One Second After [123]
Both companies were now rounded out by vets who had seen service, as far back as Korea, adding nearly a hundred to their ranks. These vets might be old, but they had combat experience and were now slotted in as squad and platoon leaders.
Others, the survivalist types, including the legendary Franklins, were teaching the kids how to concoct homemade claymores, land mines, satchel charges, and homemade rocket launchers fashioned out of PVC pipe. The reenactors in the town regretted they could not get their hands on an original cannon, but were now mixing up black powder for these weapons and rigging up a field piece made out of steel pipe that would be packed with canister.
As for the students, within seconds they were reverting back, a couple of the guys laughing, shouting g(x>d-natured insults. More than a dozen couples instantly paired up, a few of them, without any attempt at stealth, with arms around each other, heading down towards the woods behind the science building.
"There's a major problem brewing and figured we should check in with you," Charlie said, his voice thin, raspy.
Washington nodded and the three took the shaded path, walking over the old stone arch bridge that led from Gregor Dorm to Gaither. John had always loved this place in particular. On many a day he'd sit on the bridge to watch the creek tumble beneath him. Students were always passing by and it was a great place to just hang out, chat with kids, sneak a smoke with another smoker ... a breaking of the rules since they were outside a designated spot, but the dean had given up a long time ago trying to hassle John about it, and the president actually thought it was good, a faculty member twisting the administrative tail a little with the kids joining in.
They headed into President Hunt's office. He rarely showed at the campus now, though his home was but a quarter mile away. In spite of the pleadings of John, Reverend Abel, and Washington, President Hunt had made a solemn statement that he and his wife would refuse extra rations. Every ounce of food had to go to "our soldiers and volunteers." It was typical of him, incredibly noble, and as a result he was dying.
They walked in and sat down around the conference table in the office, and as they did so, a humming sputter echoed and they were back up, looking out the windows.
It was Don in his Aeronca L-3, D-day invasion stripes starkly visible on the wings and fuselage, clearing the crest by Lookout Mountain and then dipping down into the narrow valley of the Cove. He circled the campus once, tight turn, not fifty feet above the trees, saluted, and then leveled out to head south into town and the landing strip at the Ingram's shopping plaza.
"So let me guess. The Posse is coming," Washington said. John and Charlie nodded in agreement.
"It was inevitable; sooner or later they'd hear about us and figure we had something worth taking.
"He went out when, about two hours ago?" Washington asked.
"Make it two and a half," John said. "That plane cruises at about sixty. It ain't good news; they must be getting close."
They went back to the table and sat down.
"One of the boys bagged a bear last night," Washington said. "It's down in the cookhouse now. Meat for everyone at noon, maybe a pound apiece."
John instantly felt his mouth water. Twice now they had bagged bears, and though greasy as hell, bear was filling.
"I just wish we could get President Hunt to join us. I sent a couple of the girls up there to plead with him and they said he just smiled and refused. They were crying when they came back,