Altogether, only fifteen 'hunters' came home. Now that he had been on a trip, Mack found that he really hated the euphemism. He had always known what they did, but they weren't hunters, weren't out bringing in meat or food. They were bandits, raiders, thieves. Sure, the hunters were supporting their families and the rest of the compound, but calling it "hunting" just felt wrong. Mack still remembered what life in the suburbs was like - this wasn't worse than the way the gangs ruled the neighborhoods. At least everyone in the compound trusted each other.

Maybe it wasn't safer. Out of nearly fifty hunters who left that morning, only fifteen made it back. Fortunately, Roland was one of them. He kept everyone working, kept them from breaking apart. And the raid was a success, too, even if most of them had gotten trapped inside. The fifteen men who got out consisted of the handful who had quickly loaded a second semi, getting the shipment of food it had just unloaded right back on the truck. Roland and his bodyguards had stayed outside as well, both to guard the loaders and to coordinate the rest. The other had streamed into the building, looking for tools, food, or equipment that could be useful. They'd been supposed to split into pairs, but instead had gotten ambushed by state police. Most of the men who'd gone deeper into the depot had gotten trapped and left behind. According to Roland, only a few had gotten killed. In addition to Mack's partner, one of Roland's bodyguards had apparently bought a grenade at his feet. That had been what prompted Roland to pull out.

In addition to the food, they'd gotten a couple of big generators. Mack helped unload them, driving the big forklift to carry them inside a bunker. Each generator was supposed to be powerful enough to run the entire compound, and now they had a backup too. Personally, Mack wasn't sure the generators were worth it, but Roland was gloating about it. Watching Roland, and helping the man, it was clear why the big man was their leader. He kept everyone together. He helped the widows feel more than just grief and kept everyone else from falling apart. Mack didn't think that Roland believed the generators were worth the loss of most of the fathers and sons in their little tribe, but fixating on a silver lining was better than tears.

For three days Roland kept everyone busy. Mack spent his time in the bulldozer, building more berms, burying the bunkers, and moving dirt around as Roland directed. The two generators got installed and hooked up. Mack buried those too - one right in the center of everything and the other out near the outer wall. The food they'd stolen was distributed and stored underground, and people were digging inside too, judging by the amount of dirt they'd been bringing outside for Mack to move around.

As one of the few left who had armor, Mack got called away from his dozer when their lookout down the road called in an alarm. A car was driving along the road towards them. Mack, along with the other Made Men, came out with Roland to meet it. Each of the men, including his dad, had a place along the walls. Mack was at Roland's right hand at the gate itself.

The approaching car didn't look like any car Mack had seen before. Most cars he had seen were old hulks – rusted junkers that required constant attention to keep running. There were a few plasteel cars, boxy square things, clearly assembled out of sheets like the barracks buildings had been. This car though looked sleek, curvy, fast. It looked like it had come out of one of the cartoons that Mack could barely remember – something that flew through space. It ran silently too – the only sound it made as it pulled to a stop was the crunch of gravel under its tires.

It stopped about fifty yards short of the gate. A door on the side opened, and a single man got out. He was wearing armor, too. This armor was absolutely a different make than what Roland's men were wearing. His seemed to be made up of fewer pieces, with a few tall ridges along his joints. The biggest difference was the helmet. Mack's helmet was just a bucket, with the visor made up of a fine mesh that covered everything. This man's helmet had a glass visor that left his face visible, revealing a middle-aged face, carefully trimmed brown hair, and a hint of stubble.

He looked at us for a moment, and then a voice boomed from the plasteel car. “I have a warrant for the arrest of Tyson Brown, aka Big TB, aka Roland Child.”

Mack could hear muttering from the men on the wall, but it was covered up as Roland shouted back, “There's nothing for you here, go home!”

The voice returned, “Tyson, we only want you. There's no reason to make this harder, no reason for more blood and violence. Come out and we can leave quietly.”

“How dare you!” Roland shouted, “We are working for our own future! We've been ignored, but since we found purpose in our lives you have to come to take it away! No! I'll keep on taking care of my own, and you can just go!” The armored man outside shook his head at that, said something that didn't blast out over the loudspeaker, and then he just got in his car and drove away.

The siege started that night, and if anything they were surprised how long it took to begin.

For the first time ever, Mack's dad had argued with Roland. Roland wanted as many people as possible to defend the wall. They had already built all sorts of traps over the years, tiger pits, landmines, deadfalls, decoy buildings, and more, but most of the traps needed someone to help trigger them. Roland wanted every man, woman, and child out defending the compound. Mack's dad argued instead that the children and their mothers should hunker down in one of the bunkers, and be prepared to run away if they needed to. Most of the other Made Men agreed, and in the end, the compound was only defended by a few dozen fighters. Instead of manning the walls, most of them set up near the entrance to the bunker - a winding tunnel with its own traps and obstacles.

The men who survived the last raid, and a handful of women without children took positions in the first big room, nervously handling their guns. Mack had taken off his armor, which was now getting worn by one of the widows. Maybe she wasn't a widow, but her husband hadn't come back from that last trip. Mack didn't have a gun anymore, either, just a short-handled sledgehammer. His dad had ordered him into the bunker with the children. Mack was a Made Man now and should have been up front with the rest. But the kids needed someone down there to protect and manage them during the fighting.

“Mack, when this starts listen hard. I don't know how long this will be, but you might need to send them down the tunnel,” his dad was saying. “Merrimack Xalvador, listen carefully. When they come, they'll be shouting. Almost certainly. If you hear people inside shouting 'Police,' or just shouts to surrender and be arrested, then take everyone into the tunnel. Once you're out, split up and get as far as you can. You understand?”

Mack could only nod. His sister, Mary-Ann, was almost as old now as he had been when they first came to the Brotherhood's camp. She had grown up a lot, almost being ten, but her face was streaked with tears and she was clutching her old doll tight under her chin. Just last week she had been complaining that dolls were for little girls, but now she was hugging the plastic baby tightly. Joey was asleep, sprawled on the ground in a corner. He was four and still didn't get much about what was going on. Mary-Ann knew, though. She'd been with all the other kids in the last few days and had helped take care of the other little kids like Joey while their mothers had been scrambling.

“I'll keep Mom and Mary-Ann and Joey with me,” said Mack. “I can do it.”

“I know you can,” said Mack's dad. “But that's not what you'll need to do. This is hard – when they run, you need to stay here. Close the hatch, cover it up, give them as much time to get away as possible. Pull one of the mattresses over it. They'll need that more than they'll need you in the woods.”

Mack gulped, but his dad went on. “Now, listen. If you hear them shouting 'FBI, or 'ATF,' keep everyone here. Don't run if they're not shouting 'police.' Stay put. Don't fight when anyone comes in, just do exactly what they ask. If it's Feds... God, I hope it's Feds... you'll be ok. Ok?”

Mack nodded. At that, his dad and mom stepped aside and hugged, murmuring to each other quietly. They were interrupted by a crackle of gunfire, and the boom of an explosion. Without another word his dad grimaced and raced back up the stairs, out of the buried barracks room, and into the darkness.