“They surrendered! Come on, follow us!”

People broke from the crowd, began falling in line.

Elliott quickened his pace, jogging down Northside Drive. The heavy bulldozers had left track marks in the pavement, their own version of breadcrumbs leading to the Georgia Dome. People in orange vests were scattered along the road, making sure no cars blocked the cleared thoroughfare.

Elliott and his neighbors were forced back onto the sidewalk along with everyone else when two tractor-trailers powered down the road. The back doors to their empty trailers hung open, and men looked out, several of them smoking. It took Elliott a minute to realize why they needed the giant trucks: to hold all the guns they were rounding up. They were disarming the government troops.

A few minutes later, school buses emerged from downtown, heading away from the Georgia Dome. They were the same buses that had taken him and Rose downtown, but now they were filled with uniformed people—National Guard, Army, and FEMA. The very people who had crowded Elliott and the rest of the population onto the buses days earlier.

Along the street, some people clapped and cheered; others, like Elliott, simply stared at the surreal scene. A few yelled out names and rushed toward the buses, but the orange-vested individuals held them back. That was something Elliott hadn’t considered before—that some of the people making their way downtown were coming to help their friends and family in uniform.

When the buses passed, he waded back into the street and ran even faster. The cold early-December air burned in his lungs. He was very out of shape, even for his age. His younger neighbors were pulling ahead; he was slowing them down.

“Go on,” he said between breaths.

Bill smiled. “A wise man told me we should stay together.”

Elliott just shook his head. But he was glad for the company.

Three blocks from the Georgia Dome, the crowd became too thick to run. Their group slowed to a walk, and Elliott caught his breath.

He drew out his long stick, which he had held to his body with his belt. Carefully, he unfolded the posterboard sign and taped it to the stick. Then he passed around the tape, and one by one, they all raised their signs. Elliott’s read: ROSE SHAPIRO. It was one of thousands of posters waving in the air as the crowd pressed toward the Georgia Dome.

Chapter 105

Chapter 105

Desmond was contemplating his escape from the cargo container when he heard a group of people marching across the concrete. The boots pounded in the vast space, drawing closer. It sounded like a stampede at first, then there was a screeching sound, and muffled voices. He recognized only one of them.

A single set of footsteps resumed.

The door to Desmond’s container opened with another screech of metal on metal.

The dark space flooded with light. He squinted, held an arm up to shade his eyes.

Avery.