The Jeep cleared Hamlin and Malorie was just briefing Joshua of his left turn onto Route 10 in West Hamlin when he interrupted her and said, “Whoa, there are road flares up ahead—everybody stay buckled up in case we need to turn around quickly or make an evasive maneuver off of the pavement. We don’t know who the friendlies are here, and we don’t want to drive into a trap.”

There were houses on each side of the road with lights on inside, and just past the bridge in the town a delivery truck from the local lumberyard was blocking the roadway. Flanking the road on either side were a dozen or so men with hunting rifles and shotguns. Joshua didn’t see any presence of the law there, but this didn’t appear to be an officially sanctioned checkpoint. Joshua rolled the Jeep to a stop about 250 meters ahead of the action and left only the parking lights on. “Malorie, jump in the driver’s seat and keep the Jeep running. Keep one hand on your shotgun and one on the wheel. Be prepared to get out of here in case I don’t come back.”

“Where are you going?” Megan asked from the backseat.

“I’m not going to drive us into a trap—we need information at arm’s length. You staying here with the car while I walk up won’t be as threatening to them, and I have no idea how triggering happy anyone is up there. If I’m detained and don’t come back in thirty minutes, please leave and find another way around. I love you!” Joshua was moving quickly because the situation could change just as fast, and he didn’t want to expose everyone by driving up into the fatal funnel. As the door closed, Megan cried out, “I love you, too!” She hugged the boys and rolled down both windows while loosening the bungee cord that retained her shotgun.

Joshua walked deliberately in the direction of the checkpoint and interlaced his fingers behind his head when he was a hundred meters out. The air was definitely cold, but he had kept his NSA Police service jacket unzipped so that they could see he was carrying a pistol. He hoped that the embroidered badge on his left jacket breast would at least give him some opportunity to speak with the person in charge. Malorie couldn’t hear what was going on, but she could see three men approach Joshua as he neared the checkpoint, their weapons generally aimed at him. Joshua stopped and Malorie could tell that he was trying to say something. The three men escorted Joshua around the back of the truck and out of sight.

The next fifteen minutes were very tense, and Megan showed it on her countenance. Two of the three men who led Joshua out of sight rejoined the rest of the men at the checkpoint; no one seemed to be giving away anything by their conduct about what could be happening on the other side of the lumber truck.

What Malorie and Megan couldn’t have known was that Joshua was being a very cool customer. When approached by the three men with guns, Joshua said, “My family and I in that Jeep request safe passage through your town to Route 10 South. We’re on our way to see my brother in Kentucky. May I speak with whomever is in charge?”

The middle-aged, stocky man in a flannel shirt with a vinyl puffy vest zipped halfway up said, “Right this way.” He reached out to grab Joshua’s right arm to escort him behind the truck after noticing Joshua’s pistol, keeping one hand on his rifle the whole time.

Joshua glanced at the truck, and other than the name of the lumberyard on the door, the GVWR, and the DOT number, he saw only a small vinyl graphic indicating a local chapter of the Knights of Columbus affiliation. Behind the truck he could see a small vendor’s pop-up tent with three walls flapping in the breeze with the words KETTLE CORN written across the awning. Inside, a small group of older men stood around a kerosene heater trying to keep warm while a pair of Coleman camping lanterns illuminated the makeshift command post. Against the back wall was a table with a police scanner and a ham radio set being operated by an overweight woman. The man who had Joshua’s arm addressed one of the men in the tent. “Mayor Simons, this officer approached the checkpoint and asked to speak with you.”

The mayor was wearing a long tan wool coat with a crucifix pin on the lapel, earmuffs, and a plaid scarf. He was stamping his feet to keep warm and around the outside of his coat on his waist was a thick leather belt and a full-flap cavalry-style holster with what appeared to be a large-frame Ruger Blackhawk revolver inside. The mayor removed his right mitten, tucked it under his left arm, extended his hand, and said, “Mayor Lamar Simons. What brings you to West Hamlin today?”

“Mayor Simons, my family and I request safe passage through your town to take the junction south on Route 10. Sir, we are coming from Kearneysville, West Virginia, on our way to Kentucky to see my brother.”

The mayor was distracted by an update from a fireman holding a Motorola radio in the tent, and turned to get a piece of paper off the desk behind him. “You may not know this, Officer, but the governor just declared martial law an hour ago. In his decree he gave local authorities”—the mayor was squinting to read the text—“the power to do what is ‘reasonably necessary’ to maintain law and order. Now, you no doubt came through Hamlin to get here; where were you before that?”

“Mayor Simons, by God’s providence we were able to circumnavigate Charleston. No doubt you’ve been briefed on the events there today.”

The mayor put his mitten back on his hand and stamped his feet as he talked. “Indeed, that’s quite a death toll already, and the West Virginia National Guard is going door to door trying to contain the escaped convicts. The governor has left Charleston and is running the state remotely from a mobile command post.”

“Sir, I know that you have no way to tell our party apart from anyone else coming down this road—it appears that your town straddles a key junction on these secondary roads. We simply want to get to my brother’s house, near Danville, Kentucky.”

“The Danville area, you said?” Joshua nodded. “Very well, how are you fixed for fuel?”

Although the general situation seemed calm enough, Joshua sensed that there was a fishing expedition being launched here rather than a benevolent mayor offering him fuel. It had been only forty-eight hours since he spoke with Dustin on the phone about “haves and have-nots,” and Joshua realized that he needed to segue into another topic other than his resources. “We have a partial tank of fuel and empty cans on the back that we hope to be able to fill up at the next safe opportunity.”

“Ah, that may be a while. By my order, none of the filling stations in town are selling any fuel—we need to ration what we have so that we don’t end up like Hamlin. I’m short on police right now because all of mine have been dispatched there to restore order.”

Joshua chose his words carefully now. “I did see that as we passed by; your men were doing a fine job and, in my opinion, should be commended.”

Mayor Simons smiled. “In addition to being the mayor, I also own the local lumberyard. It may be a while yet before we start making deliveries again, so until then my truck stays parked there to regulate traffic.” The fireman was speaking on his radio again, and the mayor was distracted by another aide in the tent. He took a six-inch-square piece of card stock off the table, picked up a pen, checked the time, and then signed the card. The mayor then held it by the corner and made a slight fanning motion as if he were cooling himself on a hot summer’s day. Joshua picked up on the theatrics. All cops talk to each other about their experiences, and when he was on his one deployment to Al Udeid Air Base with the Air Force Security Forces he got an earful about how business was done outside of the First World. Joshua knew he was about to get asked for a bribe. “Now, this will cover you through West Hamlin, but West Virginia is a sizable piece of real estate. I know every mayor in this area between here and Kentucky. What’s your plan to get past the other checkpoints if your luck runs out?”