Authors: William R. Forstchen
John smiled.
“They back off on the refugee issue and that water just keeps flowing.”
Charlie looked around the table and all nodded.
“Tom, send a courier back today. Use one of those mopeds we got running. I don't want to risk a car the way we did the other day.”
“A pleasure, Charlie. Wish I could see Burns's face when he gets the note.”
“Just remember this, though,” Charlie replied. “Our sewage runs to the
treatment plant in Asheville. The filtration is most likely not running, chances are they're dumping it straight into the French Broad, but still, if they close the pipe, it backs up clear to our town here. They could shut that down in retaliation.”
“Then we threaten to dump our raw sewage right into Swannanoa Creek, which runs downhill to Asheville,” Tom replied.
“Jesus Christ,” Kellor sighed. “Are we getting reduced to this?”
No one could reply.
“All right,” Charlie said, “the big issue. Our roadblock on I-40 at the top of the gap.”
He looked to Tom.
“It's getting bad there. Like we agreed to yesterday. I had someone take a note down to Old Fort at the bottom of the mountain asking them to post a sign that the road above was closed. Old Fort refused. They've got seven, maybe ten thousand refugees camped there, all of them trying to get up into these mountains. They want us to let the people pass; in fact, they're encouraging them to hike up the interstate and, if need be, force their way through. The pressure is building. There's refugees strung out all along the highway.
“Last night one of my men shot and killed two of them.”
“What?” Kate snapped. “I didn't hear of this.”
“Figured I'd bring it up this morning,” Tom said.
“What happened?”
“A crowd of about fifty just would not turn back. The men guarding the gap said they recognized several as folks who had been turned back earlier. They planned what they did and tried to rush us. Someone on their side started to shoot and my men fired back. Two dead on their side, about a dozen wounded.”
Kate shook her head.
“It's going to get worse,” Tom said. “Remember what Mr. Barber said when he flew up here last week, the interstate clogged with refugees pouring out of Charlotte and Winston-Salem. Well, Charlotte is a hundred and ten miles from here, Winston-Salem about a hundred and forty. Give a family burdened down with stuff about ten to fifteen miles a day. That means the real wave is going to start hitting us today; I'm surprised it hasn't been sooner. We might find twenty, thirty, maybe fifty thousand pushing up that road.”
“Why I wanted this alliance,” Carl said. “You're our back door. You let them in, we will be swamped. We'll be caught between Asheville on the one side and those folks on the other. They'll eat us clean in a day.”
“Disease as well,” Kellor interjected.
“I thought you said we have that already?” Carl asked.
Kellor sighed and shook his head.
“Salmonella, that's lurking in any community. I'm talking about the exotics now. Large urban population. You'll have carriers of hepatitis in every variant. What scares the hell out of me is a recent immigrant from overseas or someone stranded at the airport in Charlotte, which is a major hub. He might look well and feel well, but inside he might be carrying typhoid, cholera, you name it.
“We got one of those in a crowd, given sanitation for those people walking here? Just simple hand contact or fecal to water supply or food distribution supply contact and that bacteria will jump. We give someone a plate of food, they haven't washed their hands, we don't clean that plate with boiling water, and within a week thousands will be sick and dying.
“You ever seen cholera?” Kellor asked.
No one spoke.
“I did thirty years back. A mission trip to Africa. It makes salmonella look tame. People in those regions, most of them were exposed to it at some point in their lives and survived. We're wide open to it. We are six, seven generations removed from it and we have no natural immunity. America is like an exotic hothouse plant. It can only live now in the artificial environment of vaccinations, sterilization, and antibiotics we started creating a hundred or more years ago.
“We're about to get reintroduced to life as it is now in Africa or most of the third world. Not counting the global flu outbreak of 1918, the last really big epidemic, one that killed off a fair percentage of a population in a matter of weeks, well, I think it was the Chicago typhoid epidemic back in the 1880s that killed tens of thousands. Water supply got polluted with typhoid and they died like flies. It made the famous fire pale in comparison when it came to body count.”
