Sunrise

Later that night I dreamed of the uncertain rhythm of gunfire. It emanated from the darkness all around me. Some gu

Darla shook me awake. “Someone’s shooting.”

My violent dreams and the evidently real gunfire were too much. I felt as if I’d been sucked into the airless darkness under a huge wave, crushed by the weight, my life ripped by the shifting currents. I pulled the covers over my head, smothering the noise.

Darla ripped the covers off both of us so forcefully that the blanket tore. The freezing air was like a slap to the face. “Get up. Now,” she said, her words as much a slap as the air.

“I froze yesterday. When they shot at Aunt Caroline. I could have—”

“There’s no time. We’ll talk about it later. If whoever’s shooting out there makes it to the house, everyone will be in danger. Rebecca, A

She was right. I took a deep, shuddering breath and hurled myself out of the bed.

“I’m going back to the other room for my boots,” she said.

“Just wait here,” I said as I jammed my feet into my boots and pulled a knit cap on my head. She was still debilitated from her ordeal with the Dirty White Boys and in no condition to be ru

When I got out to the hall, she was sitting on the top stair, wrenching on her boots.

By the time we got outside, the shooting had trailed off. A few distant pops echoed in the darkness enveloping the farm. One of the ramshackle lean-tos at the edge of the encampment was ablaze. Flames leapt from its canvas-and-stick roof,threatening to ignite neighboring shelters. People were ru

I ducked back into the house and grabbed a stack of water pails from the kitchen. Darla and I ran—not toward the fire but to the farm’s hand-pumped well.

“Fill buckets as fast as you can, okay?” I said to Darla. “I’ll organize a fire brigade.” I didn’t think she should be out there at all. Filling buckets would at least keep her away from the fire.

To my relief, Darla nodded and started working the pump handle. I put myself squarely in the path of the first person I saw—Ly

“You!” I yelled. “Grab buckets from Darla! We’re forming a line, got it?”

I was a bit shocked by his reply: “Got it!” he shouted and took his place next to Darla. I ran from person to person, chivvying them into a line. I ordered another guy to join the brigade, shouting at his back. I didn’t notice until he turned that I was shouting at Uncle Paul. I started to stammer an apology to him, but he was already halfway to the spot where he was needed.

Later I wondered why it had been so easy. Why did everyone leap to do what I told them to? Why hadn’t they organized a fire brigade before I got outside? I was sixteen— a kid in their eyes—and I certainly wasn’t used to anyone listening to me, let alone obeying my instructions. Everyone seemed to know that we needed a fire brigade, but they couldn’t start being a fire brigade until someone organized it. It reminded me of an experiment I did in fourth grade, dissolving massive amounts of sugar in boiling water to make crystals. Nothing happens until you dangle a string into the jar. I guess it was the same with the fire brigade—someone had to be the string.

The fire was fierce. The last person in the brigade had to rush in, hurl their water, and duck back from the billowing smoke and sizzling heat. Once the line was established, I started to help throw water. I concentrated on wetting down the neighboring shelters and putting out stray embers, stopping the fire from spreading.

Eventually the fire burned itself out, and we began the laborious process of dousing the coals.

The distant gunfire had ended completely I wasn’t sure when it happened—I’d been wholly absorbed in fighting the fire. Now that the fire was out, it was too dark to see well. I sent a couple of people to get torches.

As we finished stirring the ashes of the lean-to, making sure all the embers were out, Ed loped out of the darkness. His face was sweaty despite the frozen night air, and he held a semi-automatic rifle.

“Thought we were out of ammo for those,” I said.

“We are. Still, it looks scary—and it makes a darn good club.” Ed slung the rifle across his back.

“You know what happened?”

“Just three or four attackers. Probably from the Stocktonites occupying Warren. Totally disorganized. Threw some torches and took some pot shots.”

“Anyone hurt you know of?”

“No.” Ed sidled closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’ll get worse. If they come back in force, or better organized . . . we’re defenseless.”

The tired reek of wet ash filled my nose, making every breath feel like an effort. “Ben thinks we should attack Stockton. Go after their heart to force them to pull out of Warren.”

One of the guys who’d been helping put out the fire, Steve McCormick, interrupted us. “We’re done here. Fire’s out cold. What’d you want us to do now?”

Why was he asking me? I guess once you’ve volunteered to be the string in the sugar solution, to start creating crystals, you can’t stop. “You know who lived in the lean-to that burnt?” I asked.

“Yeah, Linda Greenburg and her twin boys, Roan and Mateo. They got out okay.”

“Check on them. Find someplace for them to stay and get them settled, would you?”

“Roger. I’ll squeeze them into our shack, at least for tonight.” Steve jogged away with his torch, carrying away half our light.

Ed said, “Ben’s right. All of Stockton’s troops must be in Warren. We should go now, take them by surprise.”

I groaned. “I don’t know if I can walk to bed, let alone all the way to Stockton.”

Ed seized my arm, whispering urgently into my ear. “Look, Alex, if you’re going to lead, you’ve got to put that away. The weakness, I mean. It’s okay to feel it, but you can’t show it. Not to anyone except maybe me or Darla. People want strong leaders.”

My head spun. I was getting leadership advice from an ex-ca

“Too late for that, you already started.”

“I’m only sixteen.”

“It’s a different world, Alex. A lot of great leaders started as teenagers. Alexander the Great, Joan of Arc—” “Didn’t she get burned at the stake?”

“Yeah, and Alexander died young, thousands of miles from his home.”

“You’re not helping here.”

“I watched what happened in the Peckerwoods gang. The leaders who showed fear, who showed weakness— they moved from the top to the bottom of the food chain, if you get what I’m saying.”

“You’re really not helping now. Look, Ed, you saved my life in that fight. Twice, maybe. We’re even. You don’t—” “You’re wrong. We’re not even. We’ll never be even.

No matter what I do now, I’ll never atone for what I did. What I was. But I swore to try.”

“If you want to round up people to attack Stockton, go ahead. I’ll wish you luck. But I can’t, Ed, I just—”

“You’re the only one who can. Mayor Petty might not live, your Uncle Paul is in no condition to do anything, and Doc McCarthy’s way too busy. People follow you.”

“That’s not my problem.” I violently wrenched my arm out of his grasp and turned away, looking for Darla.

She was standing right behind me.

“Alex,” she said softly. “He’s right.”

Great. Now my girlfriend and the ex-ca