“I’m a professional soldier,” McCrea said. “It’s not in me to sit out a fight when I know I can be of some assistance. Besides, I’ve done some soul-searching. This fight is going to have to be fought sooner or later. If we don’t bring it to them, then one day, they’ll bring it to us. Better to be the aggressor than the victim.”

McCrea noted the approach of four more people. He was shocked to see that the Foster brothers were among them, each armed with an AR15, along with chest rigs loaded with spare magazines. McCrea just prayed that the shoes and shirts they’d found were their own and not the spoils of a shoplifting spree. Joey Abbott from the pawnshop and young Eric Lofland filled out the gang. Joey likewise carried an AR15, but Eric had a knockoff AK47 stuffed with what looked to be a forty-round banana magazine.

As they arrived, handshakes and fist bumps were exchanged, and McCrea again had to explain his change of heart.

“I think this is gonna be just about everybody,” George said.

“That’s good,” McCrea said. “There’s too much work left to be done here to have a big crowd head up the road. Everybody’s sure you still want to do this?”

“What they done ain’t right,” one of the twins said. The swelling on their faces had dimmed, making them more identical than they used to be.

“Let’s get going, then,” McCrea said. He started walking, and they started following.

“Wait!” a voice called from behind.

McCrea turned and saw Caleb running to join them. “Oh, shit.”

“That’s the lady’s kid, isn’t it?” Kyle Foster asked. “Luke?”

“Caleb,” McCrea corrected. “He’s the feisty one.”

“He’s a kid,” George said.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” McCrea said.

Caleb arrived with his 10/22 in his hand, and his hair looking like he’d combed it with a blender. “I’m going with you.”

McCrea’s jaw muscles worked hard as he tried to think of what to do. Vicky was going to be pissed if he let Caleb come along. And yes, he was just a kid. But if McCrea challenged this—even if he asked if Caleb had spoken to his mother before running out here—the boy would be humiliated. He was sixteen years old. Armies the world over are populated by sixteen-year-olds. And now, after the events of last night, childhood wasn’t really a thing anymore. Future children would have to be grown-ups as they exited the womb.

“Okay,” McCrea said. “One rule, and this one is nonnegotiable. You are to stay closer to me than my shadow does, understand?”

The boy’s eyes were huge with anticipation. He nodded.

“And you do exactly what I say, when I say it and the way I tell you to do it.”

“Okay, Major. I promise.”