The crowd surrounding them fell silent.
John slowed, stopped, looking at the one-star general, came to attention, and saluted.
“Colonel John Matherson,” he said.
The general returned the salute, broke into a grin, and came forward, hand extended, grabbing John’s, shaking it.
“I know you, Matherson. Attended your lectures at Carlisle and did the staff ride with you to Gettysburg. Your lecture on Lee as operational commander at Second Manassas was brilliant. That was back in the 90’s.”
A wild cheer went up as if this simple handshake was the reuniting with the old world. The crowd surged around them, soldiers suddenly finding themselves being kissed, hugged, more than one of them obviously disconcerted, since many of those showering affection had not bathed in months and more than a few were crawling with lice.
John smiled, looked at the general, the face vaguely familiar, but could not place the name, finally looking down at the nameplate… “Wright.”
John wondered what Wright was seeing. Americans? Or starved skeletal survivors, the type of survivors that America had seen all around the world for nearly seventy years, had offered generous help to, but never dreamed would finally come to their own land?
“This column is heading to Asheville. I’m to take over as military governor of western North Carolina until such time as civilian authority is reestablished, but I wanted to stop here first.”
The cheering crowd did not hear him, but John did.
“You’re not staying?”
“Headquarters will be in Asheville, but yes, we are staying in the region.” A sergeant standing atop the Bradley held up a microphone and clicked it. “May I have your attention please?”
Everyone fell silent, looking up at him with awe. It was the first voice amplified by a loudspeaker that they had heard in a year.
“Excuse me,” Wright said, and he climbed aboard the Bradley, the sergeant extending a hand to pull him up.
“My name is General Wright. I am an officer in the army of the United States of America and we are here to reunite you with your country.”
The cheering lasted for several minutes, Makala was up by John’s side, hugging him, many were crying, and then spontaneously one of the militia girls, a member of the school choir, began to sing:
Within seconds it was picked up by all, and all wept even as they sang.
The general stood with head lowered, and there was no acting as he brushed the tears from his face.
“I have been assigned to be military governor of the region of Western North Carolina. My headquarters will be established by the end of the day.”
“You’re not leaving us?” someone cried.
“No. Of course not. I’m asking you now to move to the rear of this column and please line up patiently. Each of you will then receive three rations, what the army calls meals ready to eat.”
Another wild cheer.
“We have a medical team with us who will try and lend a hand with any serious cases of the moment. All children, expectant mothers, and mothers of infants will also receive a three-month supply of vitamins.”
Vitamins, John thought. My God, so American. Something good from a small bottle. It lifted him even more than the food. Elizabeth had come through her time but just barely. The vitamins for her and the baby would be lifesavers.
“This column must depart in one hour for Asheville, but I swear to you as a soldier of the United States of America, we are here to stay. By next week another supply column with more food and medicine should arrive.”
He handed the microphone back to the sergeant and jumped down, returning to John, while the sergeant started to direct the crowd to move, the troops with him helping. John watched them go, a medic already up to Elizabeth, stopping her, looking at her and the baby. The mere sight of that again filled John with tears. Soldiers were already passing out single sticks of chewing gum to children, who upon learning about the treats were swarming round.
As the crowd flooded past, the general motioned for John to walk with him.
“How bad was it here?”
“Very bad,” John said.
“Yeah, I saw your greeting card at the top of the pass.”
John suddenly felt embarrassed. The corpse of the Posse leader had hung there throughout the winter, bones picked clean in a matter of days by crows. Part of the skeleton still dangled there. The ravine below had been a feasting place for scavengers for weeks, nearly a thousand bodies dumped there.
“We followed the wreckage of their trail clear from Statesville to here. You did a hell of a job wiping them out.
“I saw the ashes of the fire on both sides of the interstate. It burned clear down to Old Fort, or what was Old Fort. You did that to trap them.”
John nodded.
“Good plan, Colonel.”
“History teaches something at times.”
“How many survivors here? One of the first things we’ll need done is an accurate census; then ration cards will be issued out.”
“I already have cards issued.” Wright smiled.
“These will be for federal rations.”
“Right,” and John nodded, wondering if he was suddenly feeling a resentment that he had just lost control after so many painful months of struggling to keep his town alive.
“What percentage survived here?”
“Around twenty percent, maybe a bit less if we count those who came in after it happened.”
Wright shook his head.
“Is that bad?” John asked nervously, wondering now if he had failed. “Bad. Christ, it’s incredible up here. Places like the Midwest, with lots of farmland and low populations, more than half survived, but the East Coast?” He sighed.
“Here in the East, it’s a desert now. Estimates are maybe less than ten percent still alive. They hit us at the worst possible time, early spring. Food would run out before local harvests came in, and a lot of crops, especially farther north, had yet to be put in the ground.”
He looked off.
“They say in all of New York City there’s not much more than twenty-five thousand people now and those are either savages or people hiding and living off scraps of garbage. A thermonuclear bomb hitting it directly would have been more humane.
“Cholera actually broke out there last fall and the government decided to abandon the city, just isolate it, and no one was allowed in; the few in were not allowed out. A friend of mine stationed there on duty said it was like the Dark Ages.”
He sighed and forced a smile as if realizing he was rambling, talking about something best left unsaid.
“You did good, Colonel Matherson, real good. We ran into a few refugees on the road, bitter that you wouldn’t let them in, but one old guy, a vet, said he admired you folks, that word was you actually stuck together while the rest of the country went to hell.”
He nodded, unable to speak.
Wright stood silent, then lowered his head, his voice a whisper. “They say nearly everyone in Florida is dead. Too many people, too little land devoted to food.”
