In the meantime, José kept up with his street tactic training. He had these zines that he carried with him everywhere. I had always thought it was kind of stupid, intentionally a throw-back affectation, like the map. But now that we weren’t plugged into anything, they were pretty useful. He used a really old one called Bodyhammer to figure out how to build shields.

But it wasn’t just the shields he made. He started making suits out of duct tape and wadded-up old clothes that could be slipped on and off like shirts and pants. He and the other committee members raided stores and found bike helmets in the street and in apartments. They were like goddamn garbage warriors or something. Their shields could be held with one arm, and José showed people gathered in the lobby how to link their other arm with the person next to them to make a wall.

“In tight, shields up!” José yelled. Sebastian was near him in front of the group of people, but stepped back and let his brother do the leading.

The line of shields formed, again and again.

“Will this really help protect us?” someone asked.

José stepped back, scratched his head, and dropped his leader tone. “Somewhat. If rubber bullets were being fired at us, it would stop them. If we get into a situation where cops are using clubs, it will stop them. You can deflect a taser with this thing, if you know what you’re doing. But if they’re shooting real guns at you? Well, there’s probably not a lot we can do to stop that.”

“Who’s going to be shooting at us?” asked an older woman who had joined the committee. I had worried that she would get hurt, but José had said she was more likely to get hurt not knowing how to defend herself.

José stopped. He looked at his brother, and at me. They didn’t even realize how dangerous what we had in the building was to power. They didn’t realize at all.

“There’s going to come a day when we all need this,” was all he said.