“That’s all I have to say. Y’all get the word out about the gasoline. I’m not going to play favorites, not going to pick and choose who gets it—except for maybe someone with a gas-fired kiln, but that will benefit all of us and could save some lives this winter. Starting at nine o’clock tomorrow, if Trey has a suction pump going, we’ll start emptying the tanks. I suggest y’all drive here and have your vehicles first in line, because Ted was right about stepping up the patrols. We might have more people who are up to no good coming into the valley.”
Almost everyone filed out; Mike was the only one who stayed behind. “That was a smart thing, shutting down the pumps.”
“I didn’t feel smart, I felt scared.”
“Right along with everyone else. You still did the smart thing.” Crossing his arms and tucking his hands into his armpits to keep them warm, he stared out the window at the people still standing around in the parking lot. The patrol members were moving through the crowd, spreading the news about the gasoline. She watched them, saw excitement dawning at the prospect of a small taste of luxury, because that’s what the gasoline represented: heat, cleanliness, mobility, a brief respite from making do, and a means of swiftly increasing their woodpiles. Fire meant life.
“Bill Haney from over near the Cades Cove shortcut almost cut his finger off this morning, chopping wood. One of his neighbors is a retired veterinarian and he sewed it back as best he could; Bill should be all right, except for a stiff finger. A couple of cases of what might be flu are over on Little Round Top.”
They had no medical team. So far, medical care had been catch-as-catch-can, with the herbalists doing what they could, the fire department medic helping, as well as a couple of nurses. No one was organized, and she didn’t know if organization was needed.
“Flu? This early in the year?” That didn’t seem likely. If anything, they should be safer from flu this year. They’d had almost no contact with anyone from outside the valley, no one was touching contaminated cart handles in Walmart or Kroger.
Mike shrugged. “That’s what I heard. I kind of doubt it. Colds, yeah, but I’m not going over there to check.” He frowned as he looked out the window, and Sela turned to see what had caused the frown.
“What?”
“Ted’s talking to Lawrence Dietrich. I know you said don’t pick and choose, but I hate to see good gasoline going to a piece of trash like him. Still, he’s got a couple of kids, so that’s that.”
Sela watched the two men, who had stepped away from the others. Ted’s body language was saying he was large and in charge, or at least he thought he was. Lawrence Dietrich looked vaguely familiar, or maybe it was his name she’d heard before. He was a young man, and good-looking in a lean, wolfish away. Maybe he’d bought gas here before. She was tired and didn’t much care. She wanted a nap, but that wasn’t going to happen. There was too much to do, and she felt as if the avalanche of responsibilities was about to smash her flat.
Ted might not like Sela Gordon hiding the fact that she had thousands of gallons of gasoline hoarded, but he did like telling people about it, seeing how excited they got and being able to answer their questions. It was as if they thought he was doing them a favor. He was slapped down so often in this community, for a change it was nice to be looked up to.
For once he agreed with her that the community patrol should be first in line; he’d fill up his car, and if Meredith wanted to go anywhere he’d be able to take her. Too much walking wasn’t good for her. She was losing weight—not a lot, and really everyone was, but it worried him. If anything happened to her, he wanted to be able to get her down the mountain to the medic. He couldn’t stop himself from worrying about her, even though she insisted she was fine.
“Hey, Ted.”
He jumped a little, because he’d gotten distracted, and looked at the young man he’d been talking to a minute ago. The man inclined his head. “Let’s step over here, away from the others, so we can talk.”
Ted started to decline, but maybe there was something interesting he needed to know. Together they walked to the edge of the parking lot, where they couldn’t be overheard.
“Sorry, I don’t know your name.”
“Lawrence.” The man put out his hand for a quick shake. “Lawrence Dietrich.”
Dietrich had a hard look to him. He was lean to the point of thinness, and he needed both a shave and a haircut, but these days who didn’t—except for himself, of course. He made an effort to stay well groomed, partly for Meredith, and partly because when he was at his tire stores it was important to look professional. In his opinion, it was a good habit to have.
“Do your friends call you Larry?”
That earned him a hard stare. “Do yours call you Teddy?”
Point taken. Dietrich had been inside the store and had heard that sharp little exchange with the Foster guy. “What can I do for you, Lawrence?”
“I have a few thoughts about this community patrol.”
“Then you should have spoken up at the meeting.”
Dietrich made a sharp, dismissive motion. “Like that would work. That Gordon woman and her smart-mouthed aunt, they think they’re better than everyone else, that they know best how things around here should be run.”
He was right about that. He’d thought that Carol Allen was so full of herself it was a wonder she could eat, while the niece had stayed in the background, but now he knew that one was just as bossy as the other.
“What’s your idea?”
“My idea is that the community patrol is a waste of time, the way they’ve got it set up. Me and my cousin, we volunteered at the beginning. Most of the stumblebums involved don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground. They just walk around and look important. Did they do anything to stop old man Livingston from being broke in on? No, he took care of it himself. I think we need our own community patrol—patrol 2.0, you might call it. I don’t have the smarts to lead an effort like that, but I think you do. I think you’d be good at putting together an army of sorts, taking control of this valley, making people do what they should.”
Ted hesitated. He was already in the community patrol, and Lawrence Dietrich looked like the type of person he’d always avoided. On the other hand, no one else in the valley had sought him out, asked his opinion on anything, or made use of his expertise in management and organization. Sela Gordon was going about everything all wrong, waiting for people to step up and volunteer, waiting for them to donate their goods and time and services. People would hold back for themselves, instead of pooling their resources so everyone was taken care of.
“I don’t see any harm in discussing options,” he finally said.
“Good. Maybe tomorrow afternoon you can meet with me and a few of my friends. At your house?”
Ted’s first instinct was to keep this far away from Meredith. “No, no sense in everyone walking that far, I’ll come down. Beside the bank, after lunch. Maybe around two?”
Lawrence nodded, said, “See you there,” and with a quick wave of his hand walked away.
An army . . . of sorts. Ted couldn’t stop the thrill that ran through him at the thought. And they wanted him to be in charge. They would take over this valley, and do things right.