William Forstchen - One Second After

“You know I can’t do that, John.”

“I mean once it starts to run short. Load up what you think you’ll need for you and your family; then get out. When you start running out, it could get ugly.”

She looked up at him and smiled, all five foot two of her standing with shoulders back.

“Jim taught me how to use that gun,” she said. “I’ll see things through.” John squeezed her shoulder.

“God bless you,” and he walked out. The line behind the counter was growing. There were several nods of recognition; some were silent. Apparently everyone in line knew what had just happened with the bloody man whom Pat had thoroughly trussed up with, of all things, a roll of duct tape.

One woman saw the bag John was carrying.

“Matherson, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked past John to Liz. “What did you give him back there?”

“Just some syringes for his little girl, that’s all, Julie.”

“I don’t want to hear tell of any special treatment going on here, Liz. If so, I’ve been a customer of this firm for twenty years and let me tell you I have a list here….”

John went down aisle four. Surprisingly, there was a whole stack of one-pound Hershey bars, and without hesitating he scooped them all up and dumped them into the bag. The high-school-aged girl behind the counter saw him do it, not sure what to say as he walked by.

“Don’t worry. Liz said I can take them now and pay later.”

The girl nodded, his action setting off an argument with a customer who had no cash and wanted cigarettes.

Outside John opened up the ice cooler. There were still a dozen ten-pound bags inside. He unlocked the car, opened the back door, and went back, pulling out four bags and tossing them in, went back again, and started to grab four more, then hesitated, looking at Makala.

He took just two, closed the lid, tossed them in the car, and slammed the door shut.

John got into the car, took a deep breath, started it up, and lit another cigarette.

“That’ll kill you someday,” Makala said quietly. He looked over at her, unable to speak.

“You did the right thing. And so did Liz. Any parent would have done the same.” John sighed.

“Remember the old movies, the old cartoons from the Second World War. All the stuff about food hoarders.”

“A bit before my time.”

“Hell, I’m only forty-eight; I remember ’em.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Your girl has type one diabetes, doesn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“You better get home now like Liz said.”

Makala reached over the backseat, and he felt like an absolute bastard, for he found himself looking at her as she stretched, dress riding up to midthigh.

She caught his eye as she pulled a bag of ice over, and said nothing as she broke it open. She dumped the box of syringes out of the plastic bag and then gently laid the bag containing the vials atop the open ice.

“That should do till you get home. Don’t pack them inside the ice; they’ll freeze and that will ruin them. Try wrapping insulation around the ice, but keep the top open and have the vials on top. That should keep them at roughly the right temperature. Stash the remaining ice inside your freezer; that’s the best-insulated place for them.

“With some luck the ice should last you up to a week.”

“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” John said.

“Well, helping me find some food might be a good starter,” she said with a smile.

“I know where there’s great barbecue.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

He pulled out of the plaza and headed back towards town.

“Hope you don’t mind a personal question?” she asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Who’s Mary?”

“My wife.”

“How long ago?”

“Breast cancer, four years back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” he lied. “She left me two beautiful girls.”

“I could see that last night. I kind of suspected your younger was diabetic. In my business you can spot it. That’s why it didn’t bother me too much when you took off like you did. Stress is bad for her situation.”

“I know. Again, I’m sorry about running out on you like that.”

She smiled.

“Oh, there was a truck driver there, a regular white knight. He finally beat the crap out of the drunk, then walked us ladies down to the motel.”

She hesitated.

“You kind of surprised me, the way you took that man out in the drugstore.”

“You figured I was running out at first, didn’t you?”

“Well, to be honest, yeah, I did.”

“I didn’t, though.”

She chuckled softly. “You sure as hell didn’t. Bit underhanded maybe, but you settled it.”

“If you must fight, fight to win,” John said quietly.

“You know you got a cut hand, don’t you.”

He looked at his right hand, and for the first time the pain registered. Part of the broken bottle had laid a deep slice into his right forefinger clear down to the crease with his thumb.

Damn, it suddenly hurt like hell.

“Pull over; let me look at it.”

He drifted to the side of the road and came to a stop. She took his hand and gently spread the wound open; now it really hurt. “You’ll need stitches. Ten to twelve from the looks of it.” As she examined it, blood dripped onto her suit. “Be careful, your suit,” he said. She ignored him.

“I don’t have anything sterile on me. You should stop at a doctor’s.”

“Later. I want to get the medicine home first. Besides, the doc is most likely swamped right now.”

As he spoke he nodded towards the road.

Maury Hurt’s World War II Jeep was coming down off the exit ramp of the interstate, four people piled in, one a child with shoulders hunched over, pale faced, gasping. Lying across the back of the Jeep was an elderly woman who John could see was already dead.

“We don’t realize just how dependent we are,” Makala sighed, watching as the Jeep weaved around some stalled cars to head into town.

“I’d hate to be in my hospital right now. If the generators didn’t kick on, everyone in ICU or under surgery is most likely dead. I watched one poor fool killing himself last night. Had a Beemer like mine. The drunks kind of scared him and he insisted on pushing the car as if somebody was actually going to steal it. Damn fool. Someone told me later that he collapsed. People are crazy and this is bringing it out big-time.” She let go of his hand.

“If you can find something I’ll bandage it up, but you should get that medicine home.”

He wondered if she was inviting herself over. And at that moment he honestly didn’t know how to react.

He started the car back up and drove into town, turning onto State Street. More and more people were crowding in around the town hall complex. Poor Tom had a cordon of his officers out. A large hand-lettered sign was posted at the main intersection: “Emergency Medical,” pointing towards the firehouse next to the town hall.

“Maybe I should go over there and help,” she said.

“First get some food,” John replied.

He had already turned onto State Street, and seconds later the elementary school was in view.

“Why not go back there and get some stitches?”

“My mother-in-law can handle it,” he finally said.

“Sure,” and there wasn’t any reaction in her voice one way or the other. “Just make sure you dose it well with an antibiotic. If things are as bad as I heard you say to Liz, you can’t risk any kind of infection.” Yes, ma’am.

“Come on; it’s ‘Makala.’”

He smiled.

“Right.”

He pulled up onto the lawn of the elementary school. Pete was still at his grill. The line was just about gone. John got out of the car and walked up; Makala followed.