“OmniPD data transmissions are down in both directions due to structural damage from Hurricane Zoe,” the car’s voice said. “Data reflects latest available when vehicle synced at precinct and may be out of date. Video and telemetry are not being received at precinct. Be advised to use radio for all high priority communications.”

Barb grunted to herself. Hardly mattered. She could call in anything, in the unlikely event there was anything to see.

“Drive,” she told the car. “Slow spiral outwards from this location. Keep the display up.”

The car did as she asked, its own lights completely off, its movement nearly silent on its electric motors and wide tires. The buildings around her came up in more green and green and just a tiny bit of yellow.

More houses. The clinic. The old elementary school.

The elementary school brought the videos Melanie had forced Barb to watch into her thoughts again. Those kids, being beaten by Homeland Security. That political appointee, Barnes, killing a man. She shook her head. They were fakes, all fakes. No other way to explain it. Her daughter was school smart, but too liberal, too quick to believe in conspiracy nonsense like that. Someone was faking all these videos, trying to stir up chaos right before the election. And now all these people were falling for it, screaming about how they wanted to change their vote! Well, hell with that. Barb had voted for John Stockton and that was that.

Melanie would make a great doctor, though. Barb was proud of her daughter, liberal and a little naïve or no.

The spiral widened out. A one block radius. A two block radius. Madison was dead quiet right now, everyone huddled together, neighbors whose homes had been damaged taking shelter with those whose homes were still solid. The streets were empty. The lights were out. No one in any of these homes was any sort of suspicious character.

Three blocks. Coming up on the episcopal church.

And what was that? A truck behind the church? Its empty cab was pointed to her, but she could see that it was fairly substantial behind that. Her windshield gave it subtle red overtones, not the red info-box that would indicate a criminal record, but signs of heat, leaking from the rear. The inside of that vehicle was warm.

Barb frowned. Relief work? Had they been distributing supplies from this church? She tried to remember, but she didn’t think she’d seen it on the list.

Looters? Was that possible? In Madison, of all places?

“Vehicle registration,” Barb said, pointing with her eyes at the truck half a block ahead.

Her squad car replied immediately. “That vehicle is registered to Carlton Farms, Charlottesville Virginia.”