John smiled inwardly at that. For nearly everyone, it was no longer an annoying alarm clock set to a particular hour. In winter, one slept in late and went to bed early; in summer, especially now at spring planting time, it really was up before dawn with twelve or more hours of heavy, backbreaking labor ahead for the majority.
John exchanged glances with Ernie. “Okay with you, Ernie?” John asked.
Ernie could see the hands going up in agreement to end the meeting for now and reluctantly nodded, outmaneuvered in the public forum. “After the meeting with this Fredericks, we’d like a report, John, and to hear your decision about yourself.”
“Agreed.”
“And we’d like as well to learn a helluva lot more about just who these people in Bluemont are with their orders.”
“It’s the government, our government!” someone shouted back.
“Maybe yours,” Ernie retorted, “but they got to prove a lot more to me than some bullshit orders stuffed into a mailbox before I’ll stand back and watch kids here being sent off to God knows where, whether they want to or not.”
Things were about to go out of control again, but Reverend Black masterfully stepped forward, taking the bullhorn from John. He raised his hand, delivered a quick benediction and the Lord’s Prayer—their traditional closing—and the group began to break up.
John slowly walked to the Edsel, grateful that the meeting had ended early. His head was throbbing.
“John.”
“Ernie, can’t it wait?” He sighed. He looked over his shoulder as Ernie came up to his side.
“Just one thought to put in that swollen head of yours.”
John was about to react at what he felt was one insult too many for the night, but Ernie smiled.
“I’m talking about the damn concussion, John.”
“Oh, yeah. So what is it? I’m really beat.”
“Ask yourself this. Just who in the hell are these people? We didn’t elect them. Even when we did elect them, a lot of ’em were the dumbest, most grasping bastards on God’s good earth, and if they had done their jobs right in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“No one ever said representative government was going to be a cakewalk.”
“Exactly. More than a few were not all that upset when the whole thing went down.”
“Such as you?”
“I didn’t say that, damn it. But at least my family and I saw the future and were ready for it. The rest of you trusted them, and now four out of five are dead as a result. Worse than the plague or any war in history.”
“Your point, Ernie? And yeah, my head really is swollen.”
“Find out what you can about who is actually running things in Bluemont, Virginia, and what exactly this million-man mobilization is really about.”
John nodded.
“I’ll drop by for a visit after you get some more answers.”
John put up his hand. “Ernie, don’t pressure me. I’ll go to the town council first; then, if necessary, we hold another meeting like this one.”
Ernie stared at him for a moment and then nodded.
“And Ernie, I’m changing the rules.”
“What rules?”
“Two minutes per person, and that’s it. You got more to say than that, write it down and hand it to someone else. It’s a meeting, not a monopoly.”
“You’re the one doing most of the talking. What about you?”
“I got stuck as leader when everything went to shit. I didn’t see you come rushing out to do it.”
There was an angry glare for a moment and then the crease of a smile. “You do have guts, Matherson.” He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar and offered it.
“Oh, for God’s sake, don’t offer me one of those now. I’ll be your damn slave if I ever go back to smoking.”
“Precisely the reason I’m offering them,” he replied with a smile.
John reluctantly shook his head.
“Well, you know where you can get one if you need it, General.”
“It’s John, just John, so lay off it. Okay?”
“Good luck tomorrow, John.”
Ernie actually offered his hand and walked off. John was ever so grateful when Makala slipped into the driver’s seat, Elizabeth getting into the back, cradling Ben, who was fast asleep in her arms.
“Elizabeth, once home, when you get the little guy settled in, can we talk.”
“You’re ticked off that I volunteered.”
“Let’s sit out on the porch and talk there.”
She was silent the rest of the way back, not waiting for him as they parked in the driveway and she went into the house.
“You know why she did it, don’t you?” Makala asked.
“Yeah, being my daughter and all that. But damn it, she has a baby to think of.”
The two walked out to the porch and settled down. It was quiet, and peaceful night sounds drifted in… spring peepers and the hooting of an owl. Habit was to pick up Rabs, but he did not—not for this conversation.
Elizabeth came out and sat down casually in the overstuffed chair across from the sofa. Illuminated by the moonlight, she triggered an inhalation of breath from John, who at that instant suffered from the duality that all loving fathers must deal with. She had grown into a beautiful young woman. Everyone in their community, if seen by someone from before the Day, would think them borderline malnourished. All now had a lean, sinewy look common in the somber faces of ancestors eternally looking out from old daguerreotypes of the Civil War. Nearly every woman now kept her hair short, with any length drawn back in a short ponytail. Some still dressed in something formal—that, with skillful sewing, had been tucked in several sizes—for church or synagogue. As the food supply was finally beginning to stabilize out, they were drawing back from the edge of starvation, but it was still a far cry from the world they had lost.
Elizabeth, after the long months of worry during her pregnancy and the first months after Ben was born, had actually filled out a bit, and so he did see the beautiful young woman and mother. But like all fathers, he also saw the four-year-old who still would call him Daddy, want “smoochies,” ask to play tea party with her stuffed animals, and squeal with delight when he pushed her too hard on the playground swing and she’d cry that she was going to fly away.
“I know what you’re going to say, Dad,” she announced.
“Oh, really?”
Makala, who was holding his hand, squeezed it, a clear message to shut up and let the girl speak first.
“Okay, then enlighten me.”
Again a squeeze, this time of reproach for his tone. He was getting angrier by the second just looking at her. She had a one-year-old baby. What about him? Her dead sister was buried out in the yard just feet away. If she went off with this damned army—and he had a gut sense that would be it—she would never come back, the way so many never came back from too many wars, leaving with the naïve promise that all would be okay and not to worry.
“When the question was asked who would volunteer, I had to put my hand up, Dad.”
“Why?”
“To support you, that’s why. How do you think it would look if your daughter didn’t put her hand up? Everyone would say you were pulling in favoritism, and you wouldn’t have stood a chance at the meeting tonight.”
That caught him a bit off guard, and he lowered his head, filled with a sudden pride.
“Thank you, angel. But you know it puts you on the spot now.”
“I know that.”
“And that was it?”
She hesitated. “No, there were other things.”
He looked back up at her. “Such as?”
“I want to go.”
Now he did lean forward with that one. “In God’s name, why?”
“You did.”
“What do you mean I did?”