Authors: William R. Forstchen
“Sounds a bit like where you come from originally up in New Jersey,” Charlie said with a trace of a smile. “Protection racket.”
John tried to smile in spite of his light-headedness.
“Like it or not, that's the way it is now. I'm dead set against people's homes being cleaned out, but I think we can agree that farms have to be protected but something given back in return to help the entire community.”
She nodded in agreement. “OK, I'll go.”
Charlie looked down at his notepad.
“Transportation. Anything new?”
“We got three more cars running,” Tom said. “Actually I should say that Jim Bartlett down in that Volkswagen junkyard of his did. Beetles, another van.”
“He's become a regular friend of yours,” Kate said, and there was, at least for a moment, a touch of a smile.
“Yeah, damn old hippie. Though I'm not buying his line that we should be using pot for medicine.”
“I might agree with him now,” Kellor said.
“It's breaking the law,” Tom replied sharply.
“The cars, Tom,” Kate interjected. “Let's stick with that.”
“All right, other garages say they can get ten or fifteen more old junkers up and going, including an old tractor trailer down at Younger's.”
“We'll have forty or fifty within the week,” the policeman from Swannanoa said quietly.
No one spoke, looking at him.
“You folks up here in Black Mountain always kind of looked down on us in Swannanoa. Maybe because we was poorer, but that poorness makes us worth more now.”
John smiled at that and knew it was true. He could remember Tyler calling Swannanoa a “poor white trash” town with its trailer parks, auto junkyards, a town that had essentially gone to hell ever since the big woolen and blanket mill closed down years ago. What had once been a thriving small downtown area in Swannanoa was all but abandoned, especially after the big mill burned several years ago. Route 70, which went straight through Swannanoa, was lined with aging strip malls, thrift shops, and repair shops. It was finally starting to turn around, at least until last week, as more and more “outsiders” came in looking for land with the spectacular views the region offered. The area north of the town was developing, with high-priced homes, but that was now a tragic loss; half a dozen old farms had been chopped up into “McMansion estates” over the last few years.
In the old trailer parks there were a lot of cars that a week before anyone in a Beemer or new SUV would have given a wide berth to on the interstate. Some of those rolling heaps were now worth a hundred Beemers.
“Folks, this is Carl Erwin,” Tom interjected. “Chief of police for Swannanoa. I invited him here today to talk about a proposal we have.”
Everyone nodded politely. Carl definitely had their attention with Tom's last statement.
“And the proposal is?” Kate asked.
“An alliance.”
John smiled. Again the historian in him, picturing kings of the ancient world, riding to a meeting in chariots to discuss water rights, the exchange of daughters, to band their armies together.
“Carl and I have been talking about this for days,” Tom interjected. “It's OK with me.”
“What's OK?” Kate asked.
“That we band our towns together for the duration of this crisis.”
“For what purpose?”
“Defense,” Carl said. “We hold the door to the west; you have the one to the east. We cooperate, we survive; we don't, we are all in the deep dip.”
Charlie stood up and pointed to the county map pinned to the wall.
“We have the bottleneck for I-40 and Route 70 in our town on the east side; that's up just past Exit 66. Just west of Exit 59 there's another bottleneck where the Swannanoa Mountain range has a spur that comes down. The two highways, the railroad, and the creek are practically side by side over there in Swannanoa. A defendable position only a couple of hundred yards wide. We have the front door; they have the back door.”
“Maybe it's the other way around,” Carl said, a bit of an edge to his voice. “Remember, we're closer to Asheville and they're still trying to force us to take five thousand for my town and five thousand for yours. I'm holding them back and it's getting ugly real quick. We've had half a dozen deaths at the barrier the last two days.”
“From what?” Kellor asked.
“Gunshot, that's what,” Carl replied sharply. “There's people that walked down here told they'd find food, we're telling them there ain't none, it's getting bad. I understand it's chaos on Old 70 and the interstate back towards Asheville.”
