Briefly, she glanced at her notes. “Jonah and I will continue to give instructions in CPR the first Wednesday evening of each month at seven, and first aid courses every Monday evening at seven for anyone who signs up. As always, the clinic is open daily at eight, and either Jonah or I will be available for medical emergencies twenty-four-seven. We now have Ray, a nurse, and Carly, a nursing student, and Justine, a healer, added to the clinic staff. We’ll work together to keep New Hope healthy.”

“Healer, my ass,” Lou Mercer shouted. “What’s she do, lay hands on you and fix your broken arm?” He snorted out a laugh, had some join him.

“You’re free to request the medical of your choice,” Rachel told him, her tone as cold as February. “Just like you’re free to sit there and be a dick. We’ll still treat your hemorrhoids.”

“Look, bitch—”

“Dr. Bitch,” she snapped back. “And, as the only doctor in the community, I’m going to tell everyone here, the traditional medication we have will eventually deplete. It will expire. Without a chemist, a pharmacist, a lab, without the means, we’ll have to depend on other types of medicine and healing, and those who have the ability and the skill to provide it. We need to live in the world we have.”

“I’ve got diabetes.” One of Rachel’s new patients rose. “And I’m not the only one with a medical issue that needs daily medication. I’m damn grateful a group of my neighbors went out and found more of what we need. And I’m damn grateful to know when there isn’t more, there’s somebody who’ll try to keep me alive and well. That’s all I have to say.”

“I think that says it all.” Rachel stepped back, sat down.

Jonah stepped back, gave the room a moment to mutter. “Anybody who doesn’t want to hear what needs to be said tonight doesn’t have to stay. Just as anybody who doesn’t like what needs to be done to build this community and keep it safe doesn’t have to stay in New Hope. We survived to get here. Surviving isn’t enough anymore, so I’m going to turn this meeting over to Lloyd.”

Lloyd crossed to the podium, opened his binder before taking cheaters out of his shirt pocket, adjusted them on his nose. He peered out over them at the audience.

“I came into New Hope on April first. April Fool’s Day was a bitch of a day. Cold rain, some sleet, a lot of wind. I came in alone, after the group I’d been traveling with for a few weeks got hit by Raiders. We got separated, and I guess I got lucky because when we were running in all directions with no plan, I fell into a gully. Knocked my head some, banged up my leg. So I lived. I don’t know about the others, because when I came to and managed to crawl out, I was alone. A lot of us have been alone since the early days of January.

“We’re not alone anymore.”

Some applauded.

“I got lucky,” he continued. “I limped away, and on that first day of April, I limped into New Hope. It was Bill Anderson on sentry duty that day, and he took me straight to the clinic, where Rachel treated my leg, gave me a bottle of water. Young Fred over there brought me an orange and a Milky Way bar. And I’m not shamed to say I cried like a baby. It was Arlys who brought me a change of clothes, and she and Katie saw to it there were blankets and some food and water in the house Chuck took me to. The house where I live today.

“I was hurt, and they tended to me. I was hungry, and they gave me food. I wasn’t naked, but by God, I was ripe and ragged, and they clothed me. They gave me shelter. They gave me what every one of us has here today. Community.”

He paused, adjusted his glasses. “Every one here has a story not so different from that. I want you to think back to it. I want you not to forget you’re lucky, because Jonah’s right. Surviving isn’t enough. When I limped into New Hope, there were thirty-one people living here. Now we’re more than three hundred.

“The group I’d been with ran, without a thought—and I was one of them—when we were attacked. We had no leader, no sense beyond our own survival. We had no plan, and no structure. New Hope already has more than that, and we’re going to build on it. We’ve already talked about some of the ways we have built on it, and plans for how we’ll go forward. Now we’re going to talk about how we keep our community safe from Raiders and those who threaten the peace from outside, as well as from those who break that peace from the inside.”

He took off the cheaters, absently polishing them on his shirtsleeve. “We’ve had some incidents, and we could call them minor in the big scheme. Fistfights, threats of violence, and physical intimidation. Our own Bryar was threatened, intimidated, and harassed by two men when she took a walk along Main Street. Little Dennis Reader had the bike Bill fixed up for him stolen off the porch of the house where he’s living. Ugly words were painted on the door of the house where Jess and Flynn and Dennis and some other children live. Our oldest resident, who we affectionately call Ma Zee and lives in the apartment across from mine, came home after working in the gardens—eighty-six, and she puts her time in—to find her place ransacked.”

He paused again, laid both his hands on the sides of the podium. “So I’m going to ask you right now: Are we a community who’s going to sit and do nothing while a young woman can’t take a walk in peace, while an old one’s home is wrecked, or a little boy has his bike taken off his front porch?”

The shouts of “NO!” and the hard or surreptitious glances at the Mercers gave Lloyd just what he wanted.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He held up a hand to quell the noise. “I’m glad to hear that. I agree. The founders of this community agree. The people who took you in, tended your wounds, gave you food and shelter agree. We survived, and we work every day to secure our homes against any who’d come here to do us harm. Now it’s time to implement laws to keep us all safe from any in our community who seek to cause harm.”

Rove surged to his feet. “Laws? Getting here first doesn’t give anybody the right to tell the rest of us what to do, how to live. We’ve got bigger things to worry about than some kid’s bike, for Christ’s sake. Look who’s sitting up there, lording it over the rest of us. Half of them aren’t like us.”

“You’ve got a pot to piss in because of the people up here. You want to piss somewhere else, no one’s stopping you.” Lloyd’s voice didn’t rise, his tone didn’t sharpen.

And his words carried weight.

“Like anybody else who’s chosen to move on, you’ll be given supplies and wishes for a safe journey.”

“That’s the way it’s going to be?”

“That’s the way it’s going to be.”

“But who decides?” A woman in the front raised her hand. “Who writes the laws, and what happens when they’re broken?”

“That’s a good question, Tara. We’re starting off with what I believe every reasonable person in this room will support. Laws against violence, against theft and vandalism. I’ve written up the laws we agree are most essential. We’re going to pass out copies of all that rather than have me stand here and go over every one. I’m just going to example killing.”

He took a sharp breath in through his nose. “Now, we’d agree the taking of a life can’t be tolerated. But what if the taking of that life was in self-defense, in defense of another? That has to be determined. The first line of that determination is law enforcement. We have Carla, who served six years as a sheriff’s deputy, Mike Rozer, who served ten years in law enforcement, and Max Fallon, who led nearly a hundred people safely to New Hope, willing and able to serve the community in this capacity.”

This time Don Mercer leaped to his feet. “I’m not taking orders from some bullshit girl deputy who probably sat on her fat ass eating doughnuts, or some asshole cop nobody around here even knows. And I’m sure as hell not taking nothing from his kind.”

He pointed at Max. “His kind’s what caused all this anyway, and most of us know it. What’s to stop that fucking weirdo from striking down any one of us if he gets the itch? It was one of his kind killed your man, wasn’t it, Lucy?”