I wasn’t out the door exactly by choice. I was more pushed along by handshakes and pats on the back as the mob left the cafe. A large part of me wanted to run. Surely this was the day I was going to get the complacency needle, but I moved my feet anyway. It was as if something else was controlling my reactions.

The Tower loomed large against the snow cloud gray sky reflecting the color with an added dullness. As we drew closer my steps were more confident. The idea of leading these people here sent a thrill through me. I’d never been much of a leader before. Was this what it always felt like?

A few people were milling around the white picket fence when our crowd of people arrived. There were a few security guards standing erect and talking in low tones clearly unsure what to do. They rarely had to leave their posts inside. No one ever stopped long outside the grounds unless it was for a vacation selfie.

The people from the shop stopped and looked at me expectantly. The ones who were already there took a look at their phones before looking at me. I could hear my own voice from one cell phone in my ears. “The tax is a joke,” I heard myself say. “It’s a lie to boost the morale of the wealthy and the ignorant. It’s a lie to keep the poverty stricken down until they are no more.”

“The tax is a lie!” A deep male voice boomed from somewhere to my right. The rest of the crowd picked it up. The chant was powerful, slow and methodical.

“The tax is a lie. The tax is a lie. The tax is a lie.” I joined in. After all, this was much better than simply throwing a rock.

Our protest didn’t last long. Our mantra had been going on for less than five minutes when the sky filled with a swarm of drones. A mix of news drones with their channel number plastered on the sides and the only too well known stealth black of police drones filled the air above us. Clearly the news outlets were smart enough not to send their own people here. Drone footage of the first protest in living memory would have to suffice.

The crowd of thirty had grown to maybe 400, but many weren’t chanting. About half were standing on the outskirts watching the show. Someone put a wooden box down in front of my feet. A hand pushed on my back and suddenly I was standing a head above the crowd. My heart was in my throat, but I swallowed it down. Inhaling the energy around me, I felt invigorated.

“I saw the fire!” I shouted. What am I doing? I’m going to get shot. “Only it wasn’t the same fire the news showed. No! It wasn’t the tragedy of the Speakeasies going after the city. It was the tragedy of the police going after the Speakeasies.” The chanting stopped. Some of the news drones swooped lower and angled their camera’s toward me. I was grateful for them. The police drones probably wouldn’t fire on me with live coverage.

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Eyes were on me. The chanting had died away. I felt my gut tie into a knot, but my mouth wouldn’t stop. “Why, you might ask, are those that are meant to serve and protect resorting to secret violence? That is the problem. No one asks! No one dares! No one speaks up to say, ‘That isn’t right!’” A lone news van pulled up. The back door opened and a Persim Tower security guard ran up to it. The door was closed, but the van remained waiting to be the first with an interview I was sure.

A new chant started from somewhere to my left. “We want the truth!” Soon the crowd was chanting this new phrase, but it lasted only a few moments. Above the noise of the crowd, the sound of the invisible fence from the tower’s lawn could be heard gathering power. The chanting died, and the faces of the throng began to glow green. The buzzing of the drones softened as they all hovered higher out of range of the fence. A green light began to shimmer in the air starting at the picket fence, like a Halloween snow globe. The now illuminated domed forcefield began to expand outward. It grew past the white, picket fence and the red flowers began to smolder and turn to ash as it passed over them.

The people ran, both protesters and onlookers alike. My box was tipped over, and I heard my chin smack onto the sidewalk before I felt the pain. I scrambled to my feet and joined the runners. Drone police followed the crowd I ran with for a few blocks until everyone was spread out. I pulled my hood over my head and ran low, hoping I would mix with the masses and be lost. I was grateful when the machines turned around back toward the tower. I slowed down to a walk, still breathing heavily to catch my breath and not daring to uncover my head.

I came in through the back door of The Palace, but my entrance was known. I heard something I had never heard before, the silence of the television being turned off in the middle of the day. The shuffle of Pam’s house shoes on the warped floor seemed amplified in the quiet of the building. I held my breath. Of course Pam had seen the news. She was coming to tell me she was calling to report me.

I prepared to run, grabbing the door handle to leave.

“Cora?” Pam was just outside the door now.

A little voice in the back of my head said, “Wait.”

My boss shuffled in, her eyes were red and puffy. I didn’t know Pam had it in her to cry. She walked over to me and embraced me. Then I heard the lock click. She bolted the door behind me before backing out of our hug. I felt my chest tighten.

“I was so worried you wouldn’t make it back. Did anyone follow you? I had no idea. I should have listened,” Pam spoke a mile a minute. She took my hand and led me down the hall to the kitchen, and it might have been my imagination, but I thought I could hear the low drone of hovering wings fade away from the back door. They had recorded my face. Of course they knew where I was.

Pam filled up an old tea kettle. “I have chamomile or peppermint upstairs.” It wasn’t until I heard her let out a slow sigh that I realized that was meant as a question. I didn’t care. I just shook my head.

“With what you’ve been through today, it’s a chamomile kinda evenin’” Pam said. She turned on the burner and walked out of the kitchen.

Alone and in a familiar setting it all hit me. I dropped my head to the table and tears cascaded down my face. What had taken over me today? All of my private thoughts on the world I had declared to perfect strangers with no heed to consequences. I had been struck dumb with in the moment passion. I was a dead woman, and worse by coming back here I had brought my troubles on Pam, Sam, Nathan, and Ava.