“Well,” Reese said, coughing on his water. “I wouldn’t say it like that, exactly—I more or less crashed into him and as he went down, he stabbed me instead of Cal.” He leaned forward so Chapman could see the bandage on his shoulder.
“Oh, quit bein’ so humble—I saw him,” she said to Chapman. “He charged in there like a Georgia bulldog.”
“Hey, I’m from South Carolina,” Reese argued. “And who’s telling this story, anyway?”
“Well,” Jo said with a shrug. “I didn’t think ‘charging in there like a game cock’ had the same ring. Go ahead, you tell it your way.” She looked at the mayor and mouthed ‘boring.’ Chapman looked down, unable to hide his grin.
“Here we are,” Annabelle said, as she appeared from inside the restaurant with a tray of steaming scones, slathered in melted sugar icing and a bowl of sweet clotted cream on the side. “Fresh from that wood oven Jerry built out back. You let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
“Thank you, Annabelle,” Chapman cooed. “They look amazing, as always.”
“I’ll let Jerry know you’re up for re-election again,” Annabelle said with a laugh and disappeared into the darkened interior of the restaurant again.
Reese dipped the scone in clotted cream and took a big bite. He groaned as the sweetness filled his mouth. “This is incredible,” he said around a mouthful of the dense pastry.
“Best thing I’ve had since the waves hit,” Jo muttered. “Maybe a long time before that…”
After they ate for a moment, the mayor took a drink of water and carefully placed his glass on the metal table. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is your friend—Ben, was it?”
Reese looked at the table and swallowed. The delicious scone in his mouth had turned to sawdust.
Jo put a hand on his and took the lead. “He didn’t make it,” she replied quietly. “The rioters came back in the middle of the night and tried to loot the Walmart. We promised Chief Foster we’d keep an eye on things while he worried about the crowd out front. There was a gunfight…Ben was killed.”
“I’m so sorry,” Chapman offered. “He sounded like a good man.”
“He was—we’ve been friends since college,” Reese said, his voice thick. He cleared his throat. No one said anything for a long moment, so Reese took a bite of the scone, and tried to smile as the dense pastry melted like butter in his mouth. He polished it off with a long slug of cold, clean water. He needed to change the conversation away from Ben. “Can I ask you a question?"
"I'd say you just did," Chapman said with a smile. He leaned back in his chair. “Fire away."
“How come this restaurant isn't boarded up?" Reese glanced up and down the street. "I see a lot of places shuttered—couple more getting closed up right now." The dull thud of hammers echoed down the street from the movie theater.
Chapman sighed. "Well, chalk it up to sheer Yankee stubbornness. Annabelle and Jerry—they've been running this restaurant for…oh, gotta be close to fifteen, twenty years now," Chapman said, as he scratched his chin. "They don't want to give in to the fear, I suppose. They've outlasted blizzards and nor'easter’s…figure on outlasting this, too, I suppose.”
"Have y'all had much trouble?" asked Jo.
Chapman shook his head. "Not anything like what Ellsworth dealt with, if what you're telling me is true. Don't get me wrong, we’ve had our fair share of shenanigans. The first couple of days, a big group of people came driving through, then later, others came walking through town. Outsiders got real upset when they found out we didn't have power, so they couldn’t use credit cards to buy stuff. Big bank accounts don't mean squat if you can't get your money."
"That why Officer Hatchell was a little less than friendly?" asked Reese.
"Well, he's a little less than friendly most of the time. Especially now, though. One of his officers was killed in a scuffle three days ago. First on the job death in Belfast in the last 50 years. None of us are pleased about it, of course, but every day this world looks like it's getting to be rougher and rougher." He inclined his head at Jo. "What you folks survived in Ellsworth, well, I have a sinking suspicion that's the tip of the iceberg. Just wait till the folks in Boston start spreading out into the countryside."
“The Golden Horde…” Reese muttered.
“That’s just what Mike called it,” the mayor said, as he regarded Reese carefully.
“We’re an awful long way from Boston, aren't we?" asked Jo around a mouthful of scone.
"I suppose on a good day with clear roads, a body could get from Boston to here in…oh about six hours,” Chapman explained. “Now, it might take someone a few days on account of all the stalled cars, accidents, and whatnot,” Chapman said as he waved off a fly. He shook his head. "It's a crying shame what's going on."
“Well, here comes Officer Hatchell, and he sure doesn't look happy," Reese observed.
Jo whistled. "I'd say he's a little less than friendly right about now."
Mayor Chapman stood. "What's going on Mike? You get some news?"
"I did." He glared down at Reese and Jo. "Managed to get a hold of Cal Foster up in Ellsworth on that old radio rig we got at the station. Their story checks out," he said grudgingly. "He filled me in on some more details. The Walmart was overrun last night."
Reese got to his feet. “Overrun?"
"There an echo in here?" Hatchell snapped. "Yes, it was overrun. They didn't have enough
