When the atmosphere settles, the people with ham radios will be able to operate, if they took steps to protect their radios, and the sheriff’s office is prepared for that with their own ham radio, but in reality—” He stopped again.
“In reality, we’re on our own,” Carol finished for him.
He heaved a sigh. “Yes, ma’am, I guess you are. I’m sorry.”
“It’s better to know where we stand, instead of waiting for help that can’t get here,” she said briskly. “It won’t be easy, but we’ll do okay.”
He nodded and wound his way out of the crowded lunchroom, having delivered his news. People watched him go, conversation mostly suspended as they thought about what it meant to essentially have no law enforcement.
The Teddy Roosevelt guy looked around and said loudly, pitching his voice to carry, “We’ll need to organize the community, set up our own protection. I’m willing to—”
Mike Kilgore interrupted. “For those of you who haven’t met him, this is Ted Parsons; his house is on Cove Mountain.”
Sela choked back a startled giggle. Teddy Roosevelt’s name really was Ted. What were the odds?
“Where are you from, Mr. Parsons?” Carol asked in a neutral tone that made Sela’s people-radar start beeping. Carol didn’t like Mr. Parsons, because normally she was boisterous and friendly; neutral for her was just shy of downright enmity.
“Columbus, Ohio,” he said, for some reason giving her a disdainful look as if she’d asked the state of his underwear. “I own six tire stores, four in Columbus and two in Dayton. I’m accustomed to managing people and resources; I could handle the organization of this little community in my sleep.”
“Bless your heart,” Carol said, a polite smile fixed on her face, “but the valley has about six thousand people in it, which is way more than you’re used to handling—unless your little tire stores average a thousand employees each?”
Several people coughed at hearing Ted’s heart being blessed, the Southern equivalent of “you’re a moron.” Sela ducked her head and pressed her lips hard together. Oh Lord; she might have to break up a fight any minute now, so she needed to be ready, not doubled up laughing.
Ted Parsons’s face turned red at hearing his stores referred to as “little,” signaling that Carol’s retort had hit him square on the ego. Maybe Mike Kilgore saw the same thing because he stepped forward and clapped his hands, saying, “All right, let’s hear some ideas, people, about what we want and how we want it done.”
“Before anything can be done,” Ted Parsons pointed out, “a leader has to be elected. As I said, I volunteer for the job.”
“But you aren’t from here,” someone from the back of the room called out. “You don’t know people.”
Parsons looked annoyed at the reminder, then smoothed out his expression and shrugged. “People are people. Management is management.”
“It ain’t that simple,” a weathered old guy in a sweat-stained John Deere cap said. “If you don’t know where people live, or what they can do, or even what their names are, you can’t manage squat.”
Carol leaned closer to Sela and whispered, “I might have exaggerated about knowing everyone in the valley, but I damn sure know more of them than Teddy Roosevelt does.”
“Anyone else volunteer?” another man said grumpily. “It’s damn hot in here, let’s get this voted on and get home.”
There was a moment of relative silence, no one else speaking up, and Sela winced at the idea of Ted Parsons being in charge of the valley’s resources. He seemed to be more ego than ideas, though she might be wrong about that. After all, he was here, and wouldn’t he want things to go well because it meant his survival as well?
The same woman who had been in the disagreement with Parsons stood up and said, “I nominate Carol Allen. She’s the one who had all the good ideas about how to handle the food.” She gave Parsons a smug look as she sat back down.
Those standing around Sela and Carol looked around and a few muttered, “Not exactly,” because they’d overheard Sela feeding the ideas to her aunt. Sela almost panicked, afraid one of them would nominate her; she ducked her head, not meeting anyone’s eye.
Carol said, “I can’t take credit for that, my backup here is the one with all the good ideas,” and she put her hand on Sela’s shoulder. “This meeting is her idea, too.”
Thank God, Ted Parsons plowed right over that; Sela hadn’t been nominated, Carol had, and he focused