One Second After (19 page)

“Gun,” Washington announced. “Swerve left.”

John swung the old Edsel across the highway. Strange, it was right in front of the DMV office. A week ago, a dozen cops would have been piling out to give him a ticket, the gunman cause for a SWAT team to jump in.

The gunman was the same as before, standing in front of a car dealership, now stepping out, waving his pistol.

Washington raised his AR-15, leveled it out the window. Some refugees were scattering, others just staring at the sight of the Edsel, some just oblivious.

“Don't do it,” Washington hissed.

As if the man had heard Washington or, far more likely, seen the leveled rifle, he stepped back.

Washington tracked on him as they sped past, then exhaled noisily.

“Professor, I think your student just asked a question,” Washington said calmly.

John, trembling from the tension, spared a quick glance back at Jeremiah, Charlie by his side.

“We're still Americans,” John said softly.

 

An
hour later they were back into Black Mountain. There was a roadblock up on the west side of Swannanoa; the chief there had chosen a good spot, a bottleneck where ridges came down on both sides, Route 70, Swannanoa Creek railroad track, and I-40 side by side. The roadblock had not been up when they had driven through several hours earlier.

John had slowed as they approached the barrier. Charlie leaned out of the car and a couple of the cops recognized him, asked for news, and he had confirmed the rumor that had already reached them that more refugees were coming out of Asheville.

John pulled back onto the interstate there, and once past the sign marking the town limits of Black Mountain he breathed a sigh of relief and he felt the others in the car relax as well, Washington finally lowering the AR-15. It was if they had gone to an alien land and were now safely back home.

But as they rolled into the parking area in front of the fire house and police station, John tensed up again. A crowd had gathered, half a thousand or more, and for a few seconds he thought they were trying to storm the building for the emergency supplies.

The five of them got out, and at the sight of Charlie several came running up.

“They got two thieves in there, Charlie,” someone said excitedly.

John shook his head. Hell, half of the people in this town in the last five days had stolen something. Even himself, he had never bothered to go back to the drugstore to pay for the medication or chocolate or the twenty bucks he still owed Hamid. Besides, there was no money anyhow.

“The bastards that raided the nursing home!” someone else shouted, and an angry mutter went through the crowd.

Charlie pushed his way through, and John followed along with Washington.

They got to the door.

“John, maybe you should wait.”

“I got a stake in this. I was there; Tyler was affected.”

“OK.”

He followed Charlie in. There was a crowd gathered round the door to the conference room, and John stepped through the group with Charlie.

Kate looked up, visible relief in her eyes.

“You're back safe, thank God.”

“What's going on here?”

“Got these two,” Tom said.

At the far end of the room two men, midtwenties from the look of them, one as described by Ira, shaved head, distinguishing tattoo, earring; the other, almost an opposite, looking not much different from John's students now waiting outside: fairly well built, hair cut short, but his eyes . . . John could tell this kid was something of a stoner.

“Charlie, Tom wants to shoot them,” Kate said quietly.

Charlie sat down against the edge of the table and looked at them.

“What do you got, Tom?”

“When I got the description from the nursing home, I knew where to look for him,” Tom said, pointing at the serpent arm.

“Busted him three years back on a meth charge. Regular lab, a home just up over the crest of Route 9. Owned by his cousin here.”

“I didn't have nothing to do with it!” the clean-cut one cried. “Larry here, he's the one.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bruce,” Larry snapped, trying to lunge towards him but unable to move. Both were handcuffed and bound to chairs.

“So I went up there this morning and sure enough found these two. Wasted as shit. You'll see the track marks from the morphine.”

John looked closely at the clean-cut kid; there was some recognition.

“Professor Matherson. You know me, I took History one-oh-one with you four years ago. You know me.”

John looked at him carefully. He was never that good with names, but faces he did remember. Yes, Bruce had been a student, showed some promise, then just disappeared from the campus after a semester or two.

