Victoria unslung her pack and set the example for her boys. When Caleb complied, Luke followed suit, handing over a lot of gear. Game cartridges, game players, laptops. If nothing else, their rucks would be a lot lighter.

McCrea said, “Thank you. Now, what’s with the rifles?”

“Do your orders say to confiscate those, too?” Victoria asked.

“No, ma’am, they don’t.”

“Then the rifles stay.”

McCrea wanted to argue, but she had a point. Why not let them have their rifles? If they survived what was coming, a little firepower might go a long way. “We need to get going.”

Soldiers formed a security corridor that dead-ended at a black Suburban idling at the curb. The entire detail was armed with rifles, but they mostly looked terrified.

As they reached the curb, Caleb pulled up short. “No,” he said. “This isn’t the way it works, Mom. This has never been the way it works. We go in our own car because that’s where the extra provisions are.”

His mother pulled on his arm. “Not this time, Caleb.”

“Stop!” Caleb yelled. He was far louder than he needed to be, and McCrea knew this was his way of getting the most attention. “Tell me what is going on! I am not getting into a car with a guy in a uniform who says he’s a general or a major or whatever. Jesus, Mom, you’ve trained us not to do that very thing.”

This was going to spin out of control. Neighbors would soon be peeking out windows, and maybe they were already calling the police.

Mrs. Emerson shot her hand out like a striking snake and cupped Caleb’s neck at the spot where his spine joined his skull and she pulled him close. “Do not shout,” she said. She looked to the men who surrounded her, then dropped her voice even lower. “The reason this is different is because this time it’s not a drill.”

He stiffened. “W-what are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you to get in the car,” she said. “We can talk all you want in there. But not out here.”

To her left, Luke stood very still. A shadow engulfed his face, but glistening eyes shined through. “Mom, I’m scared,” he said.

“We’re all scared,” she said, cupping the back of his head, too, and urging him toward the Suburban.

Mrs. Emerson looked to McCrea, but he kept his expression blank. Next to him, a young soldier looked close to tears. “You should get home to your family,” Mrs. Emerson said to him.

The soldier stiffened and shifted his eyes to the ground.

McCrea added more pressure to her back. “Inside, ma’am,” he said. “It’s not a short drive.”