Halfway to the power station, she came across Archer and his workers marching up the street. There were about forty of them, soot-covered men and women armed with wrenches and shovels. Archer marched at the head of the column, flanked by two men who had cleaned themselves up enough for everyone to see their bruises. The two men who Crazy Joe’s people had beaten up.

  “No power until we get justice! No power until we get justice!” they all chanted.

  The k-slinger scanned the crowd. Everyone had stopped to stare. None of them shouted to bring the power back on, but no one joined in the march or chanting either. These people were too cowed. If it came to a showdown, they wouldn’t take either side, just fall in behind whoever won.

  She spotted one of Crazy Joe’s men in the crowd. He studied the protest for a minute and then ducked out.

  Archer led his men to the main square, still chanting. They formed up in front of the mayor’s office, fists pumping in the air, shaking their tools.

  “No power until we get justice! No power until we get justice!”

  The guards outside the building shifted on their feet and looked at each other, but didn’t budge. A few more hurried out of the building to join them. They all kept their weapons pointed at the ground.

  The crowd grew—the protestors in the center of the town square, the citizens gathering at the edges and growing more numerous. As the last of the black cloud hanging over Tire Town blew away, the sun shone hot, hammering down on the people below. The k-slinger looked around for Crazy Joe’s men but didn’t see any.

  The blinds in Behan’s office opened, and a door opened onto the porch. Behan stepped out and raised his arms. The k-slinger was reminded of pictures of politicians from Old Times magazines. They hadn’t been able to stop the chaos either.

  “People of Tire Town!” he shouted. He had to repeat it several times before the crowd shut up enough to hear what he had to say.

  “People of Tire Town, why all this trouble? Can’t we all work together for a brighter future? We have power, and working together we now have better water, and a school, and a library. Together we can build so much more!”

  “We don’t have safety in the streets!” Archer shouted back at him. This brought a chorus of shouts from not only the protestors, but a bunch of folks in the crowd as well.

  Behan made a calming gesture down at him. “I assure you the situation—”

  Archer cut him off. “Dwayne is the second of my men to get beat up by Crazy Joe’s people this week! And plenty of other people get knocked around too. Market stalls get robbed, saloons busted up. Decent folk can’t walk the streets anymore. You want power? You want the lights back on? Then you’re gonna have to kick out Crazy Joe and his crew. It’s them or us!”

  The power station workers all cheered. The townsfolk looked at each other, making faces.

  “How the hell can I run my business if there ain’t no lights?” someone grumbled next to her.

  Mayor Behan raised his hands for silence. It took some time before he got it.

  “People of Tire Town. I hear your troubles. Anyone hurt by one of my men will receive compensation. Didn’t the city pay blood money the last time this happened? We did before and we will again, and that goes for anyone who has a complaint. We’ll look into all the cases and I’ll make sure my men—”

  “Crazy Joe ain’t your man!” Dwayne shouted. “He hasn’t been your man for a long time!”

  Behan scowled down at him, then continued. “I’ll talk to him personally and make sure—”

  “Make sure he’s gone, Behan,” Archer shouted. “That’s the only thing that will get the lights back on. Until he’s out of town, him and his men, the power station is closed.”

  This brought a chorus of complaints from the townsfolk. Archer turned and pushed through the crowd. His workers followed him.

  The townsfolk remained, calling up to Behan and telling him to get the lights back on. He reassured them that he would do everything possible. The townsfolk didn’t believe a word. Neither did the k-slinger. After several minutes, the crowd began to disperse. Behan stayed on the porch, calling after his people.

  As the last of the townsfolk moved off, the k-slinger was left alone in the middle of the plaza, looking up at the mayor of Tire Town. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then the k-slinger turned and walked off.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Behan was left standing on the porch, looking out over an empty square.

  ***

  The schoolhouse was a tidy, one-room building made of new planks that must have been dragged thirty kilometers from the tree-covered hills north of town. Children’s drawings and colorful pictures torn from Old Times magazines decorated the walls. The k-slinger couldn’t see how it was usually set up otherwise because everything had been cleared away to make room for chairs—at least a hundred chairs including Old Times metal ones to newer ones slapped together from rotten boards. Some people even sat on barrels or overturned buckets. Looked like every chair in the neighborhood had been brought in for the occasion.

  The whole place was packed. The windows and door were open so more people could look inside. The crowd peering into the building blocked enough sunlight that the woman who the k-slinger took to be the teacher had lit some candles on either side of a crude stage set up against one wall.

  The k-slinger spotted Terry Archer in the front row. She sat near the back, with a couple to one side that were whispering about how they hoped their son remembered his lines and a grizzled old scavenger who needed a bath almost as much as Zeb.

  “Looks like school plays are pretty popular in these parts,” the k-slinger said.

