They were warm memories, and he suddenly felt Makala’s hand slip into his as if she were sensing his thoughts.
There was the usual round of “speechifying” that good days were finally coming back with the arrival of electricity and offering thanks for all the help they had received from the citizens of Black Mountain and Montreat College in bringing a modern world back to them. There was even a joke, but it was half-serious as well, that the next step was to again see trains, powered by steam, pulling into the station.
It dragged on a bit long, and John waited patiently. This was an important day for these few of the town who had somehow managed to survive. John was asked to say “a few appropriate words,” and he did keep it to just a few, looking past the happy group to low scudding clouds that were starting to come in from the northwest, possibly the harbinger of another storm.
It was finally time to light things up. All eyes turned to Paul and Becka, each of them holding one of the twins, who were taking in their first journey to the outside world with wide-eyed wonder, both parents keeping back a bit protectively, for Becka was indeed paranoid about the prospect of the twins catching a cold or something worse from those gathered around.
A bit of a friendly argument ensued as to who would actually go up to the old-fashioned switch, which look liked it belonged in a Frankenstein movie, and snap it down. Finally, one of the children of the village was pushed forward, picked up by her mother, and did the honors. A string of lightbulbs and other strings of the ubiquitous Christmas lights brought in from somebody’s attic flashed to light. Again, there was that same look of wonder on all the upturned faces, cheers, and some even started to cry. Someone turned on a CD player, and Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.” hit John hard as it always did. Nearly everyone joined in at the chorus, and nearly all were in tears by the end.
Next was the usual country song, more than a few beginning to dance, while outside there was a shout that the food was on. John walked out of the now-stuffy room, Makala by his side, to where several women had lugged over kettles of what smelled like venison stew. He could never admit, even now after the starving times, that venison stew made him queasy. While he was a student at Duke long ago, one of his roommates had come back from a weekend hunt toting a four-point buck, hung it up in the backyard, and butchered it himself. Being students on a tight budget, the group had pretty well lived on venison for a couple of weeks. They had teased John as a wimpy Jersey boy for not enthusiastically joining in for their meals of venison steak and ground venison stew, always washed down with plenty of beer. He had of course partaken, but there was something about the smell that had bothered him ever since, even when hunger gnawed away and a student at the college had come in with an increasingly rare kill.
He politely took a bowl of the stew and struggled with it, Makala smiling at his discomfort and his white-lie responses to the elderly ladies about just how good it was to have fresh venison stew, though he wondered just how fresh the meat truly was.
There was a side to John that only those close to him really knew how to read; at heart, he was an introvert. If given the preference for an ideal day, it would be to just spend it with family, maybe a friend or two dropping over, and then plenty of time in the evening to curl up with a good book about history. During his years as an officer, when in direct command of a platoon and then a company, he’d had to force himself to be out there, to be patient and listen, to learn how to work with others rather than just be the type to issue orders and expect others to instantly obey, even when he knew he was right.
He had walked backward into his entire role as leader of his community, never wishing it. It was why friends like Lee Robinson, Maury, and others said that he was actually highly efficient, because at heart he did not want a role that others would have greedily grabbed on to and never want to relinquish.
He had to play the role now, enduring more than one handshake that turned into an embrace of gratitude from someone who had not bathed since winter set in.
Paul and Becka had already placed the twins in the back of the Edsel, Becka claiming they were tired and that it was nap time. It finally served as an excuse for John to disenthrall from the enthusiastic crowd. He did not want them to think he was rude or standoffish—he definitely was not—but now he doubted the wisdom of agreeing to get Makala out of the house for a while in her eighth month of pregnancy with a potentially icy drive back up the mountain.
Paul and Becka were already in the backseat, huddled over their precious cargo as John helped Makala into the old Edsel after passing the word to Bradley to give a call up to the town hall at the campus to let them know they were leaving. It was a safety gesture that if they did not get back within the hour, it meant they were stuck, and it was also a holdover from not all that long ago whenever venturing out of Black Mountain, because there were still the occasional marauders lurking along the roads, ever ready to jump on a lone traveler in a highly prized functional car.
He did not add that if they were still singled out as a target there was little that could be done, and now that worry was hitting him hard. Going out on his own in a different car was one thing. Doing it this way in light of what happened was a show of courage that he had to do, but he was putting those whom he loved at risk and now just wanted to get back home.
He absolutely refused Kevin and Lee’s demand that he travel with a well-armed escort. Long before the Day, he had come to disdain the near-absurd lengths that security teams went to around even the most minor of officials after 9/11, and he refused to bow to that level.
Strange world, he thought as he reached the interstate and swung onto the opposite side of the road since on the way down it appeared to be clearer. Strange as well that though he had an extremely pregnant wife in the front seat and parents in the back with twins nestled between them, all four adults were armed, Paul and Becka each carrying sawed-off shotguns and Makala, like him, armed with a .45 Glock.
A couple of times up the long climbing slope, the Edsel fishtailed a bit. John was glad that they had left while the sun was still high in the sky for this time of year; the temperature was beginning to drop, and a breeze was picking up, with a thickening spread of clouds drifting in from the west. At such moments, the four did what people nearly always do: speculated about the approaching weather.
“John, look up to your right!” Paul suddenly cried, breaking the relaxed and friendly conversation.