John sighed. “No one ever said a life without electricity was going to be easy. Sure, it’ll mean lots of work on everyone’s part, but how can we just turn them away like animals?”
“I agree with John,” Patty Long said. Her medical team had already set up a makeshift treatment center in her house. “I can’t imagine condemning people to die.”
“We aren’t condemning anyone,” Arnold shot back. “We aren’t the ones who shot up their street last night. The simple truth is, if we start taking in everyone who wants to get in now, where do we draw the line? You wanna talk about playing God, then all the more reason we can’t start picking people out of the crowd.”
As much as John hated to admit it, Arnold was making a valid point. If they knew these were the only refugees who’d come knocking, the decision might be a manageable one. But who knew what the future would bring?
“I say we take a vote,” Arnold said. “All in favor of turning the refugees away raise your hand.”
Arnold, Susan and Curtis raised their hands. John and Patty were the only ones who voted no. Al was the solitary vote left and there was a guilty look in his eye as his hand rose and then stopped in mid-air. A third vote for no meant there would be a tie and perhaps room for more discussion. These were people’s lives they were debating after all, not what color shirt to wear or whether Bud Light was really less great-tasting.
Finally Al’s hand went up and it was settled. Through every stage of his preps John had been comfortable with sacrificing the lives of others in order to save the ones he loved. But seeing it all play out for real, the pain and terror and misery, those decisions he’d thought would be simple were proving to be the most gut-wrenching of all.
Chapter 23
John was the one who would have to deliver the news. He returned to the western barricade near Pine Grove to find that a number of Willow Creek residents had gathered with horror on their faces. This was a scene one would expect to see on the nightly news in a Third World country. Not the USA.
His son Gregory was in the crowd, along with Diane. John felt ashamed of what he was about to do. There was a chair near the barricade the deputies sometimes used during their long watches and John stood on it. There must have been two hundred people pushing up against the barricade, begging to be let in. Recruits were all along the wall, weapons in hand. The one thing they didn’t have was a megaphone. It hadn’t been part of John’s preps since he’d never imagined needing one. He cupped his hands around his mouth so his voice would carry.
“I know all of you are frightened and desperate to get to safety. Our committee’s spent the last hour trying to figure out whether we would be able to take any of you in. As it is, our own food stocks are dangerously low. After a difficult vote we’ve decided we can’t take any refugees. I’m sorry.”
“What does that mean?” a woman with blood on her face demanded. “If we stay out here we may die.”
“You can go and fortify your homes against attack,” John offered. “Just like we did.”
They didn’t seem convinced. “They’re burning people’s houses, can’t you see that? We need weapons. There’s safety in numbers.”
“I’m sorry,” John said. “We took a vote and there’s nothing more I can do. I wish you all good luck.” The crowd was growing restless. “I need you all to move away from our barricade.”
People on the other side were crying, a few of the men cursing at John, telling him their families were going to die because of him. Tears rolled down Diane’s cheeks. The enormity of what was happening coupled with the strain on her husband’s face must have been too much.
Gregory climbed up on the chair to see, holding onto his dad’s waist.
“Son, you shouldn’t be up here,” John told him.
A boy from the crowd with a red ball cap waved at them and Gregory waved back.
“You know him?”
“Yeah, that’s Sean. He’s on my baseball team. Can’t we just let him and his family in?”
John shook his head. “And what about the rest of them, son? How can we justify allowing some while turning away others?”
“’Cause we know him,” Gregory said innocently.
“Don’t you think we know most of these people? I see them when I go to the grocery store. I talk to them at your baseball games. See them in the park on the weekends.”
Gregory grew quiet and gave a final wave again to his friend in the red cap.
Some of the crowd began moving away as John had instructed and already small groups were walking up Pine Grove, dragging their belongings behind them. But another group of around thirty people weren’t leaving. A handful even started pushing against the barricade.
John ordered them to stop, but they weren’t listening. If they managed to breach the wall then everyone who had walked away would turn back and flood inside. In other words, all hell would break loose and the lives of everyone would be in danger.
The mob was still shouting and pushing against the wall. John removed his S&W M&P40 Pro and fired three shots into the air. The crowd ducked and then scattered. Within minutes they were all gone. The ground beyond the wall looked like a battlefield, except instead of bodies it was cluttered with the discarded possessions of those who had fled. Maybe they would return to collect them after dark, but either way, someone would take what was there.
It had taken hundreds of years to make a country the greatest on earth and only seconds to turn it into a nation of scavengers.
The last remnants of the mob hadn’t disappeared from view for more than ten minutes before shots rang out. Semi-automatic gunfire similar to what they’d heard the night before. The crowd had been heading toward the interstate and it was starting to sound to John like they’d been ambushed.
“We’ve got to go help them,” John said, eyeing the deputies around him. There were seven, surely enough to head out and fend off the attackers. “We can go through Tim Sheridan’s backyard.” Tim’s high wood fence had a gate they sometimes used to enter and exit the perimeter.
John waved them over.
“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Peter said. “I mean, what if you all get killed? We can’t afford to lose anyone.”
“We weren’t able to save these people by taking them in. The committee voted and I respect their decision, but I’m sure as hell not going to stand by and listen to them get massacred.”
Peter took his arm. “And who’ll protect your family and the community when you’re dead?”
Shots continued to echo down the street and John double-timed it toward Tim’s place, followed by seven deputies. Four of them had AR-15’s. Two had deer rifles and one had a Glock 19 from Frank’s collection. John had his own AR and the S&W he’d used to disperse the crowd.
Tim’s yard had a side gate facing Willow Creek. They entered through there and headed straight for the door facing Pine Grove. John opened the door slightly and didn’t see any immediate threats. They moved out onto the street, staying close to the houses for cover, maintaining at least twelve inches from the wall to avoid ricochets and rabbit rounds. Each man guarded a different sector to ensure all angles were covered. They’d drilled several times moving through an exposed area. The firing had died down to little more than sporadic pops here and there.
Pine Grove made a gentle curve to the right as it led up toward the interstate. As John and his seven recruits rounded the turn they saw the bodies. Dozens of them lying on the ground. There was no sign of the gunmen who had done this, nor any of the survivors who’d made it through. Even from far away, one of the dead stood out to John. A kid around Gregory’s age, wearing a red baseball cap.