The excitement in all those brains, the churning emotions and thoughts, battered at me, and I staggered. Sam jumped over to grasp my arm. “Sookie?” he said. “This doesn’t have to be your fight.”

I thought of the dead animals at the shelter. “This is my fight.” I took a deep breath. “How did all these people get here?”

“The Internet,” said Sister. She and Rafe were looking around them, alert to approaching danger. “Everyone just showed up, said they’d heard about it on the Internet. That Twitter thing maybe.”

A television news van pulled up at the end of the street.

“That’s probably good, I think,” Sam said. “Witnesses.”

But I thought people would act out worse, so their protest would make the evening news. “We better get going,” I said. “Before the assholes build up their courage.”

“Do you figure the majority of the crowd is pro or anti?” There were signs for both camps. More for the anti, but haters are always the most vocal.

I scanned the signs. “The signs are mostly anti,” I said. “The anti folks are better organized, which isn’t a big surprise. People of goodwill don’t have to carry signs.”

We got welcome reinforcements from an unexpected direction. Togo, Trish, and the Biker Babes, along with the Suburban people, came through the backyards to arrive at our sides.

“Road was blocked farther on,” Trish explained. “Pile on in your cars. We have a plan.”

Bernie said, “Trish, maybe . . .”

“You-all get in, but drive slow,” Trish said. “We’re going to walk alongside the cars. Don’t want any of them getting close to the kids.”

“Doke?” Mindy said. “Are we doing the right thing?”

“I don’t know.” Doke sounded almost desperate. “But let’s go. If we all stay together, it’s better than being divided.” The two parents crowded into the backseat of Bernie’s car, their kids between them, buckled into the parents’ seat belts. Craig got into the driver’s seat, and Bernie ducked in the passenger side. Sam and I hugged, and then we got into his truck. We pulled away from the curb slowly and carefully, and Togo got on my side of the truck. He smiled in at me. Trish was on Sam’s side. The bikers and the other shifters who’d come from out of town surrounded Bernie’s car, which would be behind us.

We started down the street, and the yelling began. The people who were trying to keep the peace pushed to get in front of the protesters, linking arms to provide us clear passage to the corner. The news crew had scrambled out and gotten their equipment set up, and the reporter, a handsome young man in a beautiful suit, was talking earnestly into the camera. Then he stepped out of camera view so the lens could pick up the scene of our approaching vehicles.