“Why in hell didn't those idiots in the county office just tell people to stay in place?” Charlie snapped bitterly. “They just started this move even when we told them not to.”
“Because they want to survive,” John said, “and the numbers are not adding up.”
“It'll be a die-off,” Kellor interjected. “A bad one, and Asheville wants it to rest on us, not them. Can't blame them really.”
“I sure as hell do,” Charlie said coldly.
“Well, if you want to keep them out of your backyard,” Carl said, “then we better get cooperating real quick.”
“A smart move,” John said.
“That sixty head of cattle you folks was talking about. If Asheville comes in here, they'll be gone in a day, and then what?”
He paused and smiled.
“Besides, we've counted over a hundred and twenty cattle in our town and three hundred pigs.”
In spite of the horrifying severity of the crisis, John smiled. It truly was like ancient kings negotiating.
Carl looked around the room and all were silent. He had played his trump card and just won with it.
“There's one other back door,” Carl finally continued, “that's up by the
Haw Creek Road, but we can seal that off as well. Our numbers, you have about a thousand more people here than we do, not counting all those that already wandered in.”
“Will you share the cattle?” Charlie asked.
Carl hesitated, looked over at his companion.
“You have three pharmacies in your town; we only had one. You open up your medical supplies to us, we'll consider a transfer of some cattle and pigs.”
“Consider?” Kate asked, and suddenly there was a shrewd look in her eye.
Carl looked at Charlie.
“OK. We'll share them out, as needed,” Charlie said. “But it's full sharing on both sides, medicine, food, weapons, vehicles, manpower.”
Charlie looked around the room and John caught his eye.
“Governance,” John said.
“Go on.”
“I'm sorry, folks, but I feel like I'm in an old movie, set in medieval or ancient times,” John said. “We're like two kingdoms here negotiating.”
“Well, I guess that's the way it's getting,” Doc Kellor said. “But Swannanoa does have an outreach clinic from Memorial Mission. We could use that as a medical center. They had some equipment there for minor surgeries, emergencies, and such. Also three or four doctors in your town, that would give us a total of nine doctors for the community.”
Carl nodded.
“We protected the clinic from Day One. Had the same problem you did with some druggies. . . .” He paused. “We shot them when they were trying to escape.”
John did not ask for any details on that.
“Governance. We can't be divided off if we agree to work together on this. Everyone is in the same boat. So, what will it be?”
Charlie looked at Carl.
“I've known you for years, Charlie Fuller. As long as you are not tied into Asheville, I'll be willing to take orders from you. Damn, I'll be glad not to have to make some of these decisions.”
Charlie nodded.
“Then Carl sits on this council,” John said.
“Who are you?” Carl asked, looking straight at John.
“He's a history professor at the college. Ex-military, a colonel with combat experience.”
John looked at Charlie. “Combat experience,” that was stretching it.
“He advises us on legal stuff, moral issues, a smart man to have around.”
“So why is he here in this meeting?” Carl asked calmly.
John bristled slightly. How he had evolved into being here, well, it had simply started with his barging in, but now, after but a week, he felt the need to be here, and a purpose.
“He is the one who executed the drug thieves,” Tom said. “Let's just say he's our compass. Professor type but OK.”
Carl continued to hold eye contact with John and he wondered if there was going to be trouble.
“My friend Mike Vance here, then I want him on this council, too. We didn't have a mayor like you, but he was town manager.”
John could see that Vance was someone who did what Carl wanted.
“We're not a democracy here,” John said, “though I regret to say that. We are under martial law and Charlie Fuller is in charge. We just advise. If we are to work together, it has to be Charlie's word that is the final say.”
“Nice friend you have, Charlie,” Mike said quietly.
“Mike, Carl,” and now it was Tom speaking. “We've got to work together, and I agree with John. Either Charlie runs it for all of us or the deal is off.”
