There were some nods of agreement.
“I still want to believe the bastards simply gave up on us,” Maury Hurt interjected. “Their failures with trying to make some sort of military force out of their ANR, the way they got the crap kicked out of them in Chicago, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, or whatever is left of other cities up there, knocked Bluemont on its heels, and they’ve backed down. And now with winter setting in, I want to believe that we have nothing to worry about, at least until spring.”
“Want to believe? Or know for a fact?” John replied.
Maury sighed and shook his head.
John gestured to the faded map of the United States that adorned the wall to his left. Doing so triggered a memory of Fredericks doing the same to him just six months back with his grandiose talk about a reunited America. “These reports from the BBC are that Bluemont is in negotiations with China and Mexico. They’ve already conceded all territory west of the Continental Divide and south of the Red River.”
“And word is as well that Texas and others are putting up a hell of a fight about that,” Ernie interjected angrily. “What the BBC might say is one thing, but the reality on the ground?”
There was a breakdown of any semblance of an orderly meeting as others interjected that it would indeed be a very cold day in hell before those living in Texas or any other state along the Continental Divide would tamely submit to outside occupation.
“Food and security can often trump any argument about national identity,” Reverend Black finally interjected. “Besides, how many actually survived out there? In the first summer after the attack, chances are more than 90 percent died in Tucson without air-conditioning or any source of water. Where does Denver get its water from? Again a major die-off. Sure, maybe some ranchers know what to do, but fifty raiders like the Posse show up at their ranch to steal cattle, what’s left a day later? Forget about the old fantasies of life out west with everyone a self-reliant cowboy. Sadly, I’m willing to bet chances of survival out there were far less than in our secured valley here.”
His grim pronouncement silenced the room.
“Let’s stay focused on what John is talking about here and now,” Black said softly. “I, for one, have to admit I’m changing my views somewhat and seeing his side of the argument.”
“I might agree,” Makala said, her voice controlled and cold. “But not John this time. Yeah, this is personal for me. We’ve got a baby coming in two months, and I want that child’s father alive and here. Call me self-centered, but I claim the right for it after everything we went through back in the spring.”
The others looked over at her, and John could not make eye contact with his wife, whose anger he knew was barely contained. When he had first talked with her about his thoughts after returning with Forrest the night before, it had triggered the first real shouting match of their marriage.
“Just let me go over the facts one more time,” John replied, avoiding his wife’s malevolent gaze. “Someone who apparently is what he claimed to be, a major who either is or was serving with General Bob Scales, tries to reach me with a message. He dies before reaching his goal. He says something about an EMP.”
“And no one is sure if in his delirium he was talking about what happened,” Forrest snapped. “John, I held a lot of buddies as they died.” He looked off, his already twisted face contorted. “They usually babbled about a woman, a wife, a girlfriend, their children; more than a few younger ones cried for their mothers. Damn all war.” Forrest sighed and then fell silent, withdrawing into memories too intense to show before others.
“Precisely the point,” Makala snapped. “I’ve sat through many a deathwatch, and so have you, John.”
He lifted his gaze to her and from deep within that gaze held a warning for her to go no further. Yes, he had done as she said, and a day, barely an hour, did not go by without memory of his daughter dying, whispering to take care of her beloved stuffed animal Rabs.
Makala fell silent and then silently mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Perhaps tragically, her action now firmed his resolve, the paradox of so many loving relationships where when one challenges the decision of another in public, they often become even more determined to see it through, while a quiet word whispered when alone could have so easily worked and swayed the decision in the other direction.
“I have to go to Roanoke,” John said, and he looked over at her as if anticipating a response. But she was silent, though he could see tears clouding her eyes.
“Something is up, and we would be foolish not to assume after the way we wiped out Fredericks and his gang that there would not be some sort of response. Throughout the summer and up until this early advent of winter, I dreaded suddenly hearing helicopters coming in. That or just the flash of fuel-air bombs going off as a reprisal. If anything, the lack of response has made me even more anxious, as it should have for the rest of you gathered here.”
He looked around the room at the representatives from the Asheville City Council and Hendersonville; the storm and need to conserve precious fuel had prevented the other members of the Senate from such outlying regions as Morganton, Weaverville, and Waynesville from attending. An old-fashioned handheld telephone lay on his desk, off its receiver, their definition of a conference call so that those representatives could at least listen in over a crackling phone line.
“There are only two ways of getting there,” John continued. “The first by road. We have the captured Bradley to do that.”
“And Lord knows how many landslides, fallen trees, downed bridges, marauders like the ones that poor Quentin ran into, and, for that matter, the government garrison that is reportedly still in Johnson City to block you,” Ernie replied. “And we all know anything beyond Hickory is still a no-man’s-land, so that way is out too.”
“So the only other way is by air.”
He looked first at Billy Tyndall, the pilot for their precious L-3, who firmly shook his head.
“It is 140 air miles to Roanoke. I already looked it up. And sure, give me any open field and I can land, but after this blizzard, who knows? But we’ll have to haul our own gas to get back, and that all but maxes out the weight load. So my vote, no way in hell.”
“I already figured that, Billy. The L-3 is too precious to risk, its duty tactical to keep an eye on the interstate approaches, and you are doing a magnificent job, my friend.”
“And I for one am telling you—wait until spring.”
John shifted his gaze to Maury Hurt, whom he had not apprised of the plan he was formulating and the reasons behind it.
Maury, who had been leaning against the far wall, stiffened. “You got to be kidding me,” he snapped.
“Just hear me out, will you?”