We duck and weave around people in their endless lines and the trees that line the pavement, trying to get away from the street as quickly as possible, but it’s crowded enough that it’s hard to put distance between us.

And Store Guy has his gun too. He doesn’t seem to care about the soldiers or the eyes on him. He seems to be breathing hard, and if possible, he’s even redder than he was before. He tracks me with his barrel, closes an eye, and lowers his shoulders.

I turn away and keep running.

Bang.

Thirty-one

Grace

The gunshot echoes across the square. There are screams everywhere. The lines for the food move as if simultaneously, with everyone jumping back and cowering. I can still hear the echo of Reid’s words.

We’re too close now. Don’t you see? I can’t go back. I can’t. I can’t. I have to try.

Riley stumbles to her feet from our hiding point, and I leap forward to grab her leg to stop her. My ears ring. My eyes burn. Riley trembles under my grasp. “Grace! Logan! We have to—”

“No!” I don’t want to lose anyone else. I can’t.

“I have to get to them. This is exactly why I hated this plan!”

“We can’t.”

Riley reaches out to me and turns my face in the direction of the trucks. “We can.”

Store Guy has dropped to his knees, and he is cradling his wrist. His gun lies a few feet in front of him. Three soldiers circle around him, their own guns at the ready. Another two have grabbed the other guy by the soldiers. “Violence will not be tolerated,” one of the soldiers says loudly, for the crowd’s benefit as much as the men, it seems. “Open carrying is in direct violation of the rules of distribution and—”

I stop listening. I crawl forward out of our hiding space and attempt to locate Logan and Nia. They’re both huddling against each other but pushing themselves to their feet again.

I breathe out hard. I want to vomit. I want to curl up within myself and stay here and let the world be the world and just forget about it. I want to cry. I want to sleep.

I want to go home.

“Now you should go to them,” I manage. I force my hand to let go of Riley’s leg and allow myself a second or three to breathe, to push through the fear and the fatigue.

Riley massages her leg, and she nods. “Yeah, I should.”

“Is Emerson still in line?”

Emerson joined the line when Nia and Logan reached the front of it, to keep as much of a distance between them as possible. Riley stands on tiptoe and points. “There.”

I follow her mark and find Emerson being shuffled back and forth along with everyone else while soldiers shout orders at them to line up properly. Their shoulders are up to their ears, and they fidget with a sleeve. They don’t have a ration card or ID either.