The room was filled with silence and Carl finally nodded.
Charlie came around the table and Carl stood up, shaking his hand.
John said nothing. The formal ritual had been played out. The kings had shaken hands and the treaty been made. It was the smart move, though he wondered if all would feel the same a month, six months, from now.
Charlie went back to his chair and sat down.
“With the extra vehicles, I know the answer already, but gas supply?”
“We just drain it out of all the stalled cars on the highway for starters,” Tom said.
“I know that, but should we start rounding that up now?”
“Wouldn't do that,” Mike interjected. “Gas goes bad over time. You can't get it out of the gas stations until we rig up some sort of pumps. Inside
a car, though, the tank is sealed, it will stay good in there longer than if we pull it out.
“I know; I own a wrecking shop.”
Like him or not, John realized, this man's knowledge, at this moment, might be more valuable than his own.
“All right then,” Charlie said. “Back to Asheville. Carl, you and I both got the same demand from their new director of public safety, Roger Burns.”
“Asshole,” Carl said quietly, and Tom nodded in agreement.
“That we're to take ten thousand refugees in.”
“He can kiss our asses,” Carl snapped back. “Ten thousand of those yuppies and hippies? You've got to be kidding.”
John noted the change the alliance had already created. Now it was “we,” against “them.” He hoped that would last.
The debate flared for several minutes, Kate leaning towards accepting it, that these were neighbors as well, that some semblance of order had to be reestablished on a county level, Carl and Tom flatly refusing.
John wondered what was going on at this moment down in Winston-Salem, Charlotte, or far bigger cities, Washington, Chicago, New York. Most likely, by now millions were pouring out, at best organized in some way but far more likely in just a chaotic exodus, like a horde of locusts eating their way across the suburban landscapes. At least here geography played to their advantage, the choke points in the roads.
He had already seized on the idea last night. Brilliant in its simplicity but frightful for all that it implied but ten days into this crisis.
He waited for a pause in the debate.
“I have a simple answer,” John said, “that will defuse the crisis without a confrontation.”
“I'm all ears, Professor,” Carl said sarcastically.
“Water.”
“Water?” Carl asked, but John could already see the flicker of a grin on Carl's face.
“Their reservoir is in our territory. The deal is simple. Lay off the pressure, send their refugees somewhere else, or we turn the water off.”
Carl looked at him wide-eyed for several seconds, then threw his head back and laughed.
“I'll be damned.”
“I think we
are
damned if we turn off the water to Asheville,” Doc Kellor interjected, and Kate nodded in agreement.
“So do I,” John said quietly. “I don't know if I could actually bring myself to do it. There's a hundred thousand innocent people there, but this Burns character is playing power politics on us. But we hold the trump card. Send a message back. They still have their water but send the refugees somewhere else, that simple, no problem for them. If not, we blow the main pipe and the hell with them.”
“Maybe that might provoke them to try and seize it by force,” Kate replied.
John shook his head.
“No way. Remember the hurricane in 2004. The main pipe out of the reservoir ruptured and it was one hell of a mess. Special parts had to be flown in from outside the state to repair it. Well, after that they know how vulnerable the water supply is. We make it clear that if they make a move we blow it and they'll never get it back online.”
“If we got that advantage, let's press it,” Carl said. “I've heard they got dozens of railroad cars loaded with food and are hoarding it for themselves. We could demand some of that as well.”
“Not a bad idea,” Tom said quietly. “You might be on to something there.”
“I'm not reduced to that yet,” Kate snapped back. “Trading water for food. Not yet.”
“Nor I; just keep it to the refugee problem. I think if we demand a cut of their supplies . . . they'll fight, and remember, they do have the numbers we don't have,” John quickly interjected, “and we'll all wind up losers.
“But regarding the refugees, let's just say, we'll make them an offer they can't refuse.”
Charlie smiled.
“That's right; you're from New Jersey originally.”