“Inoculations?” Charlie asked.
“Where?” Kellor said with a cynical laugh. “For typhoid or cholera? Those are inoculations administered by the county-level health department
for travelers overseas, and even then they have to be special ordered. I bet there's not one person in a thousand in this valley protected against cholera, unless they've traveled to Africa or southern Asia, and damn few against typhoid.
“Thank God our elevation is high enough, our climate cool enough, that I'm not worrying about mosquito-borne diseases like malaria, West Nile, and others. And don't even get me started on how we better start looking out for parasitic worms, lice . . .”
His voice trailed off.
“We'll see infections running rampant that won't kill but will weaken, leaving the victim open for the next round. Kate, most guys don't even think of it, but do you have a good supply of what we euphemistically call feminine hygiene products?”
She blushed slightly.
“For this month.”
“Right there, gentlemen, though I bet a lot of women are thinking about it now or finding out real quick. They're back to Great-grandma's days, and that combined with no bathing, poor diet, we'll see a soaring infection rate, and that's just one of a dozen situations we never thought about before last week.
“Johnnie steps on a rusty nail, get a tetanus shot. We might have a hundred of those left in the whole community. We might be staring at lockjaw come fall. Shall I go on?”
No one spoke.
John looked into his old friend's eyes and could see that this doctor, more than perhaps anyone else in the room, was haunted by just how medieval this nightmare might get.
As a historian John knew the horror. For every person who died in the westward migration prior to the Civil War from Native Americans attacking, the stuff of American legends, thousands, maybe tens of thousands died from water holes polluted by cholera and typhoid . . . but that doesn't make for a good movie.
“One thing we've neglected I want taken care of right now,” Kellor said. “And I could kick myself for not thinking of it sooner. Get the veterinarians organized.”
“Vets?” Carl asked.
“Hell, yes. They have anesthesia and antibiotics and, frankly, in a pinch can do emergency surgery as well. Inside a dog isn't all that different from a human. Same with dentists, podiatrists as well. Get the meds they still have, move them to the clinic we've agreed to set up in Swannanoa, and guard it twenty-four hours a day.”
Charlie noted it down.
“Back to the refugees, what do we do?” Charlie asked.
“Seal it off,” Carl said.
“We continue to seal it off,” Tom replied, “and I tell you, there'll be fifty thousand piled up on that road by the end of the week and sooner or later they'll storm us, casualties be damned.”
“A safety valve then,” Kate interjected.
“How's that?” Charlie asked.
“We got a pressure cooker ready to blow on the interstate at the gap. Either we have it blow in our faces or we create a safety valve.”
“Like I said, how?” Charlie said, a touch of exasperation in his voice.
“Let people through.”
“God damn,” Carl snapped. “I thought this alliance was so we can guard each other's backs and now you're talking about letting them in? If so, we pull out of the deal.”
“You are already in the deal,” Charlie said coldly, “and once in, you can't leave.”
“Jesus, you're starting to sound like a damn Yankee and I'm a Rebel. If we want to secede out of this union, we'll do so.”
“Kate has it right,” John said.
“Oh, great, the professor speaks,” Carl replied, voice filled with sarcasm.
“Damn you, listen to some reasoning!” John shouted.
The outburst made him feel light-headed, his hand throbbing.
It caught Carl off guard, though.
“She's right. We let people through a hundred at a time with the understanding that they don't stop until past the barrier on the far side of Exit 59. Then they can keep on going.
“They check their weapons in with us, just like when cowboys rode into town and the sheriff met them. We give the weapons back once they're on the far side of our territory. No food give outs, but for decency sake at least
set up a watering spot, say by Exit 64. There should be enough water pressure to run a temporary pipe up there. A privy as well, with lots of lime thrown in and safe drainage.”
Charlie nodded.
