“Hallelujah!” Jo said, beaming. “I was worried about them…”
Foster nodded. “Problem is, we don’t have food or water to feed the people who live here, let alone all the new mouths that showed up in the last 24 hours. If we don’t get some backup from Bangor, things are going to turn ugly around here, real quick.”
Reese shook Foster’s hand and thanked him again, then watched the overworked small-town chief head back to the barricade line. The crowd had returned almost to the size it was when he’d first seen it from down the street. One of the officers picked up a bullhorn and ordered everyone to disperse. But it didn’t have the desired effect.
“They’re gettin’ pretty agitated over there,” Jo observed quietly. “Again.”
“As long as they stay over there,” Ben groused, easing himself to the ground and sighing in relief as he leaned against one of the skinny elms. “I think I’m good right here.”
“Well, I’m not,” Reese growled. “I’ve had enough of this.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Jo, putting a restraining hand on Reese’s arm.
Reese jerked his arm free. “If we can’t pay for food and water, I’m willing to work for it.”
“Are you serious?” Jo demanded. “You don’t have any training, do you? No? I didn’t think so—you don’t act like a cop.”
“I don’t need to be a cop. I’m a salesman, Jo—I talk to people and convince them to buy my software.”
“He’s just not as good as me,” Ben muttered from the ground.
Reese ignored the jab. “I’m going to go see if I can help convince the crowd to disperse.”
“Reese, that’s not a good idea,” Jo persisted. “This is a sketchy situation. Let the pros handle this.”
“And do what in the meantime? Sit here and try to sleep with one eye open? Sit here and think about water, or food…or my family? I’d rather walk till my feet bleed than be trapped in my own head right now. I need to do something.”
Jo sighed. “Well, go on then, be a fool. I’ll be here to patch you up when you limp back, I suppose.”
Reese set his jaw. “Be right back.” His words brought back memories of the last time he’d seen his wife and daughter. He swallowed the emotions and the worry, his throat dry as a furnace. He had to keep pushing forward, no matter how tired he was. The only way home was forward—and the crowd yelling at Chief Foster was the biggest obstacle in his path.
“What gives you the right to tell us we can’t have water?” demanded a voice in the crowd as Reese drew closer.
“This here badge says Chief of Police—that’s all the right I need, Winston Dugger.” Foster pointed at one outspoken miscreant in the sea of faces ringing the little group of police officers.
“I don’t care who you are—my wife and I have been walking since yesterday and we haven’t had any water all day,” another voice called out.
“Yeah! There’s plenty of water in there!”
The shouts came fast and furious, drowning out Foster’s response. He waved off the crowd in frustration and snatched the bullhorn from a junior officer. Putting it to his lips, he hit the siren sound on the bullhorn. The ear-splitting wail silenced the crowd long enough for him to speak.
“That’s better,” Foster said, his voice booming over the murmurs and grumbles. “Now listen here—this is still America, and we still follow the rule of law.”
“Who’s law? I heard the government dissolved!” a voice called in the darkness.
“What? You mean I don’t have to pay taxes?” someone hollered back.
A ragged laughter rippled through the crowd and Foster let them enjoy the levity for a moment. Reese approached the line of officers and was met with wary nods, but no one barred his path.
“I’m here to volunteer,” he said to the cop—Glivens—who’d originally pointed his service weapon at Reese. “I’ll help in whatever way I can.”
“You trained?” Glivens asked, eyeing Reese as Foster continued to argue with the crowd.
“Well, I’m not a cop, if that’s what you’re—”
“Then you’re just in the way. Go on back—”
“Look, I’m pretty good at talking to people, I’m a sales rep—”
“Sir, I’m gonna need you to go back to your position with the others you brought in. Chief Foster may like you, but I got enough problems in front of me without having to worry about one behind me.”
“But—”
“Screw this, you can’t shoot us all!” someone shouted. A bottle flew over Reese’s head and hit the side of a squad car not ten feet away, exploding in a shower of broken glass and cheap whiskey.
“Get ‘em!” another faceless voice roared. The crowd surged forward, and the line of cops drew their weapons. A gunshot rang out as three people collided with the officer on the far end of the line.
Reese flinched at the sound and stared as Foster fell under the onslaught of bodies. Two more gunshots split the night, and several people bumped into Reese on their way toward the darkened store. On instinct, he grabbed one and pulled back, forcing the man to trip and fall, which caused three others to trip over the first, making a wedge in the crowd.
Foster got back to his feet, swinging his bullhorn like a club. Gunshots popped all around him as his officers tried to maintain the line and close ranks. The crowd grew more savage in return. Reese watched in horror as a