Tom looked over at John.

“He was a student once. Several years back.”

“That doesn't matter now,” Tom said.

“I want a lawyer. A fucking lawyer!” Larry shouted. “I know my rights. You dumb-ass cop, you didn't even read me my Miranda, so you really
fucked up this bust. I'm outta here once I get a lawyer. Brutality as well,” and he turned his head to show a swollen cheek, right eye half-shut.

“We are under martial law now,” Charlie said quietly, breaking into the argument.

Bruce looked over at Charlie, eyes wide.

“What does that mean?”

Charlie stood up and looked around.

“Witnesses?”

“We fetched the supervisor down from the nursing home. She's outside.”

“Bring her in,” Charlie said.

John stood up as Ira came in. She looked worse than yesterday, hair uncombed, dirty. It was obvious from the stains on her silk blouse, and the smell, that she had, at some point, snapped out of her shock and was trying to help with the patients.

She looked at the two young men.

“The one with the tattoo, that's definitely him.”

“Lying bitch, it was dark; how could you see me?”

“How do you know it was dark when they were robbed?” Charlie asked.

“Heard it from somebody,” came the muttered reply.

“The other one, I'm not sure. But that tattoo, I remember that.”

“Thanks for the identification.”

She nodded.

Charlie hesitated, looking around.

“Will you swear to this?”

“Sure, Charlie.”

“Someone find a Bible.”

Kate went into her office and returned a moment later with a King James. Charlie wasn't sure of the exact line, so Kate swore her in, and Ira repeated her testimony.

“You got the drugs, Tom?” Charlie asked.

“In my office.”

“Go get them.”

He returned with several dozen vials of liquid morphine, containers of other drugs in pill form.

“Tom, just look on the containers,” Ira said. “ ‘Miller's Nursing Home,'
followed by a code number, should be on them. All controlled substances, when shipped, have tracking numbers and delivery ID numbers,” and she repeated the coding.

“The same,” Tom replied.

“John, would you witness to that?”

John looked over with surprise at Charlie, as if being dragged in. But the memory of the suffering in the nursing home filled him. Kate swore John in, he went over, picked up a container.

“It says: ‘Miller's Nursing Home.' ”

“Tom, you next,” Charlie said.

Sworn in, Tom repeated his testimony as well.

Finished, he stepped back around behind the two.

“You men have anything to say?” Charlie asked.

“I want a fucking lawyer!” Larry shouted.

“Do you have anything to say?” Charlie repeated.

“Yeah, I sure as hell do; give me the damn Bible,” Bruce said.

Charlie reddened, looking over at Kate.

“The Holy Bible please,” she said slowly, forcefully.

Larry said nothing.

“I want the Holy Bible please,” Bruce said.

Charlie picked it up, walked it down the length of the table, and put it down in front of Bruce, who was then sworn in.

“Tell us your story, Bruce.”

For the next five minutes he rambled on. He had nothing to do with it, Larry just coming in with the drugs. Who the second guy was, Bruce didn't know. He and Larry had divided the loot.

John watched Bruce carefully. The man, still not much more than a boy actually, maybe twenty-one or -two, was obviously terrified. And, as well, John could sense Bruce was lying. All the years as a prof had sharpened his bullshit detector, as he called it.

Bruce finally fell silent.

“Ira?” Charlie asked. “How much morphine in liquid form was taken?”

“We keep individual vials for each patient using it, since dosage and strength vary. I think about forty or so.”

“We confiscated thirty-two,” Tom interjected.

“Not much of a cut between your friend here and his buddy,” Charlie
said. “You mean the other guy walked off with eight vials and Larry kept over thirty?”

“Yeah, that must have been it. No one argues with Larry.”

“Or eight vials would be one hell of a party,” Tom interjected. “It's a wonder they didn't kill themselves.”

“You bastards.”

It was Ira, her voice breaking.

