One Year After: A Novel (16 page)

Fredericks had then made a show of going about town in his Humvee, rarely talking to anyone. John knew the reaction to Fredericks was actually rather normal. Across the previous two years, he and the community had learned how to function on their own. What Ed and the others saw as “poking around” was a normal part of an inspection tour upon taking a new command. Most would look askew at new guys until they had proven themselves. Though John had his own questions—and Makala had outright disdain—he was willing to concede a testing-out time.

“The few that cornered him long enough to ask about the draft,” Ed continued, “were given a stock reply, John, that the two of you were working out an arrangement that ‘everyone will be happy with.’”

So the word was out. After the visit by the town council, it was decided to call for a town-square meeting to be held in the town park if the weather was good. Makala had objected to the physical strain of him addressing what might be several hundred or more who might get a bit ugly, but he felt it had to be done before he went back to Asheville. The town still had a functional bullhorn, and she insisted that everyone understood why he was sitting down rather than his usual method of delivery, which was on his feet, walking about and into the crowd.

*   *   *

The
crowd was far bigger than he had expected, five hundred or more. A mixed array of vehicles were parked along State and Main—motorcycles and mopeds, precomputerized cars from the ’50s and ’60s, tractors, vehicles that ran on recycled cooking oil, an old flatbed tractor trailer from up in Swannanoa that hauled fifty or more people in, even half a dozen cars with the strange-looking canvas balloons on their roofs storing gas from charcoal burners strapped to tailgates or pickup truck flatbeds. How those worked John still couldn’t figure out, but apparently they had been something of a fixture on the streets of Japan in the final months of the Second World War.

They opened with what was now the firm tradition of Reverend Black offering a prayer, followed by the news. The public announcement was made of Pat Stepp’s death; at John’s behest, Reverend Black did not state the cause of death, and then he quickly moved on to the happy news of three births in the community. Then the group sang the national anthem and pledged to the flag.

The first question from the crowd actually asked for a brief account of what had transpired with the reivers. With a couple dozen of the Stepp family present, he thought it best not to have two controversies blow in one night, so he simply said he was taken prisoner, traded for salt—for which, since it came from the town supplies, he would personally find a way to compensate the community—expressed remorse for the loss the Stepps had endured, and said that, henceforth, the guard along that border would be doubled. He felt it best to talk to the Stepps afterward, in private, to ask how they felt about a truce rather than seeing them go out on a vendetta raid.

And then he recounted the discussion with Dale, struggling a bit to remember precisely the nature of the exchange, asking for forgiveness if he had forgotten anything but that he was still rather battered up when Dale had arrived. Taking a deep breath, he opened the meeting for questions, asking that folks step up in front of all and speak loudly so all could hear, and that if anyone wished to comment, to keep it to the agreed-upon limit of two minutes; otherwise, they would be at it half the night.

The community had reverted in many ways to the old New England tradition of open town meetings, except in cases of actual trials for crimes, which were again handled as they had been before the Day. Norm Schiach, the town’s well-respected lawyer, acted as judge. There was no town jail other than a holding tank in the police station for the drunk and disorderly. Theft of food was still considered to be just about the most heinous of offenses, and several times, the punishment of banishment from the community had been the sentence. The starving times were still such a close memory that all saw such an act as close to murder.

John finished his description of the conversation with Dale Fredericks and then dropped the bomb—that he had been offered a position with the federal government and that if he accepted, the draft for their community would be cut in half. That caused a stir, and it was several minutes before the meeting came somewhat back to order. He sighed inwardly.

Ernie Franklin was already on his feet, and half a dozen followed him, ready to pull the parliamentarian game that as Ernie’s time was up, the next person behind him would just announce, “I yield my time to speak to Ernie,” who could then continue to press whatever it was he was peeved about.

It was going to be a long night, and regardless of how his head still throbbed, John would have to play his role.

