A Thousand Fires

by Shannon Price

  “Jules and I will hit up bars in the area and feel out people’s moods,” Jax continues. “Nianna and Micah, I’ll need you to use your Oakland connections to see if we can get support from the other side of the bay.”

  “Done,” she replies. Micah nods.

  “Kate and Val, you’re on social. Micah will draw a logo for you to use and give you the logins for the accounts we have already. You’ll use burner phones to call media to draw attention to our cause, emphasizing that it’s now two against one. With us united with the Boars, the Herons look like the big bad wolf.”

  Make calls and organize a protest. I think I can handle that. “Okay,” I say affirmatively. I nudge Kate’s shoulder. “We got it.”

  She flinches, like she’s suddenly paying attention. “Oh. Definitely.”

  Jax runs through the rest of the roles—Mako and Kurt are on recon about the demolition itself. Cameron will dig into the right forums on Reddit and other sites to get people to the rally.

  “Remember the cause,” says Jax. “But be smart about it. If we all go in guns blazing, saying how this is all part of a plan, then no one will come. We have to make them care. Make them feel like this is their chance to have their voices heard. This is the march for our city, to protect the San Francisco that people know and love. Make them remember the decisions they disagreed with, the places they miss—”

  “And streets without all those fucking scooters laying around,” says Mako, getting all of us to laugh.

  Jax raises his beer. “Appeal to their hearts. Injustice is a rallying cry.”

  “Amen,” says Nianna, and we all raise a glass. Over in the papasan, Micah lifts his cup, too, but later than the rest of us. While the others kick off a round of Call of Duty, I catch Micah’s eye and motion back over to the kitchen. I wait until the noise from the TV is loud enough to say anything.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  He tucks his hand into his sweatshirt. “Yeah, sure.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “I’m nervous about working with the Boars. It’s been a while, but even the newbies would know that Jax left them. They might want to get back at him.”

  The plate I’m holding slips out of my grasp and clangs around the sink. “You think?”

  “Maybe. The Boars are unpredictable. Always have been.”

  “Are you gonna tell Jax?”

  He shrugs. “He knows how I feel.” Micah grabs another pair of plates from the table and scoots me out of the way. I relinquish the sink but hop up on the counter. I’m not sure what else to say, so I just hang out as he finishes up the dishes, then starts the washer.

  “You wanna split a beer?” he asks me, and I nod. He goes and grabs it, then sits up on the counter next to me.

  “Don’t tell Jax what I said, okay?” he says quietly, handing me the beer.

  I take it. “I thought you said he knew how you felt.”

  “He does. But he probably doesn’t want me corrupting your opinions.”

  I think, take a sip, and hold out the bottle for him to take back. “I don’t exactly disagree though.”

  He sighs. “Best not tell Jax that either.”

  * * *

  The next morning, I trudge upstairs and head straight for the kitchen. After staying up late last night, I’m desperate for coffee. Nianna’s at the table reading the newspaper.

  “Good morning,” I say. “Anything interesting in there?”

  “Morning,” she replies. “And kinda, yeah. Says here that the San Francisco police chief John Kilmer is in talks with private security companies about getting help on a new public safety campaign.”

  Kilmer. That name. Nianna has her eyes back on the page—she doesn’t see my shock. It can’t be the same person.

  She takes a sip of her coffee. “Kilmer’s plans appear effective. There have been just two gang-related murders since December of last year and over a dozen arrests.” Her voice rises at the last part, like she’s asking a question. “Do you think that’s true?”

  “What? Sorry.”

  “The arrests. Do you think that’s true?”

  “Oh. Um, Jax would’ve said something if it was,” I say. “Isn’t that what he’s working on with Ty, or part of it at least?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” she replies. “Still…”

  “Yeah.”

  I grab a pan to fry up an egg, praying food will distract me from my memories. I didn’t know Deputy Kilmer had become chief of police, but I guess it has been two years since he worked on Leo’s case. Would he recognize me if he saw me now?

