The rations are running short,” Kellor said. “Compounded by the fact that more and more of our locals are applying for ration cards as well, now that their own food stocks have run out. So even as we run out, there are more mouths to feed.”

John had yet to apply for ration cards for his family. He had always been proficient with a rifle, and using the .22 he had nailed several possums, a number of squirrels for the dogs, and remarkably, just the day before, a tom turkey that had been such a feast that he had invited the Robinson family up to join them, Lee Robinson actually producing a quart bottle of beer and canned corn for the occasion. Makala had been there as well with
a chocolate bar she had kept stashed away. Even the dogs had been given some scraps.

The possums, well, they reminded John of the old television series where Granny was always talking about possum pie. Jen was horrified when he had brought the first one in, she tried roasting it in the stove out on the deck, a disaster, but they were learning, even though the darn things were greasy as hell.

“You realize that if we cut back to around nine hundred calories a day we are at nearly the same level as the siege of Leningrad. Resistance is already down; the average person has lost at least fifteen pounds or more. For many that's actually damn good, but now we start getting into the body eating itself, and not just the reserve fat most Americans carry around.

“Strength will be impacted significantly and I want to talk more about that in a few minutes. For the general population on rations the impact is going to start kicking in within the next couple of weeks. Immunological systems in everybody are weakening, meaning if that flu down in Old Fort gets up here, it will be like the 1918 epidemic that killed nearly two million in America. I'd estimate ten percent of us dying in a matter of days if flu breaks out. I think, Charlie, that we will have to shut down our free passage through the gap or change the procedure. Lord knows how many flu carriers are walking along our interstate every day heading west.”

Charlie sighed and looked over at John and Tom.

“We do that,” Tom said, “there'll be more riots. Getting those people moving further west has prevented any more problems since the big riot of two weeks back.”

“I agree with Tom,” John said. “Block the barrier, we'll have a buildup of a couple of thousand again within days, even more desperate than the first wave, and it will be a bloody fight. Let them through, but drill our people on extra caution.”

“They're wearing the hazmat suits already,” Charlie said.

“Yeah, and most likely taking them off with their bare hands, not washing down properly.”

He sighed.

“It'll most likely jump no matter what we do. People are not just staying on the roads; they're crawling up through the woods.”

“I'm getting reports of that,” Tom said. “Strangers breaking into houses,
then running back up into the woods when someone shows up. Most likely outsiders.”

John looked at Kate, who said nothing. The word was ingrained now across the populace. Even those who had not been inside the town on the first day but came in before the barriers went up were now using it, almost as if to say, “I'm here now; I'm not one of
them
.”

“Nutrition-wise, thank God we're well into June. Scurvy is not a concern; we got enough greens of one sort or another, though the soup made out of boiled grass and dandelions is a bit rough to swallow. The first vegetables are starting to come in as well.”

Throughout May Charlie, taking a page from the memories of some of the older folks, had called for a Victory Garden campaign. Every last seed in town had been snapped up and once beautiful lawns, yet another luxury of a pampered society, had been spaded over for lettuce, squash, beans, anything that could be eaten.

“Still, we are on the real edge now of running out.”

“Damn it, Doc,” Kate snapped. “We still got forty head of cattle here, a couple of hundred hogs, the horses, and Swannanoa maybe even more.”

“One cow a day for ten thousand?” Kellor asked. “At best two ounces of meat, less than a cheap hamburger at a fast-food joint without the bread. OK, two cows a day and a hog. Five ounces of meat, barely enough, and the cows in both communities are gone in not much more than days, every last one. Then the horses, maybe another ten to twelve days. Then the rest of the hogs. Seventy days max and we've eaten our way through the lot. Then what?”

“And that's at everyone getting about a thousand to twelve hundred calories a day. Then we are out of food, one hundred percent bankrupt.”

He looked at Charlie.

“You got to plan until next spring, four times longer than what we've been talking about.”

Charlie looked at John, who reluctantly nodded in agreement.

“Don't count on anything from the outside, perhaps never. To get to us from Charleston, they'll first have to reestablish control in Columbia, then up to Greenville, Spartanburg. There are millions of people down there, just a couple of hundred thousand up here . . . and besides . . . they'll think we're OK up here in the mountains. Everyone always thinks that up the mountains there'll be plenty of food.”

“What about trying to send Don Barber down there with his plane?” Tom asked.

There were several nods of agreement.

“At least it'd let them know we are up here.”

Charlie shook his head.

“That plane is valuable beyond measure for keeping an eye on things locally. Its range, though, fully gassed is less than two hundred miles.

“We could rig up some kind of strap-on tanks to take it one way into Charleston,” Tom said.

“Why?” Charlie asked.

“To get help,” Tom said. “For God's sake, at least he could come back with some medicine. Doc Kellor could give him a list. Antibiotics, anesthesia . . .”

He hesitated and drew in his breath.

“Maybe even some insulin.”

John looked at him, not sure how to react, it was as if a taboo had been broken, to not speak of the threat to Jennifer. He could see the look in the police chief's eyes, they were filled with compassion.

John couldn't speak, a flash thought that maybe Tom was right. Surely whoever was down there would answer their appeal.

“I'm sorry, Tom,” it was Charlie, speaking softly. “And John, God in heaven knows I'm sorry for you, too, but I have to say no.”

John couldn't speak, feeling that his worst nightmare had just been laid bare before this group, that a decision he now desired was obviously for himself, and the logical one that he knew Charlie would drive for he would be forced to agree with, even though he wanted to stand up and scream for them to agree with Tom or he'd quit being on the council.

He was embarrassed to realize he was actually trembling, eyes filling up with tears.

“It is a hard question of logic,” Charlie continued, unable to look directly at John. “We definitely do have Don Barber's plane, we need that to keep an eye on the territory around us, it is crucial for the survival of all of us. We all know the rumors about various gangs starting to form up, only Don Barber and his L-3 can give us advance warning if they are coming this way.

“Sure the Navy might be down there in Charleston, but John, you yourself said there's millions of people along the coast they are already tending
to. And besides, I think Doc Kellor would agree with me, how much insulin do you think they carry on board Navy ships, most likely none at all, and what was down there has most likely already been used.”

John lowered his head, he did not want anyone to see his tears.

“If I was in command down there,” Charlie continued, his voice sad, remote, “I'd give Don Barber some platitudes, maybe a few bags of antibiotics at best and a promise that help was on the way. I will not risk our only plane for that.

“And besides, worst case scenario, they just might confiscate Don's plane and that would be the end of it.

“If they are starting to rebuild down there it will be a step at time,” Charlie continued, “restringing wire into the adjoining town, establishing order, then moving farther in. And with each step it'll mean more to feed; get as far as Columbia and they'll add a million or more extra people to take care of, or down the coast to Savannah another million or two. No, they're not going to come up here with relief supplies based on an appeal of a few thousand of us up in the mountains arriving via an antique plane.”

There was a long moment of silence until John finally nodded his head in agreement.

“Charlie, I got a hard proposition to make,” Kellor said breaking the silence.

“Go on.”

“So far we've been very egalitarian about the food. Everyone on the same rations, young children and expectant and nursing mothers the only exemptions for getting extra, something absolutely no one would object to. But you do have to consider that we might have to categorize.”