R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

“Checkpoints?” Calvin’s eyebrows arched upward and his distaste for the word was apparent.

“Yes, checkpoints. We put checkpoints on the four corners of our neighborhood and then have two roving patrols. It will be the easiest way to send a message to anyone looking for trouble that our neighborhood is organized and not easy pickings. My guess is that this will prevent ninety percent of any potential problems because they will see this and just drive on further down the road. The last thing we do is set up an easy protocol—if you hear gunfire or such, you grab your weapon and head towards it.”

Calvin leaned back in his chair, “I don’t know Cooper. Checkpoints? It sounds kind of drastic to me. I like the idea of arming a team and even having patrols. But checkpoints that restrict people’s freedom to move around seems a bit extreme to me.”

Cooper felt irritation flush his face, “Calvin, if you saw what I did today, you would understand that things have become extreme. In the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been involved in two shootings and seen over a half-dozen people killed by violence.”

Calvin nodded his head for a moment, “OK. I understand your viewpoint. Let me think about it. I want to make sure we take all prudent measures without overreacting.”

Cooper breathed deeply, barely hiding his frustration, “Alright, good enough. We can talk it over more tonight, but it would work a lot better if it had your support given how respected you are.” Calvin smiled at the compliment.

“Tonight then,” he said as he rose to leave.

Cooper couldn’t help but get the feeling that tonight’s meeting had just turned into a debating society. He grimaced at the thought. He’s still thinking things are roughly ‘normal’, unable to see that everything is coming completely unhinged around him. Cooper knew that Calvin wouldn’t be the only one caught in that outmoded way of thinking. In times of extreme crisis, one of the most difficult things for people to do was to acknowledge the crisis and then deal with it. The human predilection to deny unpleasant news—especially extremely unpleasant news—was very strong.

He decided to prepare some shock treatment for the meeting tonight.

A few streaks of sunlight cut through the overcast sky as they gathered in Cooper’s front yard. A chill enveloped them as afternoon turned to evening. The steps leading up to Cooper’s front door formed an impromptu speakers’ platform, on which Cooper, Calvin, and Jake stood. Off to their right, an eighty foot tall Deodar Cedar tree flanked the house. To the left, a clutch of white birch trees separated his home from the sidewalk. In between, close to fifty of his neighbors were assembled.

The previous fifteen minutes had been marked by a growing murmur of a dozen conversations as they came together. The murmurs were often punctuated sharply by exclamations as they told one another of their losses. Very few exchanged a comforting hug, however. It was as if the physical restraint expressed itself in exaggerated verbal demonstrations of sympathy and support. Those who are here overcame any paranoia of the plague, but at some subconscious level they are still afraid and are keeping some distance.

While standing outside waiting for the past half hour, Cooper noticed only a few cars had passed and even less pedestrian traffic. Cooper noticed that only two other people had a handgun holstered to their side and Harry Ledger, a middle-aged insurance salesman who lived at the far end of the block, had a shotgun cradled in his arms. Cooper had been careful to keep his handgun on him, but had left his shotgun just inside the front door. Cooper knew that the task before him would be daunting. Too many don’t grasp that everything has fundamentally changed. Safety can no longer be assumed.

He took a step forward and raised his hands. Within a few moments, the crowd had quieted. Taking a deep breath, Cooper was thankful he had seen his father address many a group when he was a young boy. He had learned many important lessons.

“Good evening, neighbors,” he said and waited for the response back from the crowd. Create the group’s identity at the outset.

“I want to thank you all for being here today. We live in fearful times and I know it took courage to come here.” Compliment the people, but be sincere.

“Next time, we’ll all even shake hands.” Make a joke to put everyone at ease. People laughed, but Cooper heard the anxiety that hid behind it.

“For those who know me well, you know I get straight to the point. I’ve asked you to be here because we must talk about the security of our neighborhood. The police are no longer on the streets. I’ve left this neighborhood three times in the last few days, been involved in two shootings, and seen the results of two other shootings. I believe most people are good, but it’s the few bad ones we all need to be worried about now. We need to make a plan for our neighborhood.” He paused, awaiting a response.

Amidst people exchanging side glances and shuffling their feet, a voice rang out, “So, what’s the plan?”

“First, we form a volunteer group of people willing to provide security to the neighborhood. Second, we put up checkpoints at the four road entrances to our neighborhood. Third, we have patrols that work the inside of our neighborhood. Finally, everyone here adopt a simple rule: if you hear conflict and you are armed, you move toward the fight to help our side win.”

As Cooper stopped talking, the expected commotion of numerous individual conversations broke out. Cooper let it proceed for almost a minute until the crescendo started to fall.

“Let’s do one question at a time. That way, everyone can hear each other.”

Gus Valesta, a lawyer who lived around the corner from Cooper, spoke first, “Cooper, I want to thank you for thinking of everyone’s safety at a time like this. But, is all this really necessary? We haven’t had any problems in our neighborhood besides those high schoolers who were goofing off.”

Cooper breathed deeply to contain himself. “Gus, those high-schoolers had guns. If I hadn’t been armed and had Dranko at my side, I don’t know what would have happened. So, I do think we’ve already had a problem in our neighborhood.”

“But, you’re describing a lot of work when most of us are just trying to keep everyone healthy and cared for in our homes right now,” added Michelle Jamison, a homemaker whose husband was absent from the meeting.

“I agree. It’s a lot of work. But, I believe if we all agree to this plan then we’ll have enough volunteers who are willing and able to take this on.”

Gus, a good friend of Calvin’s, spoke up again, “My other question is whether checkpoints are really necessary. I mean, having to check in and out with our neighbors every time we go somewhere. I don’t want our neighborhood to feel like Russia!”

Cooper shot a hard glance at Calvin who offered a tepid, close-lipped, smile in response. “I want to show everyone something,” Cooper said as he grabbed a handful of photos from a folder he had left at his feet. “These are off of my home computer, so the quality is not great. But these are of a family that was gunned down in their car less than a half mile from where we stand tonight.” He passed out the pictures that he had gone back and shot earlier of the gruesomely murdered family and allowed them to circulate in the crowd. The gasps of shock grew louder as they were handed from person to person. “These people were not robbed or raped. They were just killed. Killed for no reason except that someone else saw a chance to do it,” he paused for effect. “So, they did it.”

Cooper waited until Gus held one of the pictures in his hand before continuing, “Trust me, I don’t want my neighborhood to feel like Russia. But, this isn’t Russia. These would be checkpoints and patrols made up of our neighbors and friends. We are deciding this democratically. It’s very different. And, at its worst it is better to be inconvenienced or feel uncomfortable than it is to not feel anything anymore, like the family in those pictures.”