  I push the thought out of my mind, finish cooking, then sit down at the table to eat. One thing at a time, Valerie. And right now that thing is planning a damn protest.

  * * *

  Kate’s never used Twitter, and I have an account that I barely use, so that makes me the Twitter expert. She and I sit next to each other at the table, laptops side by side.

  “Okay, so the Stags have an account already, right?” I say. Before the Wars, I would read it from time to time, but they barely posted. “What’s the login?”

  She doesn’t know, so I ask Micah. After digging around, he finds a crumpled piece of paper with some passwords, one of which works. There’s a meager following of eight hundred or so people, but it’s something, at least. We start with the basics—when and where, what we’re protesting, and how to help.

  “Nonviolent protest,” I say as we read through our copy.

  “Nonviolent, peaceful protest,” echoes Kate as she types. “Should people wear any particular thing? Like the pink hats for the Women’s March.”

  “Hmm,” I respond. “It’s kinda short notice for anyone to get anything.”

  “I dunno. People are really resourceful. Maybe red hats? For the Red Bridge Wars.”

  “Oh, maybe,” I reply. “Let’s come back to that. We need a hashtag.”

  “Oooh, yes.”

  As Kate and I bounce ideas around, I fight the urge to ask if she feels like Micah and I feel—that the Boars are dangerous, and we shouldn’t be working with them. They could have planned a protest on their own—is it really that much of a benefit to work together?

  “Well?” says Kate.

  “Sorry, kinda spaced. What did you say?”

  “I said what about ‘Halt the Herons’? As a tagline?”

  “Oh! Yeah, that’s perfect.”

  She beams and gets back to typing the copy for the event website. She’s in a good mood today, which I’m glad about. Kate’s moods remind me of a girl in my class at school, Ella. She sat next to Lyla in history and would hang out with our group here and there. She was friendly but reserved. Some days she’d be silent, and other days she’d hop into the conversation like she was born ready.

  When she stopped showing up to lunches, Lyla told me in confidence that Ella was seeing the school counselor during that time. “Her parents are getting divorced and putting her in the middle of everything,” Lyla had said. “It’s super fucked up. I told her she should talk to someone about it. I miss eating lunch with her, but I’m glad she’s getting help.”

  If only Kate could get help. I don’t know her well enough to say anything to her face, but I decide then to talk to Mako about it, no matter how awkward that convo might be.

  I switch gears back to my role—spreading the word on Twitter. Tweeting out pieces of Kate’s website copy, I start tacking on all the hashtags I can think of, including #HaltTheHerons. Next, I click around until I find the accounts of groups already fighting the gang violence. After I message them in private, I start commenting on their posts. My notifications tick up and up. For good measure, I do a quick search for “top Twitter tips for hosting an event” just to make sure I’m not forgetting anything.

  “You should tweet a picture of the corner store,” says Kate. “Here, this one has the owner right in front. He’s such a sweet old guy.”

  She sends me the picture, and a few tweets later, I shut the laptop. “God I hope this work
s.”

  Kate shrugs. “Well, we did what Jax wanted us to.”

  “What if it’s not enough?”

  “Then you figure out ways to make it enough,” Jax says from behind us. Kate and I both turn and see him leaning against the post in the foyer.

  “You two keep working. I’ll be back after last call.”

  When the door shuts behind them, Kate huffs. “Some work he and Jules have to do. Drink and schmooze with people while asking them about our protest.”

  “Hopefully it gains some traction by the time bars start getting busy,” I say, glancing at the microwave clock. It’s 4:14 P.M. “Let’s keep working.”

  “Fine,” she replies, reopening her laptop. “You want to email KTVU, and I’ll take KPIX 5?”

  We divide up the news stations, and then email a few smaller outlets like the Wars fansite I know. I answer the hits we get off Twitter—what we need, how they can help. I email the fair housing and activist sites, explaining what we’re trying to do with our protest and asking that they sound the rallying cry, too.