“We hold them back, like Tom said, and the pressure will build until they just overrun us.”
“What about the threat of disease that Doc Kellor was talking about?” Tom asked.
“I think when comparing one threat to another what Kate and John are saying is âthe lesser of two evils.'
“If someone is visibly sick, we don't let them through. Quarantine like the old days. Everyone else, they can walk on through but no stopping; armed guards keep their distance while escorting them.”
“We have hazmat suits,” Charlie announced.
“What?”
“Twenty of them stockpiled in the storage area of this building. They were issued out by Homeland Security a couple of years back. Never thought we'd be using them like this, but would that serve?”
“Damn good,” Kellor replied. “Anyone interacting at the barricades with those on the other side wears a hazmat.”
“Good psychological impact as well,” John interjected. “Conveys authority, and frankly, though I hate to say it, those on the other side will feel inferior and thus more compliant about being marched through without stopping.”
He was inwardly angry for even mentioning that. Uniforms, and the white hazmat suits were like uniforms, had always been one of the means throughout history to control crowds, including those being herded to death camps.
“Water only like I said, sharp watch that no one relieves themselves other than at the designated privy. Armed guards in hazmats escorting them. They're allowed through and that's it.”
“What about Asheville?” Kate said. “They might block the road as well.”
“There's no defensive barricade there yet,” Carl said. “They are assuming the flow is all towards us. We might get away with it for a few days before they organize. If they do, we try some logic on them to just let these people
keep moving, or as the professor there said, we mention the water supply and make them an offer they can't refuse.”
John looked around the room and there was no dissent.
“Good plan,” Charlie finally said. “That's what we'll do.”
“One change on it, though: some should be allowed in to stay,” Kate replied.
“How's that?” Kellor asked.
“There's hundreds of people from right here who got stuck on the day everything went down. Driving back home, driving to meetings, flying in or out of Charlotte. They have every right to be here and we must let them in.
“Nearly everyone from Asheville who got stuck there is back, but we have people, several hundred, still missing. When they show up we got to let them in, along with those who own property here and are trying to get to it as a safe haven. They've lived with us for years; we owe them that chance if they make it here.”
“What about the disease, though?” Charlie asked.
“Well, like the doc said, quarantine,” John replied. “It's the way things were done a hundred years ago with ships coming into New York. A doctor inspected the passengers. If he was suspicious, they were put in an isolation ward.”
Again a film image came to John.
“Remember
Godfather Two
? When the Don came to America as a little boy and was put in isolation because they thought he might be sick. We did it all the time then and it worked.”
“Yeah, and look what we got with that guy, the Mafia,” Carl replied.
John realized he had pulled the wrong analogy but pressed on.
“The practices of a hundred years ago did work and we have to step back to them. If a ship came from a port where they knew there was some outbreak of a contagious disease, the ship itself was anchored in the outer harbor until it was deemed safe to pass.
“We can do the same,” John said, looking hopefully at Kellor.
Kellor hesitated, then nodded in agreement.
“Doc, what about the nursing home?” John asked, and Kellor shook his head.
“That place is crawling with every infection known to man. I'd suggest one of the larger buildings at the Baptist church conference center right up near the gap. It's right off the road.”
He looked around and everyone finally nodded.
“Look, I know I won't be popular with some of you, bringing this up,” Carl said. “But the outsiders, those that wandered in here the first few days before we sealed off. That boosted our numbers by maybe two thousand or more. Do we let them stay?”
No one spoke in reply, but Kate was shaking her head.
“We've settled that here,” Charlie said, and John looked over at him, his thoughts instantly going to Makala.
“Why?” Carl asked. “I think we should of talked about this before our deal was made.”
“What are you suggesting, Carl?” Charlie snapped. “They've been here eight to ten days now. Many have integrated in, found a friend or a job to do. What are we going to do, march around town and round them up at gunpoint? It would be one helluva sight and, frankly, tear us apart.”