One Second After

“Just call it an investment, a hedge on inflation.”

Hamid shook his head. “Can’t do that. Maybe for strangers from the highway, but my friends here?”

John smiled.

“Just a friendly suggestion, Hamid. Stash them away; from now on, if you want to sell them to friends, do so just one pack at a time.”

Leaving Hamid, who as soon as John was out the door began to pull the cartons off the display rack, he drove another block to the center of town, again weaving around the stalled cars, and turned up Montreat Road, usually the route of his daily commute to the college. The fire station and police station were on his right and there was a moderate-size crowd there, all looking in his direction. He pulled in, got out of his car, this time locking it and pocketing the keys.

“Hey, John, how the hell did you get that old beast rolling?”

It was Charlie Fuller, the town’s director of public safety, which made him head of both the fire department and the police department. He was also a long-standing member of their Civil War Roundtable and often John’s chief antagonist when it came to debates about the Constitutional justice of the Southern cause.

John looked around at the open parking area. All the fire engines were hangared inside the building along with the ambulance.

“Anything moving here?” he asked.

Charlie shook his head.

“Nothing. It’s been a difficult night.”

“How so?”

“Somewhere around a dozen dead, for starters.”

“What?”

“Heart attacks mostly. One overweight out-of-shape guy walked in from the highway and collapsed right here, right where we’re standing. I have no ambulance, nothing. We got Doc Kellor over, but the guy was already gone.”

Charlie hesitated.

“Three dead up at the nursing home. Tyler’s ok, though,” he added quickly. “At least last I heard.

“Folks have been walking in, or riding bikes in, reports of accidents, and that fire up on Craggy.”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

“Someone said it was a plane, a large one, going in.” John didn’t say anything.

“John, all my communication links are down. Everything, landline phone, radio. I have not heard a word from Asheville and I’m in the dark.”

“What I figured.”

There was the sound of a rattling engine, a sound he could instantly recognize, and around the corner an old Volkswagen van appeared, driven by Jim Bartlett, John’s neighbor from down the street.

Jim pulled up by John’s Edsel and got out. The sight of Jim always cracked John up; it was as if he had stepped out of a time machine from 1970, raggedy jeans, collarless shirt, headband like the kind Willie Nelson used to wear, the only giveaway of time passage the fact that Jim’s chest-length beard and short-length hair were nearly all gray.

* * *

“Hey guys, what’s happening?” Jim asked with a bit of a sardonic smile.

“So your old VWs are still running,” Charlie replied.

Jim smiled. “Even if the world is coming to an end my man, they’ll keep on rolling right up until the final big boom.”

“Well,” Charlie said quietly, voice pitched low so others wouldn’t hear, “I’d prefer you not going around saying it’s the end of the world.”

“But it is,” Jim replied, still smiling. “Been saying it for years. The Mayan Prophecy. They were saying December 2012, but somebody obviously got the date wrong.

He raised his voice a bit.

“This is it, my friends. The Day of Doom, just like them Mayans predicted.”

John looked around, half a dozen small groups were gathered outside the station, and as Jim spoke people started to turn and look towards him.

“Been telling you all for years that this day was coming,” Jim announced, strangely he was still smiling. “The Mayans had it right.”

“My kid told me about that last night,” someone replied, “yeah, some sci-fi guy wrote a book about it, my boy gave me the book and it seemed on the mark with all of this. Jim’s right, this could be it.”

John had always liked Jim, in almost every way he was a level handed, gentle soul, but he did harbor a few eccentric ideas, and now he had an audience.

“Power going off is just the starter. Wait until you see what happens to the sun.”

“Damn it, Jim,” Charlie hissed, “come over here.”

Charlie forcefully put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, moving him closer to the firehouse, John following.

“Are you crazy?” Charlie whispered hoarsely. “You want to start a panic?

Jim looked at him confused.

“I should haul your butt inside right now for inciting panic.”

“Just a minute,” John interjected, putting his hand on Charlie’s and pulling it off Jim’s shoulder.

“Jim, maybe you’re right,” John said hurriedly. “But there are lot of kids standing around. You want to scare the crap out of them at a time like this? Come on, my friend, chill out, let parents tell their kids in their own way. Please.”

Jim nodded thoughtfully.

“Sorry bro, didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

John made eye contact with Charlie. If his friend tried to collar Jim and make a scene, it just might very well start the panic rolling. Charlie got the message.