The darkness outside seemed to give birth to more and more people slowly filing into the building for the swap. They carried with them boxes and bags of things to trade. Otto started counting heads and stopped at forty. He supposed he had missed some children standing below head level too. Where were they all coming from?

There was no order to the swap. Never before had there been a need. It started as a group of scavengers, all men, who had informally agreed to meet on or about the first of each month to barter. Your mouth gets bored eating nothing but black beans, even if you're near starving. The swap was a way you could find a man with has the same problem, only he has canned pineapple. Too much canned pineapple and your lips go funny. So you do an even trade and presto! both men are eating black beans with pineapple for supper that night. That's why the swap existed. That kind of thing.

It went sideways fast once the rundown addicts started coming. They made everyone nervous. They were too thin, too jittery, too desperate. You had them over a barrel when it came to trading but you needed to be careful and not too greedy. Most carried guns and wouldn't hesitate to pull them. Otto watched a junkie trade two dozen pills for another junkie's handgun. The man took the gun, shot the other in the face, and took back the pills. Otto and the others watched, speechless, as the junkie glared, daring them to say something.

Otto traded with addicts as little as possible.

Otto was worried about how big swaps were getting. It was hard to watch your back with so many people around, especially when the only light came from a few burning barrels. In the space of a month the swap had more than doubled in size. And kids? This was no place for kids. Devlin and the few other regulars Otto recognized looked bewildered, nervous. The newcomers milled uncomfortably, looking for directions that were never coming. The swap didn't work that way. No order, just a temporary cease fire to get business done.

Then the damned woman started talking. She stood on an old crate, gripping her old companion's shoulder for balance. She raised her hands and, to Otto's surprise, the crowd quieted and gave her their attention.

Otto didn't like it. Didn't like any of it.

"We are born free," she said, her voice deeper and less petite than he would have imagined. "Yet everywhere we are in chains."

The gathered crowd, even the junkies, listened in open-mouthed awe as she stood and talked about power and slavery and the rule of the just and the will of the people. Otto lost track of what she was saying as he looked around at the people's faces. It was like a church meeting from way back when. Church. He hadn't thought of church in a long, long time. So much good that did us.

"Does anybody have any rundown to trade?" interrupted a wild-eyed sweaty man standing next to him. Otto shrank away and he realized in that moment that he had lost track of Jackal in the crowd.

"Shut up and listen," the old man beside the blonde yelled back. He looked as though the effort had exhausted him.

Otto glanced back at the wild-eyed man, who was reaching into his coat. Otto pushed past a woman holding a child on her hip. He had seen Jackal standing close to the bearded man, Erik Torreon, who was looking up at the woman with reverence, oblivious as to what was about to happen.

"The strongest is never strong enough to always be the master," the blonde continued, stopping when the old man tugged her arm. Some junkies had drawn guns and the crowd fell away, pressing themselves against the walls, too stunned to move for the exits. Otto had a mind to leap out the broken window, but shards of glass still hung in the frame and he wasn't certain his tired old legs would clear the sill. Besides, he had Jackal to think about.

He snatched her sleeve. "Come on. Come with Otto," he whispered sharply. "Head for the door. Slowly." Jackal faced Erik, who stood spellbound by the woman's as she continued her preaching.

There was shouting and some threats and shoving. Otto couldn't see who was saying what and didn't care. A gunshot in those close quarters could kill any of them at random. Devlin confronted the junkies, yelling, "Enough bullshit philosophy. Put the guns down and let's trade."

Jackal pulled her arm away from Otto and frowned.

Otto grabbed her arm again and squeezed. "This is going to get bad, Otto can feel it. You've got to get out of here."

She jerked free and glowered. "Get your hands off me," she said and wrapped herself around Erik's arm. He looked at Jackal with confusion, and then up at Otto, who scowled at the both of them.

The tension in the room dropped from a boil to a simmer. No one was pointing guns anymore but they were still drawn, and the crowd still seemed frozen, unsure of what came next. Otto knew things could still get bad in a hurry. Real bad.

"Thanks for being Otto's friend," he said with a sneer and slung his sack over his shoulder. His movement toward the door broke the tension in the room. Other scavengers muttered to one other and a buzz rippled through the crowd.

Otto felt tears sting his eyes as he stepped outside. That girl was trouble after all, just like the rest of them. The night air was cold and stung his nostrils as he inhaled. He stared up at the sky full of stars and breathed out.

The stars exploded before his eyes as Otto heard a sharp crack and pain washed over him. He tasted dirt and grit mixed with blood and realized he had fallen on his face. His hands were being forced behind his back and he felt the skin of his wrists pinch as they were bound behind him. Gloved hands rolled him against the outside wall like he was a log as his brain tried to process what had just happened.

Then things got worse.