  We’re up against the clock, but with everyone on board, I start to have hope that we can really pull this off. It’d be one step closer to showing Jax I’m loyal to the Stags, and therefore one step closer to finding out who Leo’s killer is.

  Besides, despite my intentions or even the Stags’, I believe in this. We truly are giving people a platform. And that’s all a person needs—someplace to spark the tinder of change, and an audience to watch the flames.

  10

  The day of the protest arrives.

  We get off the bus to the sound of chants in the distance. I spot a fellow protester carrying a sign—SAVE OUR CITY. The man spots me, too, giving me a nod from a bandana-clad face. Tugging up my own mask, I nod back and keep following the others toward the store.

  I’m in jeans and a dark jacket, nothing too ostentatious. Even though we’re technically hosting this, Jax wants us all to blend in.

  From the storefronts, shop owners and patrons watch us with wide eyes. Whether they’re supporting us or wishing we’d go home, I can’t tell. We round the corner and I almost whoop with joy. “Holy shit.”

  San Francisco came out. Sure, it’s not like the Women’s March or protests after the election, but it’s a goddamn rally if I’ve ever seen one. Marchers carry handmade signs and sport bright red hats—just as the campaign told them to. Men and women march side by side—I even spot one little girl among the crowd, carrying a sign that says NO MORE BIG BUSINESS. With all the people gathered, I can hardly see the other side of the street where the demolition was supposed to take place.

  The Stags got here in waves—Juliet, Cameron, and Mako came early. Kate, Micah, and Nianna are on the other street corner. Kurt is somewhere in one of the buildings above, keeping an eye out for us. Why Jax wanted me with him and Jaws, I’m not sure. The three of us were quiet on the MUNI ride over—Jaws a boundless depth and Jax an arrow, notched and ready to be loosed.

  Beside me, Jax comes to a stop, his breath rising in the chilly air. “Wait here a sec,” he says, indicating a spot between a pair of parked cars. “You got everything you need?”

  He’s asking if I have the means to protect myself if needed. “Yes.”

  “Keep your mask up. Don’t let them take it off you.”

  “Okay.”

  He nods, then turns to go. “I’ll be right back. Jaws, with me.”

  I watch them melt into the crowd. Jax is so different today, I think. I wonder if he’s thinking of what happened at Missions Dolores. Would the Boars try to take him out here? I shiver, and look around at the growing group of people around me. The Boars have blended in seamlessly with the civilians—peaceful for now, but even the tiniest spark will ignite their fury, and all bets about this being a nonviolent protest will be off.

  Keeping close to the left side of the crowd between a building and a bus stop, I find a perch on a set of stairs. My phone buzzes—Jax telling me to hang tight. Scanning the throng for the other Stags in their positions, something else catches my eye. I gasp, hands flying to my face.

  “Oh my god.”

  I see her backpack first—a ratty, aqua-colored JanSport she’s had since freshman year. There’s a BLACK LIVES MATTER pin next to a rainbow heart pin under a Sharpie drawing of a cat that I had done one day when we were bored during pre-calc. I’d recognize the backpack anywhere, and when the girl wearing it turns and tucks a lock of lilac-dyed hair out of her face, I can’t help but call her name.

  “Lyla!” I scream. My best friend turns, shrieks, and opens her arms in time for me to run into her.

  “Oh my god, oh my god,” she whispers into my ear. “Valerie. Oh my god. Holy shit.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, my face squished against her shoulder.

  “Me either,” she replies. “How are you? What are you doing here?”

  “Um, protesting,” I reply. “Are you here for the rally? Are you with people?”

  “No,” she replies. “I Lyfted over. I’m supposed to meet up with Michelle and Nerrisa, but I don’t know how the hell I’m going to find them…” I nod—those girls are from theater club. She waves herself off, like never mind. “Anyway. You. How are you? I was so confused when you didn’t show up that night. I kept calling and calling, then eventually called Matthew. When he didn’t answer either, I knew something was up. I can’t believe you said yes.” She shakes her head. “What about graduating? What about college?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “I really don’t. But I had to join. The Stags are going to help me find the person who killed Leo.”

