Nash was swollen with pride as he relived the moment.
“You folks did well,” John told him. “I only pray that more towns hear our message and do the same. I just wish we’d been able to question them first.”
The muscles in Nash’s face squished up. “I can’t imagine they’d have anything useful to say.”
“Maybe not, but if you heard our broadcast then you understand we’re at war now.”
Nash removed his ball cap and swatted away a fly. “Still find the whole business hard to believe. How’re things at the front?”
“These last couple of days communication has been sporadic,” John told him. “I’m expecting to hear something tonight.” John paused. “If they manage to cross the Mississippi, foreign troops are sure to head into Huntsville to hold this section of the rail line, you do know that? You think the folks here would consider relocating to Oneida? If it comes to that, every warm body will count.”
Nash looked skeptical. “Well, that ain’t my decision to make. I can speak with the mayor and we can put it to a vote, but I’ll tell you right now it’s doubtful anyone’s gonna wanna leave the State of—”
“Scott,” John finished. “Yes, I had a feeling you might say that.”
“Don’t think we’ll forget the debt we owe you folks. How does a banquet sound?”
John and Moss exchanged an uneasy look. The memory of arsenic mashed potatoes was still too fresh to make the idea sound inviting. “We’ll have to respectfully decline, I’m afraid, Nash.” Then John had an idea. “But there might be something we could use.”
“Name it,” Nash said, spitting.
“Do you have any horses you can spare?”
Chapter 3
Two hours later, the convoy was heading north along U.S. Route 27 back to Oneida. Along with them were two trailers with three horses each.
“Really, John, horses?” Moss said. “Don’t we already have enough mouths to feed?”
Oneida was already stabling six horses for patrols in much the same way they were used under the Chairman. But John had a plan for this next batch.
“Without enough working tractors, we’re gonna need to return to some of the old ways of cultivating the land.”
Moss ran a hand through his mohawk and shot him a doubtful glance. “Didn’t those old-timers use cattle instead of horses?”
“They did, but unlike oxen, horses won’t get stuck in poor or muddy soil. They can also be used to work hillsides that are too steep for a tractor. It’s worked well for the Amish all these years, so it can’t be that bad. Besides, if push ever came to shove we could always butcher them for their meat.”
Moss’ gagging made John laugh. Horse meat was tough, salty and certainly not a first choice. But Moss wasn’t thinking about the future. With foreign armies gobbling up vast stretches of the country, there might come a time in the near future when Oneida found itself surrounded and cut off. To most, World War II and the German siege of Leningrad was little more than a distant memory, but if there was one thing John paid attention to it was the lessons from the past.
From September of 1941 to the winter of 1944, the Wehrmacht had surrounded Leningrad and cut the flow of supplies in or out of the city. Almost a million civilians had died during the siege, many of them reduced to eating rats, horses and sometimes each other. Then the intense cold of winter froze the water pipes, leaving no clean drinking water. The hard earth also meant the dead, who couldn’t be buried, now littered the streets. Loved ones who’d passed away were hidden for fear their corpses would be eaten by scavenging humans. This was the face of war you rarely heard about in the news. A reality John prayed he could keep the people of Oneida from ever experiencing.
They reached the outskirts of town to find a group of men manning a checkpoint, many of them armed with AK-47s taken from the captured supply trucks. This was by far the most ubiquitous assault rifle in the world, and the weapon of choice among guerrilla fighters. In Afghanistan, for example, the rifle could be purchased for a few hundred dollars and could take a beating and continue firing. Another draw was the stopping power of the large 7.62 caliber bullet. At first John had wondered why the weapons crates they’d found in the Russian supply trucks had been loaded with the older 47 model rather than the newer AK-74. Then it dawned on him the Russians had likely sent over thousands of surplus weapons in the same way they tended to supply their Third World allies with slightly outdated tanks and APCs. This was only one more symbol of how overnight America had been turned into a Third World country.
Next to the men standing guard at the checkpoint others were making sandbags, but filling them with dirt and soil.
“Isn’t there an old sand pit not far from here?” John asked Moss, who nodded.
“Five or six miles east, sure. I think Standard Construction ran it. You stand on the lip and you can just make out the Birch coal mine. Why do you ask?”
John looked pensive. “Sandbags filled with soil just don’t have the same stopping power. When we were attacked on Willow Creek that was all we had access to and far too many brave souls paid the price. After we get back, I need you to head over there with half a dozen men today and fill a few pickups with the stuff.”
Moss sighed. It wasn’t exactly a glamorous assignment. “All right, boss, will do.”
John rubbed his temples, trying to massage away a growing headache. There was so much to do, and not nearly enough time to do it.
A few minutes later Moss pulled into Oneida’s mayor’s office. The building wasn’t large. The single-story brown brick structure with the words Municipal Building over the front archway served as not only John’s headquarters, but the Mack family home.
As the men from the convoy dispersed, John pushed through the front door. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” he called out as he entered.
Henry Chamberlain, the new communications guy, poked his head out of the radio room. With his chiselled features and wavy brown hair, he reminded John of a movie star from the 40s. Kirk Douglas? No, too short. The question was surely going to torture John for the rest of the day. Where was Google when you needed it?
“I’ll bet you’re gonna ask me next why dinner isn’t ready,” said a grinning Henry. “I feel so inadequate.”
John laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you can whip up a mean macaroni and cheese, but you weren’t the honey I was looking for.”
“Ah, shucks. Diane’s in the back.”
John was walking down the long hallway which divided the building in two when Diane emerged from what had become their living room. The look on her face was a mix of concern and relief.
“I really don’t think you should be going out on these missions, John.”
“Not even a kiss first?”
Diane slid her arms around his waist. Her hands travelled up and down his back. She was searching for wounds.
“I’m fine,” he told her. “You can give me a full physical later if you’d like.”
“Yes, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” She grew quiet for a moment. “You think I’m being a worrywart, John, I get that, but it’s just the people in this town elected you mayor, but you’re not exactly the kinda guy who leads from the rear.”