One Second After

“It’s yours for the duration,” John hesitated, “or until this old beast breaks down or someone gets it. Chief Barker and I nearly got on that very issue less than an hour ago. I managed to hang on to this monster, but Barker just might remember the Mustang, so I suggest you get over there now. Possession is always nine-tenths of the law.”

“Deal, sir. I’ll take good care of her, no joyriding, sir.”

“Come on, Washington. It’s ‘John’; cut the ‘sir’ shit. I work for a living now.”

Washington smiled.

“You said the duration, sir, when it came to the car,” and now his features were serious.

Washington finally looked away from him and back to the gate.

“Good position here, you know that,” Washington said.

John had thought about it more than once on his drive up the Cove to the campus. The gatehouse was a stone arch over the roadway, a tiny stone building, with nearly sheer ledges to either side, the road having been cut through the ledge a hundred years back. Long ago, back in the 1920s, it had been the entry to a tourist road that weaved up the mountains all the way to the top of Mount Mitchell. The gatehouse was a quaint leftover of that long-abandoned road. To the east of the gate, Flat Creek tumbled by; to the west, a near vertical cliff cut through the descending ridge to open the lane for the road. There was only one way in and one way out, and it was here.

Washington had obviously contemplated this fact long years ago.

John said nothing and he drove off heading back into town, crossing State Street and over the tracks of the Norfolk & Southern. He passed the Holiday Inn. A number of people were sitting around outside; a group of kids were playing tag. Several grills were set up, food cooking on them.

He slowed as he spotted someone standing down by the road, her arms folded, just gazing off towards the mountains. He pulled up, again a bit uncomfortable with how many people turned at the sight of his car.

The woman looked at him. There was a flicker of recognition.

“Ma’am, I owe you an apology.”

“I think you do.”

She was still dressed in her business suit, but the high heels were gone, replaced with a battered pair of sneakers.

He opened the door and got out and extended his hand.

“Look, seriously, I apologize. I had my kids with me, my mother-in-law, and frankly…” He hesitated.

She relented and extended her hand and took his.

“Sure; I understand. Guess I’d of done the same if the roles were reversed.”

“John Matherson.”

“Makala Turner.”

“Curious name.”

“My granddad was stationed in Hawaii during the war. Said it was a flower there. Talked my dad into using the name.”

John couldn’t help but let his eyes drift for a second. She was tall, even without her heels on. Five ten or so, slender, blond hair to shoulder length, top two buttons of her blouse unbuttoned.

It was just the quickest of glances, but he knew she was watching. Strange. If you don’t check an attractive woman out, even for a second, it’s an insult; if you do, there might be a cold, icy stare.

She smiled slightly.

“Where you from?” John asked.

“Charlotte. Supervising nurse for a cardiac surgical unit. Was coming up here to attend a conference at Memorial Mission Hospital on a new procedure for heart arrhythmias.

“Now, could you do me a favor and tell me just what the hell is going on?”

“That reminds me,” John said. “Look, I’ve got to do something right now. Will you be here in ten minutes?”

“Sure.”

He got back into the car, hesitated, and looked at her. “I’m heading to the drugstore right now. I need to get something. If you want, you can come along.” She didn’t move.

“I’m not trying to pick you up or anything. Really. I got to get some medication for my daughter. Just I can answer your questions while I drive.”

“Ok. Don’t seem to be going anywhere else.”

It was only several more blocks to the shopping plaza with Ingram’s market and the CVS drugstore. The parking lot was nearly full, but no one was about.

He got out and looked at the drugstore, disappointed; it was dark. Damn, it must be closed, but then he realized the absurdity of that; all the stores were dark.

“I think it was EMP, like I just said,” John said, continuing their brief conversation.

“Had the same thought.”

“Why?”

She smiled.

“I help run a surgical unit. We had a lot of disaster drills, especially since nine-eleven. We did a scenario on that one, EMP. It wasn’t pleasant. Kept me awake thinking for nights afterwards. Hospitals aren’t hardened to absorb it; the emergency backup generators will blow out along with everything else, and you know what that means.”

“You’ll have to tell me more later on,” John said. He pulled on the door and it swung open.

Inside was a minor bedlam, a harried clerk behind the counter shouting, “Please, everyone, it is cash only. I’m sorry, no checks….”