Sunrise

One day Darla surprised me by visiting me in the woodlot—the area outside the greenhouses where we sawed and split the logs we had hauled back to the farm, turning them into firewood. “Time to call it a day,” she said.

“Why are we stopping?” I asked—it was only midafternoon. “We can get in a couple more hours.”

“You don’t know?” Darla said. “Seriously? October 2nd?” Oh. I’d totally forgotten my own birthday—for the second year in a row. We had a subdued party, all ten of us. There was no birthday cake, only kale and pork like always. We lit a candle, and I blew it out almost immediately; we couldn’t afford to waste the wick. We did manage a pretty good rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” All in all, the best part of my seventeenth birthday was the kiss Darla gave me when it was over.

It took more than two weeks for the GEEKs to finish Bikezilla II. Then Darla and I started ducking out of afternoon chores completely to bike to Warren and knock on doors, asking folks to visit Mayor Petty and talk to him about building a wall.

I was worried when we started. I figured we’d get doors slammed in our faces, people yelling at us, maybe even ru

But the people we did meet were universally friendly after they figured out who we were. Almost everyone invited us in, and some of them even offered us a snack: sometimes a bit of ham, sometimes dried kale chips. Their generosity was overwhelming. Only two months ago, we’d all been starving; now folks were sharing their food willingly—eagerly, even.

That wasn’t to say that they all agreed with us. Plenty of them liked Mayor Petty. They’d known him forever; he’d kissed their babies and shaken their grandparents’ hands.

On the third day of our campaign, we met a middle-aged woman living with her two teenage sons. Before I could even say hello, she spoke up, “Hell, yes, I’ll talk to Petty about a wall!”

Darla laughed. “Best sales job you’ve done yet.”

“I haven’t said anything yet!” I said.

“Exactly.”

The woman invited us in, and we spent a few minutes talking to her sons about the protest campaign. Word had gotten around about what we were doing. As we got up to leave, the woman said, “You hear Mayor Petty’s looking for you?”

“No, I haven’t,” I said.

“If he had built a wall and gate, he’d have found us the moment we came to town,” Darla said.

“He’s put out the word,” she said. “Wants to talk with you, I guess.”

“We’ll head down to his office now.”

Mayor Petty smiled just as brightly and shook our hands just as vigorously as he had the last time we’d met him. “Why’re you two stirring up trouble in my town?” “We need to prepare to defend our town. Prepare for the future,” I said. “I’d prefer it if you’d work with us.” “This is about that wall nonsense again? Nobody here wants to be drafted into some kind of work party to build a wall.”

“I bet you could convince them.”

“What I want is to convince you to drop this whole rigmarole. Dividing people against each other isn’t doing the town any favors.”

“I’m not dropping it,” I said.

“Nobody’s going to be forced to waste time building a wall while I’m mayor.”

“Then you should resign.”

“Not going to happen.”

“I’m not dropping it.”

“I’ll ban you from the city.”

I thought a moment before answering. “Good. Do that. The only way you’ll be able to keep me out is by building a wall.”

“Or by ordering you shot on sight.”

Darla and I spoke at once:

“You wouldn’t,” I said.

“If you shoot him, I will end you,” Darla said.

Mayor Petty glowered at us. “Don’t push me.”

“So Yellowstone is claiming another victim,” I said, “democracy in Warren.”

“We’ll hold proper elections when my term is up,” Mayor Petty said, “in two and a half years.”

The mention of elections sparked an idea. “So let the people—your constituents—decide. Hold a special vote on whether or not to build a wall.”

“And if I do?”

“We’ll go away. Win or lose, we’ll quit bothering you, quit trying to stir up public opinion.”

Mayor Petty was silent for a moment. A crafty look shadowed his eyes. “I’ll hold an election, all right. For mayor. You against me. You win, you run the show, build the wall, do whatever you damn well please. I win, you stay out on your uncle’s farm and out of my town.”

“I don’t want to be mayor,” I said. “I want a safe place we can move to, a walled town capable of defending itself.”

“You’re not so excited about wall building when you’re on the hot seat, huh? When you’re the one who’d have to implement your crack-brained plan.”

I thought for a moment. I didn’t want to be mayor, didn’t want to run Warren, didn’t want to do anything but create a safe space for Darla, me, and my family. I certainly wasn’t qualified to be mayor, but could I be any worse than Petty? I would at least consult Ben on military matters, Uncle Paul and Darla on engineering questions, and Dr. McCarthy on medical issues. “Okay,” I said, “I’ll do it.”

Mayor Petty smiled in a way that was more cruel than mirthful. “First Tuesday in January. Ten weeks from now. That suit?”

“Why not next Tuesday?” I said.

“’Cause that’s the way I want it. And I’m the mayor. Everyone who wants to vote’ll meet at St. A

“We’ll count the votes publicly,” Darla said, “immediately after voting closes. While everyone’s there watching. Won’t even need to lock the ballot box, that way.”

“Agreed.” Mayor Petty rubbed his hands together gleefully. “I’ll beat the pants off you. Wait. Don’t quote me on that. Don’t want anyone to get the idea I’m one of them pedophiles, do I?”

I couldn’t summon nearly as much enthusiasm as Mayor Petty. I shook his hand and left his office in a state of stu

After Mayor Petty agreed to the election, our daily routine didn’t change much. Darla and I worked on the farm every morning and biked to Warren every afternoon, to campaign instead of trying to convince people to protest. When they could spare the time—which was rarely—Uncle Paul, Alyssa, Max, Rebecca, and even A

Campaigning meant going door to door and talking with people, often while we helped them with their chores. There was no radio, no television, no flyers, and nobody had time to attend rallies, so the campaign had a decidedly low-tech feel. Darla kept meticulous notes on everyone we talked to. She said it wasn’t much different than keeping track of cows. She thought we’d win, but it would be close—within twenty votes.

After about five weeks of this, something changed. People stopped answering their doors when we approached. Several said they were too busy to talk. One guy, a Petty supporter, pointed a shotgun at us. I could understand being tired of talking to us—heck, I was tired of talking, myself—but the change came about almost overnight. Nobody would tell us why

I sought out Nylce Myers, who’d led a squad during the attack on Stockton. She was a huge supporter and one of the toughest women I had ever met other than Darla. Surely she would tell me what was going on.

“It’s nothing, Alex. The mayor’s people are spreading ugly rumors, that’s all. I’m sure it’s not true.”