One Year After: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

do.”
    “Yeah, sure,” he said, shaking his head. He looked at the mailboxes and at the friends and neighbors gathering on the other side. “Damn it, Mabel,” he said, forcing a friendly smile. “At least next time, give me a call first so I can either figure out what to do first, or…” His voice trailed off, and he didn’t add, Or find a place to hide.
    How often, from the very first days, had he wished he could do just that as he opened the door and stepped back out into the foyer.
    Ernie Franklin was, of course, immediately in his face. Though in his midseventies, he radiated a definite “don’t ever mess with me” aura. Head of what all called “the Franklin clan,” who lived on the far side of Ridgecrest. Some had defined them as survivalists even before the Day. Ernie and his wife had, prior to the war, been tech heads—programmers starting way back in the 1960s. He had proudly let everyone know that he and his wife Linda had written some of the software for Apollo and the shuttle programs. Foreseeing the future, which finally did happen, he had bought up a hundred acres of mountain and built his fortresslike retirement home at the edge of town. It was well stocked with food that obviously was still supplying his “clan,” which now included a couple of sons, their families, a daughter, and a reclusive author who had come into their lives before the Day. They had survived on their own since the first day, never requesting rations or help from the town. On the day of the cataclysmic battle with the marauding Posse, the enemy’s flanking attack had swept along the edge of Ernie’s property but then shied back when confronted by an explosion of automatic weapons fire. Indirectly, his clan’s efforts had contributed to the town’s victory by forcing the enemy to funnel in along a narrow hiking path rather than using an old logging road, that would have flanked his own position along the Ridgecrest Heights and the Baptist conference center. As a result the main battle had been fought along Interstate 40, but whenever possible, Ernie let everyone know on a regular basis that whether part of the organized fighting force or not, his clan had played a crucial role in the battle and deserved recognition.
    And now he was ready to unleash on John, and he did so in no uncertain and most definitely scatological language. John long ago learned to let him vent until he finally took a deep breath.
    Finally, Ernie relented, breathing hard, and John held his hand up.
    The foyer of the post office was packed, and given the level of sanitation all now lived with, it was a bit rank. He had always been sensitive to smells, something his boot camp drill sergeant picked up on and had made sure John’s job was to scrub out the barrack’s bathroom after the first round of use in the morning, with John usually vomiting up his breakfast while he worked. After two years, the natural scents of his irregularly washed neighbors had become something of a background norm, but it still troubled him at times.
    “How about we all step outside?” John offered. “Let’s sit down, take a deep breath, and talk about this. Could you help me with that, Ernie?”
    Caught a bit off guard by John’s standard maneuver to ask someone to help him, especially in a moment of crisis, the response was almost always the same. Ernie muttered an agreement and motioned to the door as if he were in charge—and the crowd followed him out.
    As they stepped outside, John saw Ed, the police chief, who had most likely been summoned by Jim at the switchboard and had come down from the town office to keep an eye on things. John made eye contact and gave him a subtle hand gesture to just relax and walk away as if nothing was amiss. In this new world of theirs, everyone walked about armed. John always kept a light Ruger concealed in his pocket; most of the neighbors present had a rifle or shotgun casually slung over the shoulder or cradled under an arm. But