Blast. It looked like the first ones to show up along his patrol were people he was going to have the hardest time turning away. Trev stood trying to think of something to do, and as he did the three refugees finally got close enough to be in more normal talking distance and stopped, confused by his standoffishness. “Look,” one of the younger men said in a reasonable tone, “if we’re trespassing on your land we can go around. We’re just trying to get to Aspen Hill where we can finally get our first decent meal in days.”
Trev sighed. It was probably best to be direct. “It’s not about trespassing. Aspen Hill has closed its borders. We’re not letting anyone in.”
This time the looks the three men exchanged were dismayed. “The FETF official in Provo told us to come here,” the older man protested. “Us and everyone in our neighborhood and others. She assured us Aspen Hill knew we were all on our way and would be ready for us.”
It was almost physically hard to force the words out in the face of the hopeless expressions in front of him. “We’re not ready, I’m sorry,” Trev said. “We weren’t in much better shape than Provo when this all happened and we’re struggling to survive ourselves. I hate to say it but there’s no help in Aspen Hill. You’d be better of finding someplace else.”
“That’s BS!” the man who hadn’t spoken yet burst out. He was only a bit older than Trev, his dark wavy hair grown nearly to his shoulders and tangled from travel. “You can’t turn us away when we’ve been promised a place.”
Trev hated confrontations. Hated them so much that until Nelson’s attempted mugging he’d never even been in a real fight. But this was what he was here to do so he was going to do it. “The town’s decided, I’m just here to turn people around if they come this way. I can’t make the decision of letting you through.”
The young man pointed angrily at the radio clipped to Trev’s belt. “Why don’t you call them up and ask, then?”
It was a reasonable request, but letting them talk to someone in town would just increase their chances of being let through. The three men looked like decent people, but hourglasses had a way of filling one grain of sand at a time and it would be the same with the refugees if the town started making exceptions. “We’d just be wasting everyone’s time since they’ll tell you the same thing I’m telling you.”
The older man rested a hand on his son’s shoulder to calm him down. “What if we tried to just walk past you?” he asked quietly. “Would you shoot us?”
Trev immediately shook his head. “I’m only armed for self defense. But if you try to enter the town I’ll have to call in for backup and things will get unfriendly fast. The town is closed, just take my word for it and look for somewhere else to go.”
“That’s not going to work. We came ahead to give Aspen Hill advance notice and help prepare the town for our group, almost sixty people. Where would we all go if the town we were supposed to get help from turns us away?”
In the end Trev had to look away from the man’s calm stare. “I’m telling the truth, we don’t have anything for you. If we tried to take you in we’d all be starving that much sooner. You need to go somewhere else.”
The three men exchanged despairing looks. “Tell your town about us,” the older son said harshly. “Tell them you’ll have to live with what you’ve done, with the kind of people you’ve become.” Trev couldn’t think of an answer, and with that the three men turned to follow the hill east to the road. As they walked away the guy about his age slowed until he was walking behind the others and turned to give Trev a rude gesture with both hands.
Doing his best not to shake at the adrenaline of the situation Trev started back the way he’d come, to the spot just below the top of the hill on the south side so he could continue his patrol. As he went he lifted the radio to his mouth. “This is Trevor Smith on the north border. I just turned away three men sent to Aspen Hill from Provo by FETF officials who say they’ve got a group of more than 60 coming behind them.”
He paused, settling his nerves, and then continued. “The first of the refugees are here.”
Matt learned about the refugees Trev had encountered when he arrived at Roadblock 1, the first one constructed on the north end of Main Street, for his shift at 4 in the afternoon. He confirmed it when he checked in with Officer Turner, who was sitting on a lawn chair on the hood of one of the cars pulled across the road staring northeast in the direction of Highway 6. The man had a beer in his hand, and the half gone six pack sitting beneath the chair suggested it wasn’t his first.
The policeman shifted in his seat to look at him, taking a swig. “Yeah, that’s what it sounds like. Advance warning for a group of 60 or so people. I sent a couple guys up the road to check Highway 6 a few hours ago. They’re going to hang out there and and see if the group passes by or makes for the town.”
“What do we do if the refugees try to come in?” Matt asked.
“We do what the town voted on and make them turn around,” Turner said grimly. “It shouldn’t come to violence, though. At worst I’ll flash my badge and put a little law enforcement authority behind the town’s resolution.” He shifted on his seat again, sighing. “I hope it doesn’t come to violence. When I contracted out to Aspen Hill to become a small town policeman I never expected to be made the de facto leader of its militia in an SHTF scenario.”
The comment surprised Matt for several reasons. First off he hadn’t really considered that the people at the roadblocks and on patrol were part of a militia, although he supposed that’s technically what they were. He also hadn’t expected a thirty year old, trained police officer to feel uncomfortable in charge. “I’m sure someone else could take over if you wanted.”
“Like who?” Turner asked, snorting. “Anderson? One of the squabblers on the City Council? One of the few veterans in town, all from wars that happened decades ago? Like it or not I’m the best trained and qualified for the job.”
“And you’re doing a good job,” Matt offered. He meant it: under Turner’s direction the roadblocks had gone up quickly and efficiently, the guard and patrol rosters were taking shape nicely, and the officer had made sure the signs pointing to town along 6 had all been taken down. Matt wouldn’t have even thought of doing that.
The man shook his head. “Yeah well sitting behind a roadblock isn’t what I’m worried about. Ever since your buddy radioed in about the refugees I’ve been dreading our first visitors. I know I spoke for turning them away at the meeting but I hate having to be the one who actually does it.”
Silence settled as Turner brooded, finishing off his beer and tossing the can out beyond the roadblock. “What about the other towns in the area?” Matt asked. “Have we heard from them?”
The officer snorted and reached down for another beer. Matt couldn’t say he was happy about the man drinking on duty. “Yeah, we can reach them on the radios. They’re all taking in their refugees like good little citizens and some have even decided to take in all comers, not just the ones FETF sends their way. Price is even trying to set up a local network to get all the towns in the area working together to share the load.”
He popped the top on his beer and took several long gulps. “They’re pissed at us, I can tell you that. I haven’t been cussed out that bad since the Academy.” Turner abruptly swore and slammed his can down on a plastic armrest, making a bit of foam splash out. “Can you believe the town leaders, making that dirty deal behind our backs? And FETF sending a bunch of helpless mouths to feed our way! And while I’m complaining I’d sure like a crack at whoever blew up the Gulf refineries.”