John followed Washington to a table set directly in front of the now-closed doors that had once opened onto the cafeteria line. As they reached their table the room fell silent, all eyes turned towards them.
Without prompting Reverend Abel stepped forward and offered the blessing and finished, John and a few others making the sign of the cross.
But Washington remained standing. “I am proud of you,” Washington said.
The room was absolutely silent, no matter how longingly some looked at the feast before them, a largess of meat not seen in weeks.
“I am proud of all of you, everyone. Those who are bringing in food for us, especially our marksman Brett Huffman.”
Brett, who had dropped the bear, stood up, and there was a round of applause and cheering.
“But also for all the rest of you. Those of you gathering, those of you searching, those of you in jobs some might think unglamorous, the work in the refugee center, the isolation ward, the infirmary, the woodcutting crews.”
He looked around the room.
“Tonight or tomorrow we face battle.”
A murmur swept through the room.
“You’ve heard the rumors about a group called the Posse. We just received intelligence they are headed this way.”
No one spoke, but John could see the anxious looks back and forth.
“There will be battle by this time tomorrow and some of you will die. I have never lied to you; I never will. Some of you will die.”
And now he had their attention like never before.
“You are now soldiers. Every one of you. Those of you who trained for it, and those who have not. Every student of this college is now mobilized as we previously discussed. Those who are not assigned to our two combat companies will fall in as medics, messengers, and in the other jobs you have been trained for. I expect all of you to do your duty as soldiers.”
Washington turned and started to sit down. Before John even quite realized what he was doing, he stood up.
A few had started to cut into their meal, but as he stood they stopped, looking towards him.
“Tonight, tomorrow, you will fight. It is, tragically, the day you grow up and will never be able to turn back from. You are the defenders of thousands of people in this town who are now too weak to defend themselves. And now I will be blunt. I will fall silent for a moment and I want you to look at the meal before you. That food is food sacrificed by others to give you strength to defend them . .. and yourselves.”
He did fall silent and no one spoke, nearly all looking down at their plates.
“Think of,” and he actually chuckled sadly, “think of how two months back we complained about the food here, filled our plates, then tossed half of it out, and now, tonight, you will face men and women who will kill you and everyone else for that piece of meat on your plate you would have thrown out but two months back.”
He hesitated but knew it had to be said.
“Or even your own flesh if they win, because not forty miles from here this evil band is slaughtering human beings for food.” There was an uncomfortable stirring.
“So for everything you eat now know that but two miles from here, down in the town of Black Mountain, half a dozen died of starvation this morning. Died so you can eat, and have strength to survive and defend.”
He sighed, started to sit down, and then stopped.
“Some of you were in my classes on military history. You know how we so casually talked of wars past, the suffering remote. You remember some of the speakers I’ve brought in, veterans of that generation we now call the Greatest Generation.”
He braced himself, looking around the room, and now there were tears in his eyes.
“Tonight, tomorrow, in years to come, you will, you must be, the greatest generation. You must win this fight; then remembering all that America was, you must rebuild her and never forget…”
He sighed, lowering his head.
“Never forget….”
He sat down and for a moment there was silence. Laura, the girl in the choir, stood up and raised her voice.
“Oh, say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…”
Instantly all were standing, singing as well, and never had he heard it sung thus.
He looked at them and tried to sing, unable to do so, overcome by emotion.
The last stanza finished, a cheer erupted and all sat down, except for Laura. She smiled at John, and half a dozen of the choir came to join her.
And together they started to sing again, even as their comrades ate.
“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountainside….”
John lowered his head, gazing at his meal. Perhaps half, maybe a quarter for myself, he thought, the rest for Jen, the kids, and Ginger.
The meal done, there was a procession, led by the American flag, the school banner, and their fifer playing, over to the Chapel of the Prodigal with its famous fresco painted by Ben Long. The service had to be short and to the point, for John had warned Reverend Abel that time was pressing.
They had opened with the Lord’s Prayer, and just as they finished the back doors of the chapel opened and in hobbled President Hunt, leaning on the arm of a student for strength. All stood, many with tears in their eyes. President Hunt took the front, standing beneath the painting, and then slowly drew a Bible out of his pocket.
“I carried this Bible in Nam,” he said, his voice husky, weak. “I held it close the night I was wounded and lost my leg. There is a psalm I read every night I was there and I wish to share it with you…. We call it the soldier’s psalm, the Ninety-first.”
He half-opened the Bible, but it was obvious he knew the prayer by heart.
“‘He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty…’” As he spoke, his voice gained strength.
“‘Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day.
“‘Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.’”
