“What we would have given for just a couple thousand of these after the Day,” Makala said quietly, looking over at John.
John looked to Dale, wondering if he was picking up on his wife’s barely veiled rebuke.
“So where did these come from?” she asked.
“I managed to get two hundred thousand rations on order. They’re shipping them in now.”
“Oh? From where?” Makala asked.
Dale smiled. “I really wish I could tell you that, Makala, but it is still one of those classified things for now.” Dale stood up from the table, which was set up in a private side room to the courthouse dining hall, and he motioned for the door. “Let’s head over to my office where we can relax and talk a little business.”
“I think I’ll take a walk around town while you two have your meeting,” Makala announced.
“Mind if I have one of my security people tag along?” Dale offered. “Asheville is secure, but after dark, we still do have a problem now and again. And with you dressed as nicely as you are and obviously a bit better fed than most, it might be a concern.”
A bit better fed. John caught that one and wondered if it was a veiled insult. More than a few who had supposedly been running Asheville until the army arrived had obviously been more than “a bit better fed.” Most had disappeared when the army commander started to inquire into exactly how the city was managed after the Day, fleeing to God knows where in several well-stocked vehicles. Rumor was they had run afoul of a reivers community in the highlands along the South Carolina border, and no one expressed regret as to whatever their fate had been.
“I can take care of myself,” Makala replied as she reached into her purse and drew out a hammerless .38 revolver.
Dale looked at the gun, a bit surprised, and then he sighed. “I hate to remind you, but in the future, weapons really should be checked at the door when you come in the building. We’re trying to reestablish some rules, Mrs. Matherson.”
“Oh, but of course. Sorry. I just plain forgot.” Without further comment, she was out the door and heading for the exit.
John just smiled.
“She’s an interesting woman, John. Bet there is a tough side to her beneath all that charm.”
“There’s a tough side to any of us who survived out here,” John replied, still smiling.
There was silence as they headed to Dale’s office, the foyer dimly illuminated by a single fluorescent bulb overhead. Once into the office, Dale closed the door and threw the light switch, the fluorescent lights overhead winking on, a gesture that startled John a bit. For months after the Day, nearly everyone at times, when walking into a dark room, fumbled for the light switch and then stood there confused for a few seconds before reaching for a precious match to light a kerosene lamp—if they still had any fuel left—or just settling down into the darkness. The casual reality of just flicking a light switch was startling.
“We do run a little power at night to keep our communications gear online, and the fluorescent bulbs only burn a couple of dozen watts. It’s a luxury you are not used to, I know.”
What happened next really put John off balance. Dale sat down at his desk, reached to a cupboard behind him, and pulled out a real bottle of prewar scotch. Without asking, he took out two tumblers, pouring a couple of ounces into each and handed one to John.
“To the restored United States of America,” Dale said solemnly, raising his glass, and John could not help but follow. Memory of old traditions of the officers’ mess on formal occasions hit John, with toasts to the republic, the president, and whoever might be an honored guest.
John sipped the scotch and let out a sigh of pleasure. He had not tasted real twelve-year-old scotch since before the Day. Dale settled back in his chair, loosened his tie, and put his feet up on the desk. “Well, I guess folks down here call this next step ‘time to talk turkey.’”
“Where you from originally, Dale?”
“Massachusetts. Why?”
“I can’t recall a single soul here every saying ‘talk turkey’ when it was time to get down to business.”
Dale nodded, still smiling. “Thanks for telling me. I know I am seen as an outsider sent in by some distant entity. More than a few around here are grumbling that a local should have been appointed to run this administrative district. But I think you’ll agree with the report sent up by the army commander that was here before me that more than a few in this county office were not up to the job, and others were downright corrupt, taking care of themselves first and the hell with you folks stuck out in the boondocks.”
“You mean folks like me in places like Black Mountain, Waynesville, Brevard, and Canton? I could name fifty other towns, if you wish.”
“Well, yes, places like yours.”
“In that, I’ll agree. You undoubtedly read the reports. I turned in a few myself to the army. The crew that took over running this city had more than enough food for themselves while the rest of us were on our own. They tried to confiscate what we did have, and when the crap really hit the fan with the murdering gangs, they cut us off, sealed up the highway leading into the city, and just looked out for themselves without offering any help. So, yes, I can understand why some thought it was best to bring in new blood.”
“Good, I’m glad you see it that way. Thank you.” He extended his hand, which John took, and then he offered a refill of his glass, which John refused. Whether it was going to be talking turkey or down to real business, two ounces was enough, and the glass was not yet drained.
“John, I’ve been sent here by the federal government to reestablish overall stability to the entire region. My district encompasses all of western North Carolina, down to Interstate 77.”
“So that includes Charlotte, as well?”
“Eventually, but Charlotte right now is still a no-man’s-land. The few still living there are considered lawless, and once our strength is secured here, we’ll eventually head down that way to bring things back under control.”
“Who is we?”
“That’s a long way off. Right now, I got my hands full just with those border reivers you dealt with last week. John, I’ll be frank. Your town is a model of how to survive and then rebuild, and I’m not blowing smoke at you with that compliment. That’s why the administration up in Bluemont sat up and took notice when I sent in a report with the recommendation you go back into federal service as a major general, and they jumped on it. Your country, our country, needs damn near every skill possible to rebuild. You have those administrative skills, and I’m anxious to hear your decision.” He paused and continued to smile. “I heard there was a bit of an upset meeting yesterday regarding the draft notices.”
“How did you hear that?”
“People talk, and right now, the call for help from our country with the creation of the Army of National Recovery is the buzz conversation around here.”
Dale offered a drink again, which John refused, holding his glass up to show there was still some left. Dale poured another few ounces for himself and put the bottle back in the cabinet.
“I really haven’t seen a bottle like that since the Day,” John said. “The liquor store was looted clean within forty-eight hours, and those that had some kept mighty quiet about it after that. So where did that come from?” he asked casually.
“Oh, I traded for it just before coming here with the pilot who brought me and the rest of the administrative team up from the coast.”
“So the folks on the coast have such things again?”
“A lot more than here. England, as you know, wasn’t hit by the EMP. So some trade is back up, and thank you, dear Lord, quite a few cases of real scotch did come into Charleston several months back.”