One Year After: A Novel by William R. Forstchen Read Free Book Online

wife’s side. “And this is my old military ID as a colonel in the United States Army. I assume that will vouch for me.” He shifted into his well-trained command voice.
    “Whom do you wish to see?”
    John bristled up. “I just told you—Dale Fredericks. I wasn’t aware that I had to be announced.”
    “You mean the director of Carolina District Eleven,” the guard replied.
    “I wasn’t aware I had to address him by his formal title.”
    “Sir, I’m following my orders, and henceforth, proper titles are to be used.”
    John glanced down at the guard’s sleeve. “All right, Sergeant, then I am Colonel John Matherson of the United States Army Reserve. You will address me as sir and inform whomever it is that put you out here that I am here to see Dale Fredericks.”
    “Wait here.” There was a hesitation on the guard’s part. “Sir,” he finally added in.
    He jogged back into the building, the other guard just standing silent, blocking their way and not making eye contact with either of them.
    A moment later, his interrogator was at the doorway and gestured for them to climb the steps and come in. John slowed as he approached and flashed an angry glance at the guard. “Sergeant, I’ll let it pass this time, but in the future, you not only address me as sir , you salute my rank when I inform you who I am and show proper identification, and you do not wave me about as a traffic cop. You could have walked back down the few steps to tell me to come in, which I would have done anyhow. Do I make myself clear?”
    The guard was silent.
    “Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?” John snapped.
    There was a muttered “Yes, sir,” and John opened the door on his own and held it for Makala to go in first.
    “That last bit wasn’t necessary, John,” she whispered.
    “Hell yes it was,” he replied, following her into the courthouse, and as he stepped within, he came to a sudden stop.
    The interior was lit … with electric lights . The county courthouse had an open foyer that rose several stories, the upper floors facing the foyer cordoned off with ornate iron balcony railings that had a heavy, oppressive look, almost like the bars of a cell. Though no critic of architecture, John always felt that the 1920s-era building had a bit of a Stalinist-era feel to it when compared to the far more attractive county offices next to it. The half dozen fluorescent lights illuminating the foyer fluttered slightly as if the electrical current was not constant.
    Of course, it was not the first time he had seen electric lighting since the Day. Mission Hospital had brought a generator online, which, when powered up, provided electricity for two operating rooms and an adjoining ICU established on the first floor next to the emergency room. A number of private and even some older industrial generators had survived the attack, but it was now, after two years, a question of fuel to run them. The vast majority of families that had tried to think ahead long before the Day and had put in backup power had been thinking in terms of days or weeks at most. The ones with ten to twenty gallons of gas on hand had run out within the first week. A couple of families in Black Mountain, such as the Franklins, had kept mum about their thousand-gallon propane tanks, but even those went dry after the bitterness of the previous winter.
    The army had left a couple of generators behind, and it was now obvious where one of them was in use, and the sight of it set John on edge given how much fuel was being used just to provide lighting. For a moment, he stood there wondering if he was feeling the cooling touch of air-conditioning, as well.
    “John Matherson of Black Mountain?”
    John felt a bit embarrassed; he had actually been standing there as if he were a gape-mouthed tourist, gazing up at the electric lights. He caught sight of the man he assumed was Dale Fredericks coming out of his office, located on the ground floor of the courthouse. There was a