Sheriff April stands front and center with a megaphone, his belly hanging over the belt of his pants as he sets a steady glare around the crowd. “Now, I know everyone is scared, but violence is not the answer. We’ve heard your votes and concerns. Sheriff Dunn here is going to quarantine Mr. and Mrs. Wilks in case they show signs of symptoms.”
As if on cue, Sheriff Dunn and a few deputies start leading the couple away to a cop car, all of them wearing masks and gloves. The couple looks completely distraught, the woman just about ready to burst into tears.
“In the meantime, the mayor has called a town meeting. Every one of you best get your butts over to the high school gymnasium,” Sheriff April orders loud and clear, lifting a finger in rebuke. “And no speeding or parking like chumps. I might not drive a cop car anymore, but I have no problem doing a citizen’s arrest. We’re Enders. We’re family. We take care of each other. Y’all hear me?”
To my surprise, the crowd grumbles its assent and begins to clear. The three of us stand there, watching as everyone begins to disperse and the other, younger cops look at Sheriff April like he’s a god.
Brant whistles under his breath beside me. “Damn. Didn’t know the old man had it like that.”
“Good thing he does,” I reply. “Or this could’ve gotten ugly fast.”
They nod in agreement, still watching the crowd on alert, just in case someone’s fear makes them do something stupid. “Let’s get to the gym.”
* * *
We park in the high school parking lot, none of us saying a word as we climb out of my truck and make our way toward the gym of the school. We’re one small group amongst many others, and we’re surrounded by anxious faces and the sounds of shoes scuffing and squeaking on the floor of the basketball court as we’re herded to the packed bleachers.
Theo veers off to the left and picks a spot to lean against the painted white cinderblock wall. Madix and I follow without question, keeping our backs to the wall and the gathering in view. Muffled conversations buzz around the room as all of us wait for the mayor to appear and address questions and concerns.
Right on time, the mayor walks in front of the a single-file line that heads toward the table in the middle of the basketball court. I expect the people in the bleachers to start firing off questions in a panic as soon as someone in authority appears, but everyone remains calm, looking patiently to the leaders of their community for answers. Zeke and Sheriff April have a seat at the table alongside the mayor, and the current sheriff and his two deputies have a seat on the mayor’s other side.
The mayor turns on the microphone and taps it a couple of times to check that it’s on and working. “Thank you all for being here. We don’t have a ton of information at this point, but we’re working to get answers and as soon as we have them, you will too. A state of Martial Law has been called for across the country. Our priority right now is to keep you and your families safe and to eliminate the risk of exposure. There have been no cases reported in town and no one is showing any signs of infection. We need to keep it that way. We suggest that citizens of Endstone move into the main part of town and we propose to build a defensible barrier in an effort to protect the citizens within. We’ll need volunteers for the build and to start patrolling.”
The mayor’s suggestion makes sense, even though it feels extreme. The fact that I think that, probably shows just how much I’m still not wrapping my mind around what’s happening. People start raising their hands to volunteer, and it’s weird how calm and organized all of this is. Maybe it’s because the community is so tight-knit, but I expected more chaos from this meeting, more demands for answers, given the circumstances.
They talk about food distribution and rationing, making sure to keep our water wells clean and clear, and then the local doctor’s office brings out boxes of rubber gloves and paper masks for people to wear when in public.
“This is fucking insane,” Brant says as he takes a box of gloves from the volunteer passing them out.
“Do we know how many casualties there have been?” someone in the crowd asks.
Mayor Jeffries shakes his head. “As of now, we don’t have those kinds of numbers. Communication has gone down, which is why we need to be safe here and take every precaution. Endstone is an extended family. I have every faith that this town can pull together and take care of one another,” he says, looking grimly at all of us. “After all, that’s what Enders do. We handle everything as it comes, and we do it together.”
The crowd looks considerably chastised, obviously feeling rebuked for their behavior in the town square.
The mayor scans them all with his disappointed gaze for added effect. “I know this is a frightening thing to go through, but as long as we stay calm and vigilant, we can increase everyone’s chances to survive this. Luckily, Endstone has always been prepared for disasters. It’s one of our mission statements. Which is why this is the perfect place to hole up in and stay safe. I just checked with the rest of our Town Council, and our food reserves can sustain us for a couple of years, worst case scenario. We also have our crops and our livestock, plus most of you folks are diligent about your own gardens. Everyone needs to be smart, and your families will be okay.”
I recognise the hardware store owner as he rises from his seat in the bleachers and clears his throat. “What about those of us that have family up the mountain? Are we allowed to go get them and bring them here? Most of them won’t know what’s going on.”
Mumbled arguments ripple through the gym and the mayor covers the microphone and leans back to discuss the question with the men around him. After a couple of moments, he uncovers the microphone and leans into it.
“If you have family up the mountain, you have every right to go and get them or stay with them if you so choose, as isolation is a recommended defense per the CDC. We will implement a mandatory week-long quarantine for anyone who decides to risk leaving and comes back. You’ll have to check in at the town border and wait for someone to escort you to a designated place. The abandoned farm house on Grove Street is looking like our best option for housing those who need to be secluded. It’s well away from the rest of the population of Endstone, and right on the main road into town, so it’s the safest place for it. No exceptions on being quarantined. Is that clear?”
The crowd whispers among themselves, but no other arguments are raised.
“Rest assured, Endstone is the best place to be for this,” he goes on. “And not just because we have food and doctors. Hell, lots of cities have that. But because we have each other. We are a close-knit community, and we are ready for any kind of disaster,” he says, driving his point home with a raised fist. The crowd cheers and claps, probably relieved to be able to feel anything other than fear. The mayor is good, I’ll give him that. Where Sheriff April was able to scare the crowd into calming down, the mayor is able to instill hope. It’s exactly what everyone needs.
“Any other questions?” Mayor Jeffries asks, and a few more people raise their hands, asking about town check-ins and food rationing. The mayor wants everyone to do check-ins every couple of days, and if someone shows signs of symptoms, people are to put white fabric on their front door so people know not to enter.
As people continue to talk about food rationing, Theo shakes his head. “Well, I guess it’s good we didn’t throw away the crates of MRE’s we found stacked in the shed.”
I nod grimly, hating to think that we might have to live off those if the entire country collapses and food becomes scarce. I’m going into soldier survival mode, like muscle-memory, and I’m suddenly looking at my surroundings differently. Who appears to be the most susceptible to disease? Who might try to steal more food than they’re allotted? Who has water wells on their property or farm animals in their pastures? Who’s armed?—pretty much everyone—and would any of them use those firearms against their neighbors? These questions and crazy what-ifs start running through my mind.
I’m listening as the grocery store owner discusses a purchase maximum being implemented for each household to ensure that everyone will have enough food, when a man from the front row interrupts. “Is this really necessary?”
All eyes swing to him, and it’s clear from the irritated huffs and eyerolls that pass over the faces in the crowd, that this guy is not popular.
The mayor gives him a hard look. “Harry, it’s vital that this town reacts and prepares as best we can. If you disagree, you’re free to walk out of here, but for everyone else, we work together. Preparedness and action. That’s the Endstone way.”
