And that’s when she understood. That’s when she knew how Happy Valley had survived. That’s when she understood why Old Man Church had adopted the persona he had—white, entitled, condescending. That’s when the whistles that still filled the air seemed less of a comprehensive threat and became instead one half of a pair of jaws.
She looked around, trying not to let anything show on her face, and saw that although the men on the wall were looking out, rifles and other weapons ready, there were plenty of other people—men and women—clustered around Van Sloane, and standing in a large circle around the Pack. All of them were armed, many had handguns, and if their barrels were not directly pointed at Dahlia’s friends, there was more than a suggestion of that.
Which is when Dahlia tuned back into the conversation between Church and Van Sloane.
“ . . . your weapons, of course,” Van Sloane was saying.
Dahlia turned, fighting to recapture all of what the woman said. “Wait,” she said, “you want us to give up our weapons?”
“Fuck that,” said Slow Dog, placing a hand on the hilt of a big machete that hung from his belt.
“No, no, not give up,” assured Van Sloane. “We want to inventory everything and then we can decide who gets what based on our assessment of the real threat.”
“Are you out of your mind?” demanded Dahlia. “The Rovers are coming right now.”
“And we will respond appropriately. See . . . we already have people on the walls.” In the last few minutes the sentries manning the wall had quadrupled. Now they crowded together, all of them heavily armed.
“Why take our weapons, though?” asked Jumper, looking nervously around.
“As I said . . . ”
“No,” insisted Dahlia, “why take them even for two minutes?” She turned to Church. “I guess you were right after all.”
“Right about what?” asked Van Sloane. Dahlia did not answer the question. Instead Mr. Church walked toward the mayor.
“How many fighters do you have?” he asked casually.
“Enough.”
“Really?” interjected Dahlia. “’Cause it looks to me like half of them are standing guard over the people you have working for you.” She painted that word with acid. “Are you going to give the workers weapons, too?”
Van Sloane said nothing.
“What happens to the workers when this shit all goes down? Do you let the Rovers have them or—?”
“Our helpers are very well cared for,” said Van Sloane.
“‘Helpers’? That’s a convenient word. If they’re helping you, why do you have guards watching them? How come all of them look like they’ve had their asses kicked? What the fuck is going on around here?”
Van Sloane bridled. “Watch your language, young lady. This is my town. I’m the mayor here and we have survived very nicely while everything else fell apart. There’s a reason for that. We have a system. Everyone does their part and everyone is taken care of. You are here out of courtesy. While we appreciate you coming to give us a warning, don’t pretend that your actions are anything but self-interest. We are protecting you. Just as we protect our helpers. From the dangers outside and from themselves. We keep them fed and provide shelter and clothing—”
“And brush their coats and give them dog yummies. Yeah, I get it. I’ve actually read history books,” sneered Dahlia. “Anyone with two eyes can see how you’re running Happy Valley, Miss Mayor. I’ll bet you were happy as fuck that the world ended and the government collapsed, taking the Constitution with it. All those pesky amendments. Like the one about slavery.”
“Oh, please,” said Van Sloane with a laugh. “There are no slaves here. Everyone here in Happy Valley wants to be here. Everyone came here willingly. No one was dragged in.”
“Maybe, but how many of them are allowed to just up and leave?”
Van Sloane shook her head. “They stay because it’s safer here. It’s better here. There is food and shelter and walls and—”
“And beatings and what else?”
Mayor Van Sloane exhaled a long, weary breath. “Enough. Mr. Deacon, I can see that you cannot control your niece. It makes me question your motives in coming here. You could have a half dozen of your people in the forest blowing whistles and pretending that there is a threat. So, let’s cut the nonsense and get right to it.” She snapped her fingers and every single one of the armed men and women circling the Pack raised their weapons. “I want your people to drop their weapons. Do it carefully and slowly and be smart about it. Put all of your supplies in a pile. Everything.”
Dahlia sighed. “You were right about everything,” she said to Church.
Again, he spoke to Van Sloane. “The Rovers are coming whether you believe it or not. Given that, it would be encouraging to know if your guards and sentries are any good at their jobs.”
Van Sloane took a step closer to him, smiling like the Florida alligators Dahlia had seen when her family was on vacation. A lot of teeth and no trace of warmth or mercy.