William Forstchen - One Second After

“I heard a radio broadcast,” John said.

“You mean Voice of America?” Washington replied.

“How did you know?”

“I was sitting up here last night, keeping an eye on things. The radio in that beautiful Mustang still works. Damn, I just turned it on. Sitting in an old Mustang, it was almost flashback time. Half-expected to hear Wolf-man Jack or Cousin Brucie.”

John chuckled.

“Yeah.”

“And loud and clear had the signal for about an hour or so. Just wish they’d knock off the patriotic stuff, play some old R & B or rock. Yeah, I heard it.”

“What do you think?”

“It’s propaganda for morale, nothing more. Maybe the news about the coastal towns is on the mark, but for the rest of us, today, next week, it’s bullshit. We got to look out for ourselves. I’m passing word at the barrier for people to turn around, to start heading for the coast. I know that’s insane, none have the strength to make it now, but maybe it will be a coun-terrumor that will work back down the line.” John nodded.

“Downside, though,” John said. “If the rumor hits that Posse crowd, that will move them up our way even faster. Under martial law every one of those bastards will be shot; the last thing they want now is any authority anywhere. We better work out a good tactical plan to defend this place against a serious attack right now and stop thinking about mob control or a few desperados trying to sneak in. If they have any ex-military types at all with them, they’ll do a probe first, then hit us hard. We got to keep an eye on our back doors, the railroad tunnel and the old back roads down to Old Fort. We’re no longer dealing with refugees; we’ll be facing an army as ruthless as anything in history.”

Washington nodded in agreement.

“I think I’ll go home,” John said.

The two shook hands and John went back up the slope by the bridge. He nodded to Brett concealed in the grass.

“Fran got a bit jumpy there. Glad she didn’t shoot that woman.”

“Same here,” though John wondered if a bullet in her head might have been an act of mercy.

He got in the Edsel and headed for home.

As he pulled into the drive, the two fools Ginger and Zach came off the deck to greet him. He knelt down to pet both and found himself hugging them.

“Daddy!”

It was Jennifer, Pat with her. “Everything ok?”

“Sure, Daddy.”

He looked at Jennifer closely. She had lost a few pounds. At every meal Jen had been pushing as much food into her as possible, meat and vegetables, which right now were still boiled dandelions. He looked up at the orchard. If only the trees were peach trees; in another several weeks they could start to gather the peaches. The apples were growing, but far too slow, it seemed.

He had never had any real interest in the eight trees, other than their beauty in the spring. The apples were rather sour in the fall, and they usually just left the fruit there to drop, delighted when the apples lured in bears to feed on them.

“She had to eat a little chocolate earlier,” Pat said. “Blood sugar went down.”

“Snitch,” Jennifer snapped.

“I promised your dad I’d keep an eye on you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

He hugged both of them, the two arguing as he went into the house. Jen was half-asleep, book laid across her chest, an old book on the Civil War.

“Where’s Elizabeth?”

“Oh, she and Ben went out for a walk,” Jen said, and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“They’re out there walking a lot these days,” John said.

“Well, Son-in-law, you better sit down.”

“Why?”

“I think you need to talk to the two of them.”

“About what?”

“Sex, getting pregnant.”

“Oh, damn, Jen, not now, not today, I don’t even want to think about it in relationship to her.”

“Few fathers do. But frankly, my son-in-law, I think your sixteen-year-old daughter is now, how shall we say, a woman.”

“Jesus, don’t even talk to me about this now.”

“Tyler and I had you and Mary figured out rather quickly.”

He blushed. Jen had never said that before. And he looked over at her.

“Almost to the day, I bet. At least I did. Tyler, like any dad, went totally blind to reality, and John, I see it in your daughter now.”

“Jen, not now,” he sighed. “There’s so damn much else going on.”

Jen nodded slowly.

“And you don’t want to face this issue. OK, but you better face up to it, John. Those two are scared, don’t see much of a future ahead, the old restraints fall away. I’m old enough to remember the Second World War; it was the same then. Eighteen-year-old kids who knew each other just a couple days or weeks would figure ‘what the hell’ and either marry on the spot or have to get married within a few months. Our ‘Greatest Generation’ stuff tends to make us forget just how young and scared they were back then. So face up to the reality, dear son-in-law. You’re the history professor; you know what happens inside kids when there’s a war on.”

Too much was happening today. He stood up, peeked into Jennifer’s room. She and Pat were playing a game with Jennifer’s Pokemon cards.

Her skin color looked off, a bit yellowish, pale.

Dear God, but one planeload of supplies into Asheville, but one, and my worst worry is gone.

“Would you talk to her?” he asked, looking back at Jen.

“Coward, and yes, I already have. But I think you as a dad better talk to both of them as well.”

“OK, later,” he said a bit too quickly.

Looking at Zach and Ginger, John went to the gun cabinet. He pulled out the 20-gauge and headed out the door, the two dogs slowly trotting along behind him, knowing that today there just might be some food if their master and provider got lucky.

He awoke to the dogs barking and instantly knew… someone was in the house.

They had drilled the plan after the murder of the Connors last week, their home at the top of the road, all four of them, parents, two kids, the house then ransacked from one end to the other for whatever scraps of food they might have.

He didn’t hesitate, shotgun up as he stepped out of the office crouching low.

The two dogs were barking madly, snarling, and then he heard the crack of a gun and a high-pitched, yelping scream.

He stepped into the living room. The back door into the kitchen was wide open. Two men, at least it looked like two men.

So this was the moment and he did it without hesitation.

The first blast nearly decapitated the man by the door. The second turned; one shot fired wild and the second blast caught that one in the guts, flinging him back against the kitchen counter.

The girls had been drilled; if there was an intruder they were supposed to get on the floor behind the bed. The water bed where they now slept together was an excellent barrier….

After several seconds Elizabeth started screaming “Daddy!”

“Stay put!”

Crouched down low, he came around the turn into the kitchen. The one man was definitely dead; even in the dark moonlight John could see that, the other whimpering, kicking spasmodically. By his side was Zach, crying pitifully, Ginger, with hackles raised, snarling at the wounded man.

There could be someone outside, John realized, but first he crawled over to the wounded man, grabbed his pistol, which was on the floor, a .22 revolver from the feel of it, and stuck it into his belt. The other man didn’t have a gun, just a machete, and John took that with his free hand.

He headed back to the wide-open door, was about to step out, then thought twice, doubling back through the house, coming in low to first Jennifer’s room and then Elizabeth’s to make sure there wasn’t a third intruder.