One Second After

“I don’t know; nobody knows. That one idiot, running out, shouting we were at war, that we were hit with nuclear weapons and had already lost, set everything off. Just one loudmouth bastard.”

He paused and looked over at his wife.

“Sorry, Wendy.”

“Well, he was a stupid bastard,” she whispered, barely keeping her eyes open, and John smiled.

“Look, I’m old enough to remember 1941. Kennedy in 1963, when Reagan was shot, 2001 of course. Always we at least had radios, television. Someone to tell us what was going on, what to do, offering leadership, and that rallied us together.

“This time it’s a vacuum. Just that one idiot running out, and of course a crowd had gathered because of the helicopters landing, then taking off.

“I got down to the street and rumor was building on rumor; you could hear it. People talking about nukes, someone starts shouting about fallout killing them all, and that was it. Within an hour downtown was in chaos. People looting, fighting with each other, and impossible to control.

“The police were caught completely off guard. Things had been quiet throughout the night. A couple of old cars had been taken by the police and fire departments, driven up and down the streets, someone leaning out the window with an old megaphone and telling folks to stay calm, help was on the way, and so far it was working. But that panic ended it.”

John hesitated but had to ask.

“Were we nuked? I mean a full attack?”

Don shook his head.

“I know the District Attorney for the county. I got my way into his office. That goddamn fool running out, some half-ass bureaucrat, heard a few minutes of the briefing, panicked, and was out the door.

“As for the truth of it, there’s precious little. Remember it was a couple of days after nine-eleven before things started to sort out, and we had full communications then. Now, well, according to the District Attorney they were told that one, maybe two or three nuclear weapons were detonated over the United States, up high, a couple of hundred miles up.”

“It’s EMP for certain then,” John interjected.

“That’s what the DA said. Also, they were told some communications at Fort Bragg survived, aircraft parked inside protective shelters, some vehicles as well.

“Other than that, it’s shut down the entire power grid of the United States, except for a few radios and machines that this major said were ‘hardened.’ He said the army was going to be working on getting things up and running and for folks to stay calm till then. But it was going to take several weeks.”

Don shook his head.

“It’d of been better if he never showed up. The way he flew in, then took off, made it look like he was running out, and that helped the panic.”

“Several weeks my ass,” John muttered. Don fell silent. He looked at Kate.

“You read that report I left here?” John asked. She nodded.

“Start thinking months, years. What Mr. Barber just told us confirmed it.”

“I know, John.”

Her tone indicated to him that she wanted him to stand back a bit, and he realized she was right.

“Sir, what happened then?” Charlie asked.

“Well, it was already edgy. Two planes had crashed in the downtown, one of them a seven-thirty-seven, right after the power went off. Hell of a mess. Some people were thinking it might have been some sort of failed terrorist strike. Like I said, without any radios, without any communications, rumors running ahead of the truth, the way they always do, no one knew and thus everyone was an expert, and everyone was soon scaring the hell out of each other.

“It was then that I realized I better get Wendy and myself out of Charlotte and up here.”

“Why here?” Kate asked.

“Because it’s safe here,” Don said. He looked around the room as if seeking some assurance.

“Sure, Don,” Charlie said. “You’re ok now; you’re with neighbors now.”

“So I walked home from my office downtown. Four miles, at that moment I thought the toughest four miles I’ve ever been through since I got shot down over Korea and had to hike back to our lines.

“I got Wendy and from there it took us two days to walk to the airstrip where I keep my L-3.”

“An L-3, what the heck is that?” Tom asked.

“Military designation for a World War II Aeronca recon plane. We used them in Korea as well for liaison and artillery spotting. It’s nearly identical to the one I flew as an artillery spotter in Korea.”

He smiled. “Found her as a junker about ten years back and fully restored her to original shape. She’s a beauty to fly, slow and low.”

John could not help but smile. Like a lot of older vets, when Don talked about something like that, the years seemed to drift away from his face and his eyes were young again as he spoke of a happy memory.