William Forstchen - One Second After

“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.”

“What?”

John rousing from his shock regarding trying to get insulin could see it coming and looked over at Charlie. Charlie just did not seem to be in form; quick decisions were coming slower now. Was it just simple exhaustion, or could it be something else?

“Higher rations for the police force, those doing hard labor, and the militia,” Kellor said.

“I don’t like this,” Kate interjected. “The old line from Animal Farm that pigs are more equal than other animals.”

“Kate, the level for rations has dropped below maintaining efficiency for doing anything much beyond getting out of bed and then just sitting all day. We got people up trying to contain that fire along Haw Creek; guys fighting forest fires used to get high-energy diets of upwards of four thousand or more calories a day. Same with soldiers. You can’t expect people to do hard work on nine hundred calories a day. If we do, in three more weeks everyone will be in collapse, too weak to even start bringing in the harvest from the few farms with corn, let alone defend the gap, contain people wandering around insane…”

Kellor’s voice died off and he just sat there numb.

“We have to do it,” John said.

“John, I kind of thought you’d be on my side in this,” Kate replied. John shook his head.

“Precedents throughout history. Ancient and medieval cities under siege, soldiers always received more rations. Though it was more for psychological and morale impact during World War II, our rationing was always directed towards getting resources to the men on the front line. In every other country in that war, the rationing was very real and at times,” he hesitated, “a form of triage.

“Doc mentioned Leningrad. There they had to make the hard assessment that there simply wasn’t enough food for everyone to stay alive, so it came down to soldiers and then essential workers getting enough to keep going, another level down for expectant and new mothers, children, and…”

He stopped speaking and looked back at Kellor.

“We have just over ten thousand souls in our communities. About enough food still on hand to keep a thousand, maybe two thousand in top health until autumn, when we’ll at least get some small amount of food in from the cornfields and orchards. We try and feed everyone at the same level, I doubt if many will survive, dying from both starvation and also being overrun by desperate people from the outside more hungry than us. Long before that, what semblance of order we have will totally break down as well.”

“Sweet Jesus, are we talking about deliberately starving some of our people to death?” Kate cried. “This is America, for God’s sake.”

No one spoke for a moment. For John it was the word “America” that hit. The land of milk and honey, the land where obesity had been considered a major health issue, almost a national right, with food chains boasting about who had the biggest, fattest burger. He often wondered, even then, what reaction there would be if such ads had been sent to Liberia, Yemen, or Afghanistan, showing America’s excessive waste.

“‘Deliberately starving people to death’ is putting it rather bluntly,” Kellor replied defensively.

“Death is rather blunt,” Kate shot back.

“It’s the harsh reality,” John said, his voice distant. “It is that simple. We have x amount of food and y amount of people. The formula collapses in the next couple of weeks. The y amount of people is going to have to be subdivided if any are to survive.”

“We have to do it,” Charlie said, his voice soft.

“Well, I’m not going along with it,” Kate said.

“Remember, Kate, this is not a democracy at the moment. If you wish not to go along with it and stop drawing rations, that is fine with me.”

“The rest of you here?” Kate shouted. “Now you do have Animal Farm; you have the commissars and the famines in Russia. Do you think people will stand for it?”

“Personally, I’m not going to draw extra rations,” Charlie said.

“Charlie,” Doc interjected, “you have to. I know your health; remember, I was your family doc. You have a touch of hypertension and acid reflux. You’re slowing down even now; everyone in this room can see it.”

“It’s just exhaustion,” Charlie replied sharply. “Let me get a good night’s sleep undisturbed.”

“Bullshit,” Doc snapped. “You’re doing the work of two men and eating the same as everyone else. You’ll burn out; you are burning out.”

“Well, it’d be one helluva note to announce we’re going to starve a lot of people around here and I’m walking around fat and happy. Screw that.”

John lowered his head.

“He’s right,” John whispered. “Though I disagree on one point. Not a word of this is to be discussed publicly.”

“You do sound like a commissar now!” Kate shouted. He glared at her.

“Think I like what I just said?” John replied sharply. “But Charlie, if you go outside and say that some are now going to get more rations it will be a riot within the hour. I’d suggest we quietly move some extra rations up to the college campus. What we’re talking about primarily applies to them anyhow. Those getting extra food get it there and there only. But as for Charlie’s personal example, that’s his decision and, I’ll have to say, the moral one.”

Charlie nodded and slowly sat down.

“Moving food in secret? Secret eating while others starve?” Kate shook her head. “I never dreamed we’d come to this point so fast, and agree to it, here, right here in our town.”