Nathan Jones - Fuel

“You don’t think they’re going to attack us, do you?” Anderson asked nervously.

“Looks more like they’re afraid we’re going to attack them ,” the councilwoman replied. She turned to Turner. “Unless you really want to fight Federal troops and think you can actually win I’d do what you can to make our people at the roadblock look friendly.”

The officer nodded and barked out orders, and the armed men at the roadblock quickly set down their weapons and moved to stand behind Turner. While they were doing that the Mayor and City Council members climbed over the cars to stand in front of them as a formal delegation.

The FETF convoy stopped about fifty feet away and the bureaucratic man driving the supply truck got out and approached flanked by two soldiers. He came right up to Anderson’s delegation and acknowledged them with a nod, but as he did his eyes remained on the roadblock, freckled face nearly as red as his hair in an expression of genuine anger. “Why are you obstructing this road?”

To his credit Anderson held his ground. “Things are bad right now. The town has a right to secure its borders.” He stepped forward and held out his hand, doing his best not to loom over the smaller man. “I’m John Anderson, Mayor of Aspen Hill.”

The FETF official reluctantly took it, looking as if he wished he could wash his hand afterwards. “Riley Ferris, Federal Emergency Task Force. I’ve been assigned to be administrator to this area.” His expression darkened further. “Why is there a camp with hundreds of starving people less than a mile from your town?”

“That would be us securing our borders,” Officer Turner called from his place behind the roadblock.

Ferris turned to look at him. “And you are?”

“Randall Turner, contracted police officer for Aspen Hill.”

“I see. So you should know that it’s illegal to obstruct a roadway and restrict US citizens from traveling on public property.” Turner opened his mouth to reply but Ferris spoke over him, nearly at a shout. “I’m not stupid, I know why you’re keeping the refugees out. That’s a lot of mouths to feed with no hope of new supplies coming in any time soon.”

“I’m glad you understand,” Anderson said, looking relieved.

The FETF administrator turned back to him. “I do. I just don’t agree. I’ve been interviewing people in the refugee camp, and wasn’t I surprised to learn that many of them are people my colleagues up north sent south to Aspen Hill as part of the FETF emergency plan that’s been in place for years.”

The Mayor gave the people behind the roadblock a helpless look. “The town voted not to accept the refugees.”

Ferris straightened to his full height, barely coming up to Anderson’s chin. “You don’t get to vote on breaking Federal mandates! Your city accepted money as part of the program. In what world do you think it’s legal or for that matter honest to sign up for something and then after you’ve received all the benefits arbitrarily decide you don’t want to keep your end of the bargain?”

Anderson opened his mouth to make some feeble protest but Ferris talked right over him. “Either way it doesn’t matter. I’m here to make sure the residents of Aspen Hill and the refugees are all taken care of until order is restored. I’ve been put in charge of this area, so you and your City Council and your police officer and his little militia will all be reporting to me.” He waved at the roadblock, then back at the two vehicles he’d come with. “And the first thing you’re going to do is tear your illegal road blockage down so I can drive this relief truck full of food into your town .”

The mayor nodded, shoulders sagging slightly in defeat, and motioned to Turner. Immediately a dozen men leapt forward to pull the cars aside, helped by the two soldiers who’d come with Ferris. As they did the FETF administrator questioned Anderson and the City Council about the state of the town, and when he learned about the town storehouse he announced that it would become the FETF base of relief efforts. From that point on all his questions focused on what supplies the town had managed to scrape together.

Sam alternated watching them talk and watching the roadblock go down. At her side Lewis did the same. He hadn’t said anything since Ferris’s arrival, but with each moment he was looking grimmer and grimmer. “Aspen Hill’s in big trouble,” he abruptly whispered. “That man’s going to ruin us.”

She shot him a disapproving look. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh? Sure, Mr. Ferris may be turning the town on its head a little, but he genuinely seems to care about the refugees. I think he means well.”

The tall young man shook his head. “I strongly disagree. But even if he did mean well it doesn’t matter, does it? We all know what the road to hell is paved with.”

Sam decided to not even bother responding to that. As they watched with the rest of the growing crowd of townspeople the roadblock was fully dismantled and the trucks driven slowly through.

“One last thing before we go check out this unauthorized stockpile of yours,” Ferris said, dusting his hands off as if he’d taken part in tearing down the obstruction. “I’ve been instructed to begin a food for firearms program. Inform your people that for the next week they’re encouraged to turn in any firearms they own. They’ll be given a week’s worth of food for each one. I’d say that’s a fairly good deal.”

“In what world?” Lewis muttered beside her, almost to himself. Sam kind of had to agree: without weapons how would they defend the town, or hunt for that matter? Not to mention most guns cost way more than a week’s worth of food.

“In these desperate times there might be some willing to take that deal,” Turner allowed reluctantly. “But I won’t be, and I’ll encourage my people not to either. We need to defend the town.”

The FETF administrator’s eyes narrowed. “No, you don’t. I’ve been assigned to oversee this area and I won’t tolerate a militia. They’re all the protection you need.” He said that last as he jerked a thumb towards the dozen soldiers he’d brought with him.

“All the same,” Turner replied solidly, “I think I’ll just hold onto my firearms, thanks.”

“Yes, you will,” Ferris smiled thinly. “As the town’s sole police officer you’re now under my direct command, as dictated by the Federal Emergency Martial Law Act. As for everyone else in this town, including your wannabe soldiers, the food for firearms program is just the carrot. If they haven’t turned their weapons in by the time the week is up they get the stick: their weapons will be confiscated without reimbursement and they’ll be put on a FETF watch list.”

“Well I’ve seen enough,” Lewis abruptly said, turning away.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, startled.

“Back home. Got some work to do.” He held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Sam. Take care.”

“You too,” Sam said, firmly returning the handshake. He seemed a lot more decent than she’d expected after hearing Mandy’s tales about his cousin, and after spending some time with him a niggling part of her wondered if the refugee woman wasn’t lying about her deal with Trev like Lewis insisted. It seemed like a horrible thing to lie about, but then again it was Mandy saying it.

She watched him walk away, winding his way along side streets to make his way northwest of town while circling well around the refugee camp. After the camp sprang up she knew Turner had collapsed the patrol routes to run just beyond the town’s limits, but even though Lewis lived beyond the roadblock the patrols still watched that area. Mostly to keep a close eye on the refugee camp, which made an odd patrol pattern that ran off the road for a ways around and beyond the refugee camp in a wide perimeter. But the important thing was that in spite of living out of town he wasn’t going into possible danger. At least she hoped: things were about to be turned on their heads and there was no guessing what might happen next.