One Year After: A Novel Read Free Page A

move out and head for Texas.
    John found the regular army unit to be of tremendous help with attempting to reorganize the region, opening up some lines of communication with radio gear brought back from overseas deployment, their technicians even helped local ham radio operators to fix their equipment and establish some semblance of a network. They had been helpful as well with at least containing some of the raider groups known collectively as reivers, an old Scot/Irish term for outlaws.
    As the army pulled out, some administrative replacements arrived via helicopter from Charleston, South Carolina. A printed notice had arrived for John from the postal courier from Asheville, announcing their arrival and that in the near future he would be contacted along with other community leaders for a meeting to discuss reorganizing the communities of western North Carolina. This was welcoming news given the continued trouble with border raiders from north of the Mount Mitchell range, who were calling themselves reivers, but after that notice, nothing else … until today.
    And now, this first notice of reestablishing the entity that all spoke of with pride and nostalgia—the United States of America—had come as a draft notice from some distant entity to take his Elizabeth away. I’ve lost one child, he thought. Dear God, not another.
    His thoughts drifted to Jennifer, Elizabeth’s younger sister who had died when the so-taken-for-granted medical supply system of America had collapsed and insulin was no longer available. For want of a few vials of insulin, his youngest had died in his arms. That was part of his life he blocked off to keep his sanity. No parent should ever have to bury his child, but he had. He kept his gaze on Elizabeth even as he hid his thoughts about Jennifer, attempting to maintain a calm, even exterior.
    He looked at her, trying to collect his thoughts. I’m her father. This is my eighteen-year-old daughter who should still be a kid, not a young mother about to be drafted. He shook his head and then forced a reassuring smile and tossed the document back across the table.
    “Ridiculous. You’re a mother of a fourteen-month-old baby. That’s always been a draft deferment.”
    “Not anymore, Daddy. You didn’t read it carefully,” she replied, taking the letter from his hand and turning it over. In this age of paper shortages, the document was printed on both sides, front and back. He had actually forgotten to turn the single sheet of paper over to read the addendum.
    “By executive order during this national emergency,” she read in a flat, emotionless monotone, “all prior grounds of deferment have, as of this date, been waived, except for demonstration of severe physical disability. Those mobilized with dependent children must find suitable placement for their dependents. Failure to do so will result in punishment as outlined in Emergency Executive Order 303.”
    He reread the line and it chilled him. He remembered hearing about Order 303. It gave a government official the right to invoke capital punishment. He had executed people in the months after the Day, starting with the two drug thieves, with no executive orders other than the decision of the town to support such draconian measures during a time when the survival of the town was at stake. He had wrestled with those decisions then; he still did in his nightmares. As he looked up at his daughter, though, the irony did strike him that she was subject to such, as well.
    She handed the page back to him.
    “This came in with the morning mail from Asheville?” he asked.
    “Yup, and I’m not the only one. Mabel at the post office said there were notices for 113 with the overnight post from Asheville.”
    “You sure of that—113?”
    “Yes, Daddy.” There was now a slight touch of a scared girl in her voice. “I ran up here to tell you. A crowd is already gathering at the post office, and they are definitely not happy.”
    He took that in,