  “Sure are,” the scavenger said, pulling a flask from his pocket and taking a snort. “Not much wholesome entertainment in this town. People like to see it. Why, that fellow over there was in a fistfight at the saloon not two nights ago, but here he is. Never misses a play. Even donates some material from his textile business to help make costumes. Then at night he’s drinking and fighting and whoring with the best of them.”

  “You get these often?”

  “Oh yes, at least once a month. You see, there’s three classes—the young’uns, the middle kids like is putting on the show today, and the older kids. Each gets a turn. Sometimes it’s a play, sometimes it’s music. Cheers a man up to see kids doing something other than working.”

  The teacher ascended the stage and looked out over the audience. Within a few seconds everyone fell silent. The k-slinger wondered if she was equally effective with the children.

  “Welcome to Tire Town School,” she said. “This afternoon the middle grade is performing Anansi the Spider, an old folktale about a wise spider who helps her animal friends. Let me remind you there is to be no talking, drinking, or spitting.” The scavenger took a final snort from his flask and tucked it in his pocket. The teacher saw that. The k-slinger got the impression the teacher saw everything. The teacher smiled and her tone turned chipper. “After the play we’ll have a few songs from some of the middle grade students. Now let’s give a big show of hands for the cast of Anansi the Spider!”

  Everyone applauded. A row of children, all aged about eight to twelve, filed onto the stage. Cynthia came first, decked out in a black shirt several sizes too big for her that had been stuffed with something to make it look like the round body of a spider if you squinted hard and used your imagination. The eight legs of black cardboard sticking out the sides helped. The other children were dressed as other animals, although the k-slinger could identify only about half of them. They all bowed and filed off stage except for Cynthia, who stood at the center.

  “Hello, I’m Anansi the Spider, and I’m the wisest animal in the forest. I like to help the animals when they have a problem. Oh look, there’s my friend the antelope. I wonder if he needs help.”

  A boy in a brown sack and a paper muzzle over his face came onto the stage.

  The scavenger leaned in and whispered, “What’s an antelope?”

  “A kid with a cone of paper over his face.”

  The scavenger nodded. “You’re an educated woman.”

  “Hello, antelope, you look sad. What seems to be the matter?”

  “We’re having a problem with the ants,” the kid with the antelope mask said. His voice came out hollow sounding from the tube of paper. “They’ve built up big ant hills on some of the best places to eat grass in the fields. Now we can’t go there to eat because the ants complain we step on them.”

  “Hmm, that’s a problem,” Spider Cynthia said. “Where is this place, exactly?”

  “It’s the big field near the hill just north of here.”

  “Oh, I know that place! There’s not much grass on the hill because the soil is so full of pebbles.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I bet you don’t go up on the hill to eat.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “How about this? Tell the ants to make their homes on the hill. That way you won’t bother the ants and the ants won’t bother you.”

  “Won’t it be hard to make an anthill in all those pebbles?”

  “Hmm. That’s true. Oh, I know! You antelopes can use your horns to dig into the soil and flick out the biggest pebbles, and then bore holes into the earth. That will get the ants started and make their job easier.”

  “That will work. Thanks, Anansi!”

  The kid with the antelope mask skipped away.

  “Doesn’t seem real, sitting here watching kids put on a play,” the scavenger beside her muttered, “considering how the world is outside.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” the k-slinger agreed.

  “Shhh!” Someone hushed them. The k-slinger and scavenger traded smiles.

  “Oh look!” Cynthia said. “There’s my friend the hyena. I wonder what he wants?”

  A little boy with a ratty old fur coat over him walked on all fours onto the stage, laughing so hard it sounded like he was going to give himself hiccups.

  “Hi, Anansi. I have a problem. I laugh so much at night that I wake up all the other animals and they don’t want to play with me.”

  “I know you laugh at night. You’ve woken me up several times. But I don’t get angry at you because you’re a hyena and you can’t help it. You walk around the wilderness all night laughing, laughing, laughing. How about you ask all the other animals where they bed down for the night and then go laugh somewhere else? That way you can laugh and they can sleep.”

  “That’s a good idea. Thanks, Anansi.”

  The hyena trotted away.

  “I wish our problems were that easy to solve,” the scavenger said with a chuckle.

  “The lesson is about courtesy and cooperation, so actually they are,” the k-slinger replied.

  “Maybe we should elect Anansi mayor.”

  “Gee, I wonder which animal I’m going to help next,” Cynthia said. “Maybe it will be … will be …”

  “Looks like the girl forgot her lines,” the scavenger whispered.

  The k-slinger’s eyes narrowed. No, the girl hadn’t forgotten her lines. She was staring at the something at the back of the room.

  The k-slinger spun around. At the back of the room stood Crazy Joe and some of his men, guns at the ready.