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“We can do what we want!” another voice from the crowd shouts.
“We can lead ourselves!” Bartie calls back.
The call becomes a cheer. Lead ourselves! Lead ourselves! Lead ourselves!
Marae and the other Shippers try to drown out the chant with their own shouted orders for silence. Expletives mingle with the chant—sneers and threats. The Shippers respond in kind. Their threats lead to action. Marae shoves a man twice her size back as he draws too close to us; another man takes a swing at Shelby.
I slam my hand against my wi-com. “Communicate area: within fifty feet of my location,” I order. As soon as the wi-com beeps that the connection has been made with every other wi-com in the area, I say, “Everyone, calm down. There’s no need for this. ”
A few people stop; they’re listening to their wi-coms, I can tell. But not enough. “EVERYONE STOP,” I shout, and my voice echoes in all of their ears. “Look around you!” I order, and most of them do. “These are your friends, your family. You’re fighting each other. And there’s no need for that. Stop. Fighting. Now. ”
I take a deep breath. For the most part, the crowd has stilled.
“And what about Food Distro?” Luthor roars through the quiet.
“What?” My head whips around to Marae. “What’s going on at Food Distro?”
“Don’t you know?” Bartie says, disgust in his voice. “How can you call yourself a leader if you don’t even know that food distribution stopped?”
I turn again to Marae. “We were aware of the problem,” she says apologetically. “We were just about to com you. ”
I don’t bother waiting for another answer. I take off down the street toward Food Distro. The crowd around us is surprised—they weren’t expecting me to suddenly start running straight for them. A few don’t get out of my way fast enough, and I bump into them but don’t stop. I can hear their voices and the thudding of their feet on the pavement following me, but I’m so frexing angry that I can barely think straight. I do not need Food Distro, of all things, added to my problems.
Frex. Frex, frex, frex.
The Food Distro is a giant warehouse so far on the edge of the City that it butts against the steel walls that encase the Feeder Level. Food distribution is automatic—or it’s supposed to be. When I get to the huge steel-and-brick building, the manager, Fridrick, has chained the doors shut. He stands in front of them, arms crossed, eyes trained on me, waiting for a fight.
Everything in me tenses—my fists, my teeth, my eyes.
“What’s going on?” I growl. The crowd that had gathered around Bartie and me now presses against me and Fridrick—and it is even bigger than before. Marae and the Shippers try to move around the edges, urging people to leave and let us take care of the problems, but they’re not listening. Instead, the crowd is growing.
“I’ll distribute food manually,” Fridrick says. “I’ll make sure everyone gets their fair share. ”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He’s keeping the food for himself!” a woman shouts.
“It’s not right!”
“Let’s break down the doors!”
“Calm the frex down!” I bellow, spinning on my heel and glaring at the crowd. They don’t calm—but at least they quit shouting. “Now,” I say, turning back to Fridrick, who’s been in charge of Food Distro since before I was born. “What’s the problem with food distribution?”
“No problem,” Fridrick says. “Once everyone leaves, I’ll begin distributing the food. ”
I cast a doubtful look at the chain on the doors.
“He’s only going to give food to some of us!” a deep male voice calls out from the crowd.
“For the ones who deserve it!” comes ano
ther voice.
I risk another glance behind me. Marae and the Shippers are all directly behind me, keeping the crowd from surging forward. There’s at least two hundred people here, maybe more. They move in waves, not as individuals, and the waves are pressing closer to Fridrick and me.
“You don’t own the food,” I say to Fridrick. Now I speak loudly on purpose, intending everyone to hear.
“I do. ” He glares at me.