* * *
It was midafternoon when John at last returned home. The entire town was astir, at least those still with the strength to move. Don had flown a second mission and returned with word that the Posse was indeed moving, already past Marion. The first skirmish had erupted halfway down the mountain in Swannanoa Gap, ironically not far from where, over 140 years earlier, in perhaps the last battle in the Hast during the Civil War,
Confederate militia had fought to turn back Yankee raiders. The half dozen advancing up the abandoned paved road had been wiped out near where the old overlook and hot dog stand had been.
Another skirmish erupted along the dirt road farther to the north, longdistance sniping, one student soon dead from it and another missing.
In town, those men still with any strength were forming up, deploying into a secondary line.
Charlie was in the town hall, and fuming with rage. He had called in the report to Asheville, begging for support. And they had written Black Mountain off. They claimed a group was approaching them from the south and had already torched Hendersonville and there was no defensive bottleneck to keep them back. Everything they had was committed to that direction.
Tom reported though that Asheville’s barrier, just short of Exit 53, the narrow bottleneck of the interstate, and I-40, was now heavily manned by Asheville militia, but they were not coming forward to help pitch in.
Black Mountain and Swannanoa were on their own, Asheville most likely figuring they could take the blow and if the invaders were repulsed, that would be great; if the defenders were overrun, the opposition would be so weakened that they would not have the strength for a final push. Payback perhaps for the defiance over the refugees, even though Charlie had warned that if the town fell the last thing he would do would be blow the water main and Asheville be damned.
At three in the afternoon the militia, like som
ething out of long ago, had marched through the town, fifer in the lead wearing his Union kepi and blue jacket, playing “Yankee Doodle” over and over, complete as well to a drummer from the high school and a flag bearer forming a tableau like the old painting. The street was lined with starving civilians who cheered them and wept as they passed.
A few could remember such parades from sixty years past and could not help but wonder at this, the sight in their own hometown, of kids marching off as from long ago, to fight others who but two months back were part of the same country.
Their training uniforms of college blue were now replaced with camo, donated by civilians of the town, a mixed lot of hunting gear, some military surplus, some of it way too big for the smaller girls in the ranks. But still it lent a military air. Some of the vets in the ranks sported helmets and more than a few of them were toting firearms that would have triggered an ATF raid in the old days… a couple of Thompsons, AK-47s, street sweepers, a frightful-looking .50-caliber sniper rifle, and a number of exotic-looking assault rifles. Piled in the back of a truck were satchel charges, some primitive mines, and hundreds of tin cans packed with scrap metal and a blasting charge, to be lit with a match, then thrown.
Making them had been a tricky business, and one student had been killed and two wounded just after church service while packing a “grenade” when the charge went off.
It was indeed like something from long ago, John thought, watching as they came down Black Mountain Road and turned onto State Street, heading east to the gap. He stood to attention at the corner and saluted, standing thus until the last of the two companies of infantry and the company of auxiliary supports had passed. Though it was a solemn moment, he caught the eye of more than one of his former students, a flash of a smile, a subtle wave, as if somehow they were still kids playacting even as they toted rifles, shotguns, satchel charges, homemade bazookas and grenades.
He and Washington had nearly come to blows arguing about the plan, and for a few moments John felt that the two months of Washington calling him Colonel had been nothing more than tradition and playacting. And yet, in the end, Washington had at last deferred, though he warned it would triple their casualties and maybe cost them “the war.”
After the passage of the militia up to the gap, John then briefed the hundreds of civilian volunteers, some barely able to stand, as to their task and where to deploy, while Charlie made sure that two precious cattle would be taken up to the front and there slaughtered and cooked, with all being able to fill their stomachs before the fight. Kellor had pitched a fit over that, claiming it was better they went in with empty stomachs in case of gut wounds, but Washington and John had won out; better to lose some that way than have half the army collapse from hunger pains. The last few precious bottles of vitamins had been pulled out and each combatant swallowed a double dose as well.
Carl was leading down over five hundred more from Swannanoa, those still able to heft a gun and fight.
John finally felt that he had time to get away and get his family out. Their home was on what was being defined now as the front line and he had decided to move his family back up into the Cove near the college.
Jen’s home, though abandoned for nearly two months, was still intact, though scavenged through, with a door broken along with some windows.
He pulled into his driveway, and with all that had happened he realized that he had left but nine hours before.
The two bodies were still out on the deck. The meat wagon had not come; in the heat, they were now drawing swarms of flies. Jen stood in the doorway, and as he got out of the car Ginger came up, head lowered, whimpering, almost scared, and Jennifer flung herself into his arms.
“Daddy,” and she started to cry.
He suddenly realized that he had become so preoccupied with the approach of the Posse that he had all but forgotten what had transpired here just this morning.
Jen came up to him and the look in her eyes told him something was wrong. Had there been more of them? “Everyone ok?”
John gasped. “Yes, we’re ok.”
“Thank God.”
“You look beat, John.”
“I really can’t explain much now, Jen, but we only have an hour to pack up and move out. We’re moving up to your house.”
