eyes. A fleet of motorcycles rides into Fair Oaks. Dozens of them. Fucking bikers.
They’re wearing their leather cuts and their MC patches. Old guys wearing colored headbands and white t-shirts under their leather. Harleys ride in a single-file line, blowing past the squad cars to wrap around the town hall. Dozens of bikes. One of them holds a banner emblazoned with the American flag. It keeps rippling in the wind: “FLYING EAGLES.”
I’ve never heard of them, but Olivia pounds my shoulder. “Holy crap! We got the Flying Eagles to come!”
“Who the hell are they?”
“They’re very patriotic,” she says excitedly. “They do all kinds of stuff. They’ve done anti-bullying rides for children, and when soldiers’ bodies started coming home from Iraq without family to claim them, they would ride with the body to its resting place.”
“Where do they come from?”
She shrugs. “All over the place.”
They stop their bikes, cutting the engines as they turn around to ear-splitting applause. I doubt they’d ever heard of Fair Oaks until yesterday, but they still came to help us out. A heavy-set man slides from his bike and waves down the clapping, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“We’re not leaving until Fair Oaks is free!”
Cheers erupt around him. Even the officers look disheartened, one throwing down the zip ties. Some are back in their squad cars, probably radioing back for more help. Hundreds of bikes line up around us. They’re going to need tow trucks and police vans to get rid of everyone. Shit, this might’ve bought us a few more hours. But for what?
“Take a break. We’ll be here to hold the line!”
More cheers explode. Angry, Evelyn thrusts her megaphone in Mark’s chest as she stalks off. He mouths after her. “What do you want me to do about it!”
I duck back into the tent to finish getting dressed, Olivia following suit. She smiles at me, poking me in the ribs.
“See? I told you this would happen!”
I never would’ve thought people would give a shit about our small town. It’s sobering to watch folks I’ve never met defending us. When we step outside, there’s a stereo set up in the middle of the woods, blasting classic rock. Someone already set up a table for refreshments. Trudy, I’m guessing.
George’s wife even brought one of her crockpots to dole out chili for everyone. There’s a chest of ice-cold beer, and I dig out one of the bottles of Corona. I snap it open and pass it into the hands of a man wearing shades and a ridiculous goatee. Instead of an eviction, it looks like the beginnings of a really good party. Officers keep screaming into the megaphone, and someone turns the music up.
I turn to see Jack’s grinning face. “Can you believe this?”
“Olivia says there might be more coming.”
“Seriously?”
“There’s a fucking Facebook event page.”
I don’t even know if all of this will work, but at least everyone is smiling and that bitch is nowhere to be found. George presses a stack of newsletters into me, making me promise to hand them out. I look at the headline: CORRUPT CALIFORNIA. What follows is a surprisingly coherent article about the disparities of income imbalance in America, and how the rich exploit loopholes in the government. The rich being Illuminati, of course.
While I’m reading it, a hand shoots out, smacking the newsletters out of my grip. They sprawl over the forest floor. I don’t have to look at Mark’s foul rat face to know it’s him.
Up close, he’s more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him. His shirt is untucked and there’s a strong aroma of booze and cigar smoke wafting from his clothes.
“What the fuck is this?” Mark bends down, grabbing one of the newsletters. His expression shifts from rage to confusion as he mouths the word, “Illuminati.” He waves it in my face. “Whatever the fuck this is won’t save your stupid town, I’ve made sure of that.”
If it weren’t for the wall of cops behind him… “You’re a brave man to be here all on your own.”
Mark pales, clearing his throat. “You just try me, asshole. I’ve got ten police officers who’d love to make an example out of you!”
I look over his shoulder. “They look pretty busy at the moment.”
Most of them are back in their squad cars, looking bored. Chris is still talking to the police chief. For now their attentions are diverted.
“No one’s here to protect you, momma’s boy.”
He seems to have realized the same thing. Pale eyes stare back at me as