Victoria and her family, along with Joe McCrea and Paul Copley, had moved into St. Thomas Catholic Church, about a quarter of a mile from Maggie’s Place. They lived there, along with the Boyle family—Ronnie and Peggy and their four-year-old daughter, Abigail. Each of them carved out places for themselves on the floor, and so far, everyone got along, despite the close quarters.

The pastor of St. Thomas’s, Father Tim, had been away visiting family in Philadelphia when the war came. Still, five or six of the most devout showed up every morning to pray silently, seemingly oblivious to those who were crashed on the floor.

Maggie’s Place had evolved into the most important building in town, serving not just as a food pantry, but also as city hall and the courthouse. Victoria conducted her business from the back of the building, using a table next to the back door as her desk. She’d developed a tolerance for most innocent assault crimes—flashes of anger among stressed residents—but showed no quarter for any form of theft.

That said, not everyone agreed with the boundaries she’d drawn around the concept of thievery. One such disgruntled resident was Marius Miller, a gruff septuagenarian who owned Miller’s Auto Body just a little way down the street, and the five acres of land that surrounded it.

“You are not putting shacks up on my property!” Miller insisted.

“People need places to live, Marius,” Victoria said. “Winter will be here soon, and people need shelter.”

“Then let them shelter someplace else. That land has been in my family for three generations.”

“I’m not proposing we take your land,” Victoria said. “I’m telling you, you need to share it.”

“Free of charge?”

“Would you like the town to write you a check? Which currency would you like it in?”

“Don’t be a smart mouth, Vicky.”

“Then don’t be unreasonable. This is a time to come together. Neighbors helping neighbors.”

“They are not my neighbors.”

“They will be.” Victoria heard her own snarkiness there. “Sorry.”

“All of these people, Vicky,” Marius pressed. “They all eat, they all shit and they all need places to stay. They don’t bring skills or value. They just drain resources. When does it stop?”

This was becoming a progressively more popular refrain. As people clustered closer together, sanitation concerns blossomed, and with those, health issues would explode. They hadn’t crossed that line yet, but every day saw the arrival of more refugees. Victoria was keenly aware that she and her family numbered among those refugees, so she therefore treaded carefully on the issue. The town, however, received fifteen new arrivals yesterday, on top of the thirty-two that had wandered in over the preceding weeks.

Word was traveling that Ortho had supplies and a doctor, and people were hungry and hurt.