“Why, for God’s sake?”
“There’s going to be a fight here by tomorrow. We’re evacuating everyone on both sides of the highway.”
“John, we all need to sit down and talk.” He felt Jennifer still in his arms. He hugged her.
“I’m sorry about Zach, sweetie. He was a brave doggie. The best.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“John, there’s something else,” Jen said. He looked at her.
“John, come inside with me please.”
Too much was happening and her tone set him to a near panic. Was it something about Jennifer?
He broke her embrace and looked at her. Her features, though pinched and yellow, had not changed much.
“Jennifer honey, I think Ginger needs to play,” Jen said.
Her voice was not a suggestion and Jennifer registered it.
“OK, Grandma.”
“And make sure she stays away from those bodies out on the deck.”
The way Jen said it, the message of those words, struck John as yet another breakdown. Tell your kid to go out and play with the dog, but stay away from the men Daddy had shot during the night because your beloved golden might suddenly look at them as a meal.
He followed Jen into the living room. Elizabeth and Ben were sitting together on the sofa, holding hands, and somehow at that instant John knew. To his surprise, Makala was standing in the corner of the room, half-turned, looking at him.
Elizabeth looked up at him and took a deep breath.
“Daddy, I’m pregnant.”
Absolutely thunderstruck, he couldn’t speak. He looked at Ben, whose arm was now protectively around Elizabeth’s shoulder. Ben tried to look him straight in the eye and then lowered his gaze.
John turned away, fearful of what he might say or do, lit another cigarette, and walked to the bay window.
Jen came up to his side.
Behind him Elizabeth started to cry and Ben was whispering to her. “John?”
It was Jen, standing by his side, whispering. “For God’s sake, John, do the right thing.” He turned and looked back.
“How?” was all he could say, and he instantly realized the absurdity of it. At sixteen Elizabeth already so looked like her mother, and he remembered when they met she was twenty, he was twenty-one. Of course he knew how.
But this was his baby girl, who used to smother him with “smoochies” and say she would love him forever.
He walked towards them and to his horror he saw fear in Elizabeth’s eyes. Ben then stood up.
“Sir. If there’s blame, it’s mine.” His voice was trembling and broke into an adolescent squeak. “It’s my fault, not hers.”
“No, Ben. Both of us.”
She stood up and put her arm around him.
“Daddy, we love each other.”
He slowly sat down, shaking his head.
“My God,” he sighed. “You’re kids in high school. College ahead.”
“Not anymore,” Elizabeth said, and now there was some strength to her voice. “Daddy, that’s all over now. All over.”
He looked up at her.
She had always been slender, like her mom, but was even more so now.
Though he didn’t want to say it, he did.
“Maybe the lack of food. Maybe that’s why you’re late.”
“No, John,” and for the first time Makala spoke. “I found a test kit. It’s positive. She’s going to have a baby.”
As she said the word “baby,” Elizabeth and Ben, like so many across the ages, looked at each other and smiled.
John looked at them, again how slender she was, losing weight. Though he was a Catholic, even a non-practicing one, the thought of abortion flicke
red, even though it was anathema to him. Having this baby might kill her.
“I need to think,” John said, and stood up, heading to his office.
He stopped at the doorway and then looked back.
“We have to evacuate in one hour. So start packing….” He couldn’t say any more and left the room.
He sat down at his desk. The bottle behind it, gone, damn it. He fumbled in his breast pocket and pulled out the smokes. He took one out and lit it.
Numbed, he looked out the window, at the backyard where Jennifer was throwing a stick to Ginger, who though moving slowly still was trying to play.
“John?”
He looked up. It was Makala. “Am I intruding?”
“Yes and no.”
“Can I join you?”
He nodded and she took the chair by his desk. “What are you thinking?” she asked. He sighed.
“The whole world has gone to hell. You know I killed two men this morning?”
“I saw the bodies. And they deserved it.”
“And Zach?”
“I’m sorry, John, about him. He died well, though.”
John lowered his head. Was it only hours ago? he thought.
“There’s a barbarian horde coming this way and by tomorrow they might overrun us. If they do, all this will be moot. Jennifer out there will be dead, if lucky you and Elizabeth dead, all of us dead. The country… dead.”
“That’s why you have to accept what happened with Elizabeth.”
“What? She’s a kid, Makala. She was going to be a junior in high school, that son of…” He hesitated. “Ben a senior. My God, Makala. Accept it?”
“Kids younger than them have been getting pregnant for thousands of years. Especially in wartime.”
“Not my baby.”
“Yes, your baby,” and she reached out and touched his knee.
“Listen, John. You know and I know there isn’t much chance. And they know it, too. They think they’re in love. For God’s sake I hope they are in love. They want that taste of life as much as you did, as I did, as any of us do.”
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