  Her expression changes at the sound of his name. “Do you really think they’ll help you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m just scared for you.” Her voice lowers. “Like, are you safe?”

  “The Stags aren’t like that. It’s totally different, but in a good way.”

  I don’t know how I’m going to cover everything in whatever time we have, but I try. I assure her I’m fine over and over. I tell her what the Stags are really about—stopping the Herons from advancing, and their monthly call for peace. How Jax handles all the dirty work himself, to keep blood off the hands of those in his charge. How we built this rally from the ground up.

  Her eyes get wider and wider, until finally she puts her hands up like stop.

  “Time-out. You did this?” she says, motioning to the rally. “No one knows the Stags want peace. You’d get so much more support if people knew.”

  They still shoot people, I want to say, but I bite my tongue. “It’s not that simple. For now, I’m just doing as I’m told. I have to stay in until I find the guy who killed Leo.”

  She shakes her head. “A year is such a long time.”

  “I know,” I reply. “And I barely know what I’m doing, but we’re both here. Protesting for what we believe in. I’m in the Stags, yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’m no longer me. I’m still the same Valerie, but now I have a chance at getting the one thing I want more than anything and standing up for something more important. I get to do both.”

  Her eyes look to the ground as she thinks. For a moment, I think she’s going to run for the hills. Instead, she pulls me into a hug.

  “I don’t exactly agree,” she says into my ear. “But I love you. You’re my best friend. And you’re talking like the Val I like best.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re talking like you give a shit,” she replies. “Like, you’re alive again instead of sleepwalking, and this is what you want to do. And you’re doing it. And that’s good.”

  “Thank you. Lyla, I mean it. God, I’m so glad I found you.”

  “Valentine!”

  I turn and see Jax sauntering toward me, a scowl on his face but his expression curious.

  “Is that guy with you?” Lyla whispers, gripping my shoulder. “Is he a Stag?”

  “Technically, I’m with him. I gotta go,” I say, giving her hand a sq
ueeze. “You’re the best, Lyla.”

  “Stay safe!” she says. Then louder, she says, “You better take care of her, okay?”

  My best friend is yelling at the leader of a gang—a guy who has killed people, no less. It’s the most on-brand thing Lyla’s ever done.

  Jax gives her a salute but pulls me toward him forcefully. “Don’t wander off,” he says. “We have a job to do.”

  “I know.” Avoiding his gaze, I smile. Lyla’s words seem to wrap around my limbs, giving me strength. I can do this.

  The crowd around the site has doubled in the few minutes I was with Lyla. Catching a glimpse of a girl’s cell phone, I see Twitter opened on it. #HaltTheHerons is trending.

  “The people were already mad,” Jax says, nodding toward the girl with the phone. I guess he saw, too. “All you have to do is give them a voice. The Herons think they can get people to love them. That’s their mistake. They forget how much easier it is to motivate around hate.”

  I follow closely behind Jax as he shoulders his way through the crowd. Bodies rock into mine but I keep my head high.

  A girl on a megaphone stands on the top of a newspaper stand, her fist raised. She stamps her black combat boots. “Whose city? Our city!”

  She lowers the megaphone, and as a roar of assent follows, I realize it’s Juliet smiling at me from that newspaper stand. Fighter.

  I catch Jax grinning before joining the chant himself.

  Across the street, the police have set up a barrier and are holding firm. A cop blares on his own megaphone, telling us to disperse—but our chants are louder. Out of nowhere, a black object goes whizzing from our side to the police, followed by a pop.

  Shouts turn to screams as the flare explodes. It’s all the crowd needs.

  People scatter—or try to—some toward the cops and others anywhere but. Someone slams into me and I’m knocked back just as the smoke from a tear-gas canister begins wafting over to me.

  Jax warned us about them, and I do my best to follow his training. Don’t take big breaths, I remember. Cupping my hand over my bandana, I keep to the edge of the chaos as best I can, but fear tugs at my heart. Lyla.