Page 37 of Chaos

The lobby is just down one of the halls from the lobby, and all this time, there’s been a general din coming from that direction. People congregate there like it’s a town hall or a pub.

Somewhere between the second Gus closed Wendell’s infirmary room door and now, the din has shifted, increasing gradually in the background, but when a genuine shout blasts out, I straighten.

I leave the hall, dropping the bullet into my pocket, and with every step, the voices get louder.

To conserve power, the lights are off and heating is kept low, but the sun is bright enough today to light and warm the room. But it’s made hotter by the angry mass of people.

People mill awkwardly around the furniture, motions more haphazard than violent, like some of them haven’t chosen sides yet but want to ensure they have a good view if lines are drawn.

A few of Church and Jacquetta’s soldiers are off to the side, too well-trained to get involved unless they have to. A couple of them bristle at the sight of me.

Pearl and Hank are watching from a safe distance on the mezzanine balcony.

Duane, of course, is right in the center, running his mouth. I’ve disliked him since the night he cornered Frankie in the halls while she was wearing nothing but a wet bathing suit and a bathrobe. “They’re locking people up now? Women and children?” He moves closer toward Colleen than anyone his size should. “Who’s next?”

I find myself stepping forward, unsure what exactly I’ll do, but Lyle gets there first.

He’s May’s boyfriend and was part of Shasta’s crew back in DC. He tips the bowler hat he always wears and steps between them. He’s about a foot shorter, but fast, smart, and apparently unafraid. “Don’t pretend you care about women or children.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” Duane touches the center of his chest in false shock, and a roar of upset drifts around the crowd. “You’rethe ones who locked up Ephie. If sixteen-year-old girls aren’t safe under this autocracy, who the hell is?”

“Do you know what that word means?” Lyle asks, and Duane’s eyes darken. “You don’t like it here, leave.”

“I should.” Duane makes a face like he’s considering spitting on the carpet but doesn’t. “Even the food here is bullshit.”

All around the room, people shout at that. A few of the soldiers nod.

Lyle throws his arms out. “Then go. Trust me, no one will miss you.”

Duane rotates his jaw, a nasty smirk brewing at the corner of his mouth. “I thought this was our home now? If it’s our home”—he gestures to encompass the growing crowd of thirty-plus malcontent ex-townees behind him—“maybe it’s time we take a more active role in governing? Take matters into our own hands.”

Rey enters the lobby, followed by her squad. Her sharp jaw hardens, and her eyes narrow in on Duane. Beside her is her sergeant, Kelly.

Colleen shoves her way out of the pack and steps between Lyle and Duane. “Stop. Lyle, Duane’s question is valid.” Her dark eyes flash a warning at Lyle who looks like he’s about to argue, before she turns back to Duane. “I’m happy to answer questions, but we need everyone to calm down.”

Rey trades words with a few of her guys, and they spread around the room, their movements controlled but deliberate as they make their presence known.

I sidle close enough that Duane can see me clearly.

He squares his shoulders my way, bigging up. “Then start with howhe”—he jams an arm out, finger pointed my way—“gave up all our ammo for his little girlfriend. Tell me, how is that righteous, Barbara Walters? That’s what you really are, right? A trumped-up reporter turned fake leader after the apocalypse?”

Behind him, a woman laughs, a man shouts out something I don’t catch that makes others laugh.

Colleen keeps her face impassive, though I’m sure she feels the frustration of his words. “Would you have left her there? Is that what we are? A group that leaves one another behind? They nearly starved her to death and we don’t even know what else. If one of you would prefer a community that abandons its people to that sort of fate, I suggest you leave. That’s not what Thornewood is. We protect our own. Now, this is rapidly turning into a mob, and everyone needs to disperse.”

A hand slips up my forearm and squeezes my biceps.

I look down and find Misty, the physical therapist who’s always everywhere, blinking up at me, her fluffy blond hair catching the sunlight. “Is there going to be a brawl?”

I shrug her arm off me, and step away, looking back at the crowd in time to see an ex-townee slide a hand into the front of his jacket.

Before I can step in, Rey barks, “Step back.”

Her voice is at a volume most people don’t hear in their daily life, one I rarely heard outside the military. She doesn’t pull a weapon, but she shifts her hand to her hip pointedly and unsnaps the loop on her holster, letting the violence of her voice do the heavy work.

Beside her, Sergeant Kelly does the same.

“Move on,” a few soldiers in her crew bark from around the room, lending their deeper voices to the mist. “Out of the lobby. NOW!”

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