“So let me get this straight,” Ernie said without preamble or need for introduction. “You volunteer to go in with the fancy rank of major general and half of those who got draft notices are let off the hook. Is that it, John?”

“Yes. If I volunteer, the draft quota is cut in half.”

“So which half goes if you accept?”

“I didn’t say I’d volunteer,” John replied. “I just said that was the offer.”

“Well, are you going to volunteer, John? I mean, what the hell … you get to be a major general. Rations must be damn good with those pencil pushers who created this mess in the first place and then ran to their bunkers up in Virginia, most likely even get some sort of pay, as well.”

“Like I said, Ernie, I haven’t decided yet.”

“Why not volunteer? You get to be a major general, the draft for our town is cut in half, and the other half gets a safe assignment with you. It strikes me as a darn good deal, John, for you and for us.”

There was a loud muttering of agreement from the crowd.

“I have to look at all the factors, Ernie, and ultimately, it’s a personal decision.”

“Personal? This is about more than a hundred families here. I don’t see that as a personal decision just for you to make.”

Maury Hurt, arm still in a sling, came to his feet. “Who the hell are you, Ernie, to tell him what to do? Frankly, I think the offer stinks, putting John in a position of damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t. The way it was offered, putting John on the spot like this, tells me something isn’t kosher with this deal. I think we should have a vote that regardless of John’s decision, either we go along with the full draft or say no to the whole damn thing.”

“Easy for you to say, Hurt,” Ernie retorted. “Your kids aren’t being called up.”

That triggered an explosion of arguments and accusations. Reverend Black and Ed stood up by John’s side, shouting for order.

Ed finally seized the bullhorn, yelling that if folks didn’t shut the hell up, the meeting was over and he’d clear the town square by force if need be. The crowd finally settled down, and Ed handed the bullhorn back to John.

“I’m not comfortable with this offer of cutting the draft in half. Fredericks threw in the caveat that the cut was ‘for now.’”

“Then get the statement in writing,” Ernie interjected. “John, it’s about whose ox is getting gored today, at this moment. I’ve lost one grandson in this already in the fight against the Posse; I’m not about to see others getting shipped off, and your decision can be a difference for all of us.”

“Time’s up, Ernie,” Reverend Black announced calmly, holding up his watch. “Next question or comment.”

“I yield my time to Mr. Franklin,” the man behind Ernie announced.

John sighed inwardly but forced a nod of agreement.

“So what is it, John?” Ernie pressed.

“I’ll decide after tomorrow.”

“Why not now? That means fifty-six families can breathe easier tonight.”

“Hey, Ernie, why don’t you back the hell off?” It was Lee Robinson, John’s old neighbor before both their homes were gutted out in the battle with the Posse. “My boy’s been called up, but I’ll be damned if I’ll pressure John to volunteer on the fifty-fifty chance just to save his hide from this. John’s done more than enough already.”

There were mutterings of agreement from the crowd, even though Lee had spoken out of turn.

“Why don’t we see a show of hands here from those who got draft notices if they’re willing to volunteer to go,” Lee pressed in.

Reverend Black picked up on it. “Good suggestion, Lee. How many who received draft notices are willing to volunteer to go?”

John could not help but look over at Elizabeth, who was standing next to Makala, Ben in her arms, nuzzled in against his mother and nearly asleep. She raised her right hand.

He felt a deep swelling of pride but also anguish. It was the torment all loving parents feel when they see their child making a difficult and perhaps dangerous decision as an adult when, in memory, they still see the small innocent child of years long gone.

It seemed as if every person in the crowd looked to her, the daughter of John Matherson. Hand after hand now went up, some swiftly, others reluctantly. One of Ernie’s grandsons raised his hand, even though he had not received a draft notice.

