Not too long after that the delegation left. Fourteen people in all, with Anderson and all five members of the City Council in a clump at the back, while Turner led Matt and the other six men up ahead a ways. The police officer had his shotgun and service weapon, a couple of the men had rifles, and the rest bore holstered pistols of all calibers. Matt only hoped they didn’t come off as too aggressive when they reached the refugees.
It was a fair distance, but for Matt the hike didn’t feel very long compared to the two patrol shifts he’d done north of town walking 20 miles over 8 hours: in just under two hours they came in sight of Highway 6 and the refugee camp. On the road a couple hundred yards from the highway the two men Turner had assigned to keep watch in the night were sitting blearily on some lawn chairs with blankets wrapped around them, even though the morning was already pleasant. Turner clapped each man on the shoulder and sent them home, assigning two men from his group to take their place once the delegation left.
As for the refugee camp… Matt wasn’t quite sure what to say. It almost didn’t look like a camp at all since there were so few tents. Instead most of the families huddled together beneath blankets right off the side of the road, for some their few possessions sitting nearby in children’s wagons or wheelbarrows, while most of the rest had backpacks or wheeled suitcases.
There was one big tent with a few smaller ones scattered around it in the field beside the junction where the highway met with the road leading to town. From that tent several men emerged and started forward to meet the delegation, joined by others in the camp until there were about twenty of them. Although they did their best to look calm the refugees were glancing nervously at the weapons Matt and the others carried.
“About time you bother to come out and talk to us,” an older man at the front of the group called. “We’re citizens looking for help, not hobos and vagrants.”
Anderson stopped the delegation about ten feet away. “I’m John Anderson, Mayor of Aspen Hill.”
“Kendall Farnsworth,” the older man replied reluctantly. He gestured curtly to the two men beside him, both in their early 20s. “My sons, Benjy and Rod. Does knowing our names make it easier to treat us like human beings?”
The Mayor’s mouth tightened. “It’s not about that. We’d help you if we could but we have nothing to spare. I hate to say it but you wasted your time coming here, so the best thing to do is go somewhere else. There are towns farther south that are taking in refugees, and from what I hear Price is organizing a relief network to care for you all.”
“Yeah, your man guarding north of Aspen Hill mentioned the town isn’t in much better shape than Provo,” Kendall said, narrowing his eyes. “And those folks who stopped us here yesterday said the same. Which must mean you’ve got tens of thousands of people waiting in ration lines to get a cup of food apiece? That all your businesses have been looted and ransacked and the local government has fled or is in hiding while rioters wander around demolishing random municipal structures?”
“Well no—” Anderson started to say, but the refugee talked right over him.
“But surely you’ve got gangs of thugs roaming the streets mugging anyone brave enough to go anywhere during the day, and at night breaking into entire neighborhoods full of houses and tearing them apart for food and valuables? That your town’s crime rates for murder, rape, and theft have skyrocketed? And I’m sure your people haven’t had a meal in days, because aside from a small number of hoarders who emptied the stores and restaurants in the first few days everyone else is starving?”
Anderson shifted uncomfortably. “Okay fine, we’re better off than that. But we don’t have food to spare either.”
“Not to spare, but you do have food,” a woman in the crowd of refugees who’d gathered behind the twenty men shouted. “What, saving it for a rainy day?”
“For winter,” Councilwoman Tillman shouted back from her place behind Anderson. “And we don’t have nearly enough. A lot of us will go hungry.”
“But all of us will thanks to your broken promise,” Kendall cut in angrily. “Your town has what, a few thousand people in it?”
“Nine hundred and fifty, give or take,” Anderson replied coolly.
“Well there’s just over a hundred of us here. You could easily take us all in.”
Anderson shook his head, but it was again Catherine Tillman who answered. “No, we couldn’t. And what about the next group who comes, and the next? We’re sorry for your circumstances, we truly are, but Aspen Hill will stay closed. Find somewhere else to go or just sit here on the road.”
Matt shot the older woman an alarmed look. That was as good as an invitation to set up a permanent camp. Hadn’t they come here to convince the refugees to move on? The councilwoman seemed to realize her mistake almost immediately, but it was too late to take the words back.
Kendall pounced on it. “You know what, I think we will. Except we’re going to move closer to town, within walking distance of this spring your people bringing water last night told us about. Not just because of the water, though: we had a group pass us by on the road heading south early this morning and we didn’t like the looks of them. We’d all feel safer if we were off the road.”
“No don’t do that!” Anderson said, giving Catherine an angry look. “You need to leave since we have nothing to offer you.”
“Neither does anyone else,” Kendall’s son Rod said, judging by his tone trying to turn anger into sarcasm. “If we have nowhere else to go we’re happy to stay right here. Besides, you said your town is closed, you didn’t say anything about the area around it. We can sit right in front of these roadblocks your people mentioned and if you don’t like it tough. Attack the camp and show us what kind of people you really are.”
The words were greeted with murmurs of agreement and even a few cheers and hurled insults from the crowd of refugees. Anderson held up his hands desperately for calm. “Now hold on, there’s no need to talk about violence. I don’t think it’s a good idea to camp right outside of town because that’s just asking for trouble, but if you think you can find a good reason to stay in the area nobody’s stopping you. Just be aware that no matter what happens you won’t get any food, and none of you will be allowed inside Aspen Hill’s city limits for any reason, either.”
“You’ll at least let us use your spring though, right?” Kendall demanded.
Matt looked between the two groups despondently. He didn’t like the thought of a permanent camp, not at all. Not only because it could be trouble but because it meant they’d have the people they were refusing to help sitting right where everyone in Aspen Hill could see them, which would make holding to the town’s resolution that much harder.
He almost wished Anderson would refuse the request, but however morally gray withholding charity from these people might be, refusing water was downright wrong. That was one thing the town had plenty of, something these refugees vitally needed to survive and couldn’t find easily anywhere else around here unless they wanted to drink unpurified water from the stream.
“Of course,” Catherine answered when the Mayor hesitated. “That’s one thing we do have to offer, at least.”
Kendall glanced at the refugees around him, then sighed. “We hope you’ll change your mind once you see we’re decent people. Would you at least spend some time in camp, let us introduce ourselves and tell you our situation and what brought us here?”
A few members of the City Council murmured their disapproval of the idea, and Turner shook his head firmly, but after a thoughtful pause Anderson nodded. “I think that would be a good idea.”