“I got seven patients dying of cancer. Two are dead now, thank God, but the others are in agony and all I have for them is what was in their daily trays and then aspirin. I hope they shoot both of you.”

She fell silent, eyes burning with rage.

“Larry?” Charlie said, motioning to the Bible.

“Why bother?”

Charlie nodded and then looked back at John.

“John, I want to keep this formal. I'm appointing you to speak on behalf of these two men.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“My father-in-law is tied into this.”

“John, just do me the favor.”

“Go get Norm Schaich; he's a lawyer. He can do this better than me.”

“Norm's house is miles from here.”

“I can drive it.”

“John, I want this done now.”

“I want a fucking lawyer,” Larry stated yet again. “Yeah, go get Norm.”

John looked at him, then to Bruce and over to Ira, and then out through the half-closed blinds to the crowd gathered outside.

John finally nodded and stood up.

“I'll say this for them. The world we knew, maybe it's finished, finished forever. Maybe not, but I doubt that. All that holds us together now are the things we believed in, the traditions of who we were, who we still want to be.

“Charlie, I guess you'll make the decision. Guide yourself with that thought, of what this country is supposed to be, even in these dark times. I know what you are thinking. I know what our neighbors outside are
thinking. But what ever your decision, know it is a foundation point for what follows, but if we make a mistake here, Charlie, then we've lost that foundation. . . .” He paused. “We are no longer Americans.”

He stepped back to the corner of the room.

Charlie stood silent, head lowered. Bruce started to cry.

Charlie finally raised his head.

“I dread this,” he said quietly. “I never thought I would ever do something like this. But I must think of the community.”

He stepped to the center of the room, behind the chair Kate was sitting in.

“Larry, Bruce—” he hesitated, “Randall and Wilson,” Tom interjected.

“Larry Randall and Bruce Wilson,” Charlie continued, “I sentence you to death by firing squad, for the crime of looting precious medical supplies, not only from this community, but from a facility where people were in desperate need of those supplies to ease their final pain. Execution to be carried out immediately.”

“You bastard,” Larry hissed.

“Son, you are about to go before God; I'm giving you ten minutes to make your peace. Someone go find a minister for them,” Charlie said, and walked out.

John followed him as he went into his office and Charlie did not object as John closed the door. He pulled out the last cigarette in his pocket and lit it. Charlie looked at it longingly for a few seconds and John was ready to offer it over, but Charlie then shook his head.

“Did I do the right thing, John? Frankly, I'm so damn mad at those two animals, especially that Larry, that I'd do it myself without hesitation. But still, did I do the right thing?”

John sat down and didn't speak for a moment. He was torn as well. Again memory of his own temptation with Liz at the pharmacy, to snatch the medicine he needed for Jennifer.

“John, it's like we're back a hundred and fifty years. The Wild West. I kept thinking of that movie,
Oxbow Incident
. Remember they hang three guys in that movie but then find out they're innocent.”

“Yeah, same thought here. It was just on TV last week. One of Henry Fonda's best.”

“A week ago,” Charlie sighed. “Just that short a time?”

“They are not innocent, though,” John said.

“But still. A week ago we didn't kill screwed-up punks for stealing drugs. That Bruce kid, right guidance, he might have straightened out.”

John shook his head.

“Look, Charlie, might have beens are finished. Charlie, we got six thousand, maybe seven thousand people in this town now. How much food? How much medicine? Water still works for downtown, as long as the pipe to the reservoir holds, but up on the sides of the hills we're out. Charlie, we don't keep order, in a month people will be killing each other for a bag of chips.”

John felt the heat of the cigarette burning his fingers and he looked around, then dropped it into an empty coffee cup. “Or a pack of smokes. I'm sorry for that one, boy, but you did the right thing.

“Just keep in mind what I said on their behalf back in there.”

Charlie nodded.

There was a knock on the door; it was Tom and Kate. Charlie motioned them in.

“Reverend Black is in there with them. Time is just about up,” Tom said.