More than half were willing to volunteer, and John felt a lump in his throat. The idealism of youth. Nearly every last one of them had fought in the battle against the Posse. Every one of them had seen death in all the vicious multitude of forms that only a battlefield can deliver, all of them had lost friends and loved ones that day. One of the hands raised was a hollow-eyed young man in his early twenties, and John remembered how he had to be restrained from committing suicide on that day when he found his girlfriend dead, lying in the gutter by the side of the highway where the final minutes of the battle had been fought out. The boy had never recovered, just going through the motions of living, and he most likely welcomed this chance to perhaps honorably end it all at last.

“This is hardly fair,” John said softly, megaphone off so that only those sitting closest to him could hear. He raised his head and motioned for the volunteers to put their hands down, shaking his head. “Ernie, could I have a few minutes?” he asked, and to his surprise, Ernie relented. John was not sure if his opponent of the moment had been taken off guard by the response, including that of one of his grandsons.

“Don’t do this now,” John said, keeping the megaphone off but coming to his feet so that all could see and hear him. “I don’t want to sound like the professor type, but remember, I used to study and teach about stuff like this. We, we here, have made some hard decisions together, and at times, you had to trust me to make them on my own or that the council back in city hall had to make, clear back to that day when those two damned souls, the drug thieves, had to be shot.

“Lee made a fair call with asking who would actually volunteer, but that becomes a group pressure thing, and history has shown us that nine times out of ten, it can be manipulated or go astray. A few score hands go up, and the rest feel guilty, some afraid they’ll be called cowards, others because it is what their friends are doing. And at times, it is dead wrong when a group, whipped up by emotion, is called to make a decision that should be made in private and after deep reflection.”

“How do you feel about this draft?” Ernie replied.

“Personally or in my position in this town?”

“Cut the horseshit. Just how do you really feel about it?”

“I’m a soldier. You never really take the uniform off for as long as you live. We still call ourselves Americans. Some people might think it hokey, but we still sing the national anthem and salute the flag here. So in light of that, if this is a legitimate order from a legitimate government, then I will say that for the sake of national unity, we obey it.”

The crowd now erupted into various factions, some shouting approval, others crying out that they had received damn near nothing from the federal government for two years other than a few rations, and now half of their surviving defenders were being ordered to God knows where. And some shouted that there was no longer a government at all and those in Bluemont could go to hell for getting them into this mess to start with.

The meeting was rapidly breaking down, angry shouting when one of the young women who had raised her hand to volunteer turned on a friend who had refused, called her a traitor and a coward; a fistfight erupted, half a dozen then wading in to break it up.

John felt it a good excuse to try to close things off. He bent over to pick up the bullhorn, feeling light-headed when he stood back up, and clicked it several times to get attention. “A suggestion for all of us,” he announced, and the crowd, which had been focused on the brawl, turned back toward him.

“Ed, could you do me a favor and haul those two hotheads off to the drunk tank until morning and they’ve calmed down?”

There was a time during the first year that none would have dared a brawl at the town meetings, a major reason being that the starving time was so intense that few had the energy. It was also because the draconian response then needed, especially when it came to days when public rations were issued and guards at the favorite pizza restaurant—which had been converted into the bakery for two slices of bread per citizen, heavily laced with sawdust—were ordered by him to shoot to kill if a riot over food broke out.

“Let’s call it a night,” John offered. “We can stay here for hours and argue ourselves blue in the face, and it won’t change anything for the moment.”

“I second John Matherson’s motion,” Reverend Black announced quickly, “and suggest we call it a night. Dawn comes early now, and there’s a lot of work for all of us to see to tomorrow.”

John smiled inwardly at that. For nearly everyone, it was no longer an annoying alarm clock set to a particular hour. In winter, one slept in late and went to bed early; in summer, especially now at spring planting time, it really was up before dawn with twelve or more hours of heavy, backbreaking labor ahead for the majority.

John exchanged glances with Ernie. “Okay with you, Ernie?” John asked.

Ernie could see the hands going up in agreement to end the meeting for now and reluctantly nodded, outmaneuvered in the public forum. “After the meeting with this Fredericks, we’d like a report, John, and to hear your decision about yourself.”