They would be "sweeping" Juniper of the homeless.
They would be keeping the streets "clean" by removing people who were unemployed, whom The Store had rendered jobless.
"We got a lot of them with the curfew," the policeman had told them. "But there are still quite a few out there. Hopefully, you'll be able to clean them up." Clean them up.
She hadn't told her parents about the sweeps, although she wasn't sure why. Embarrassment, she supposed. Shame at taking part in anything this inhumane -- even if her involvement was coerced.
More people were arriving now, and soon there were a dozen of them waiting for their sweep leader.
Jake.
She didn't know until he announced it that he would be in charge of the sweep, didn't know until she saw him that he would even be here.
Her heart was pounding in her chest as she stood next to Holly, watching him. Even after all this time, he still had an effect on her. She didn't often see him in The Store -- like most of Security, he remained in the monitoring room, invisible -- but she was always aware of his presence, he was always there in the back of her mind.
She wasn't sure if she hated him or still loved him, but he definitely provoked an emotional response within her. Her hands were sweaty, her heart pounding, and she felt nervous even being this close to him.
His eyes met hers, and she quickly looked away.
"Okay!" Jake announced. "Teams!"
He read off a list of pairings and told each team where they were to conduct their sweeps. Shannon was to work with Ed, and the two of them were supposed to round up derelicts at the park. They would be provided with batons and handcuffs, if necessary.
Shannon talked with Ed for a moment. She didn't want to do this, and she made that clear to him, but he was a gung ho member of The Store Corps, and he considered her attitude treasonous.
"But it don't matter," he said proudly. "I don't need your help anyway. I can do it by myself."
"Whatever," she said.
They were driven into town in three vans and dropped off at their assigned locations. The vans were parked equidistantly from each team, providing easy access.
Shannon and Ed walked slowly onto the grass of the park. Behind them came a loud scream, and Shannon turned to see one of the other teams -- Rob and Arn beat a homeless man across the back with their batons and force him into the van behind them.
She felt sick. It was not the same as it had been at the training session.
It was nothing like that. The man was neither hostile nor belligerent. Instead, he seemed confused, hurt, and though he was not uncooperative, they hit him anyway, intentionally hurting him, inflicting pain, and he cried out as he stumbled into the back of the van.
"There's one," Ed said excitedly.
She followed his pointing finger, saw a bearded man in a long coat who looked like the guy on one of her dad's old Jethro Tull albums.
"He's mine," Ed announced.
She stood, watching, as he ran across the lawn and tackled the man. He had no baton, but he began beating the surprised derelict with his fists, shouting joyfully while the man bellowed in pain and vainly tried to ward off blows.
This was wrong. She didn't know whether or not it was legal, but it was wrong, morally and ethically over the line, and she felt queasy as Ed stood, hauled the man up by the collar of his coat, and she saw the bright red blood streaming down his face.
Grinning hugely, victoriously, Ed dragged the man toward her.
"Stay away," she warned him.
"You're supposed to be helping me, Shannon. You're not much help so far."
"Knock it off, Ed."
He was close to her now, and he pushed the bloody man in her direction.
She ran. She heard Ed laughing raucously behind her, and then she was at the edge of the park, panting, feeling nauseous, feeling faint.
She bent over, gulped air, and promptly threw up into a bush.
Then Jake was there, leaning over her, and there was malicious glee in both his voice and his expression. "Get back in there, Davis."
She wiped her mouth, hand shaking. "I . . . I can't do it, Jake. I can't -"
"How the fuck did I ever go out with you?" He straightened, moved away.
"Get busy," he ordered. "You have a quota to meet. And you'll be out here until you reach it."
Behind her, Ed continued to laugh. "Yeah!" he yelled.
Shannon closed her eyes, tried to stand straight, tried to walk away, but almost immediately she saw the derelict's gashed and bleeding face, and she doubled over again, heaving into the bush until there was nothing left in her stomach to throw up.
2
There were no vagrants on the street.
Ginny noticed it for the first time, although she had the feeling that that had been the case for a while and she simply had not registered the fact.
She looked up Granite as she pumped gas into the tank of the car. She had not liked seeing the homeless people, but there was something even more ominous about their absence. The streets and sidewalks looked clean, even the empty buildings appeared freshly restored, and she found herself thinking of _The Stepford Wives_.
That was it exactly. There was something artificial here. Clean and wholesome, yes. But not in a good way. In a creepy way, an unnatural way.
The pump stopped at nine dollars and eighty-nine cents, the tank full, but she topped it off until the counter read ten dollars, then walked into the office of the gas station to pay.
Barry Twain was working this afternoon, and he smiled at her. "Hey there, Ginny. How goes it?"
"Could be better."
"But it could be worse." He squinted at the fuel monitoring box next to the cash register. "That'll be ten dollars."
She handed him a twenty, and he gave her back two fives.
"How are things with you?" she asked.
"Not good. I heard The Store's going to start selling gasoline."
She stared at him, shocked. "What?"
Barry laughed wheezingly, pointing at her. "Gotcha!" he cried. "Gotcha good that time!"
Against her will, she broke into a smile. "That you did."
"You bought it! Hook, line, and sinker!"
"It's not that far-fetched."
Barry's smile faded a little. "You're right."
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to --"
He waved her apology away. "Don't worry about it. Gasoline's one thing that can't be sold inside a store. And even if they do build that auto center and eventually decide to sell gas, I'm not worried about it. I've built up a lot of customer loyalty over the years. And I have a lot of friends in this town.
Like you."
She smiled at him. "Barry, I'd still keep coming here even if your gas was two dollars higher than theirs."
He cackled. "Hell, maybe they _should_ come up against me. Then I'll be justified when I jack up my prices, and I'll make a fortune."
"I'll go to Texaco." she said.
"Traitor!"
She laughed, waved, walked out the door. "Later, Barry!"
"See you, Ginny!"
On the way home, she did see a homeless man. A big, burly, bearded guy in a dirty fringed jacket.
He was being shoved by a group of uniformed Store employees into a black Store van.
She drove past quickly, not wanting to see the faces of the Store people, not wanting to discover that her daughters were among them.
She told Bill about it when she arrived home, describing what she'd seen, and he nodded, admitting that he'd witnessed a similar scene the other day.
"But these homeless people," she said. "Where are they taking them? What are they doing with them?"
He shrugged tiredly. "I don't know."
"Our daughters are involved in this."