"We'll squeeze them in," said Mazer.
The last group was a mix of people, likely unrelated. A teenage girl. An old woman. A child, maybe ten years old. A middle-aged man. A woman in her twenties. Some of them looked injured, limping or favoring an arm, but nothing looked serious. They had likely fallen during the earthquake or in the mad rush of it all.
Mazer squeezed them all in tight, putting the child and teenage girl up front in his seat, while he stood in the back. Reinhardt took them up and headed toward the farmhouse. Mazer addressed the people inside. He and his team were taking them to a farmhouse. They would make it a hospital. They would bring more people. Real doctors would likely come later. In the meantime, he needed everyone's help. Those who were uninjured would assist those who were. He asked about the ten-year-old boy: Was anyone related to him? No one was. He told the boy to stick with one of the women. She would tend to him. The woman agreed. Mazer told them to cover their skin once they reached the farmhouse, explaining as best he could about the defoliants. They needed to stay indoors. Supplies would come later. Water and food. There was already some of that at the farmhouse. He distributed what little other supplies he had in the HERC.
By then they had reached the farmhouse. Mazer slid back the door and began helping everyone inside. The middle-aged man assisted as much as he and Patu did, carrying in children and lifting the bags for the elderly. The old man and Bingwen were inside. They seemed grateful that Mazer had returned. They were happy to see the others. The old man recognized several of the people. They embraced.
Mazer turned to the middle-aged man. "What's your name?"
"Ping," the man said.
Mazer put a hand on his shoulder and addressed the crowd. "Everyone, Ping here is in charge until we get back with the others. Remember, stay indoors."
"We're not safe here," said the father of the young family. "Those planes. They could come back."
"You're safer here than where you were," said Mazer. "The military will come."
"Why aren't they already here?" said the man. "Why do foreigners save us?"
"Your military is desperately fighting to protect you," said Mazer. "It was their idea to make this location a hospital. They'll send someone. Supplies will come."
"You can't be sure of that," said the man. "You don't know. You can't be sure of anything. I saw the helicopters, the ones with the doctors, the ones the military had sent. They blew up. They went down. No doctors are coming. I saw it happen. I saw it with my own eyes."
He was getting upset, his voice rising.
Mazer made a calming gesture with his hands, patting the air in front of him. "Right now we need to stay calm, friend. We will tell the military you are here. They will send assistance as soon as they can. You're stronger together here than you were out there alone. We'll bring more people."
"More people means more mouths to feed, more water to share," said the man. "There isn't enough of that to go around already. If you bring more people, you will kill us all."
The man was terrified, in shock, irrational. And thinking only of his family.
The boy Bingwen surprised Mazer by speaking up. "This man pulled me from the mud," he said, gesturing to Mazer. "I was trapped under the dirt, and he pulled me out. He risked his life for me and my grandfather. He told us he would come back, and he did. He keeps his word, a man of honor. He and his team are trained. We should listen to them and trust them."
Th
e young father turned on Bingwen, furious. "What do you know of anything? You, a boy. Do you have little mouths to feed? A wife to tend to? No. You speak of honor, and yet you show none to your elders, speaking out of turn, giving me orders as if I were a child. Were I your father I would lash you for your loose tongue."
"You are not his father," said Bingwen's grandfather, rising to his feet and putting a protective hand around the boy. "And you speak out of turn, sir. Be grateful your wife is alive. Be grateful you have three of your children. The rest of us don't know what has become of our loved ones. These men are willing to help us, to reunite us all. We will listen to them."
The father's face was twisted with anger. He regarded the grandfather and Bingwen with contempt. Then he turned to the others, gesturing to Mazer. "These men are foreigners. We know nothing about them. They are not like us. We do not have to take orders from them."
"We're not giving you orders," said Mazer.
"You are making promises you can't keep. Just like all foreigners do. Talk and more talk. Can you command our military? Can you make them come? No. Can you make food and water appear? No." He turned back to the others. "I am not staying here. How are we better off here in this dump of a farmhouse than we were back in our village?"
"We're farther from the invaders," said Ping.
The young father scoffed. "Farther? Are you such a fool that you think this is far enough? We are a few kilometers away at most. That is nothing to a skimmer. They can reach us in a second. The big disc is right over those mountains. Is that far enough for you?"
No one answered.
"We need to keep moving," said the man, "get as far away from here as possible. On foot if we have to. We need to find military of our kind. My family and I are pushing on. Any of you are welcome to join us, but don't expect us to slow down for you."
He waited. No one moved.
The man's mouth tightened in a hard line. "Fine. If you want to stay here and die, that is your choice." He moved to the container of water bottles. "But we are taking our fair share of supplies with us." He grabbed several bottles of water--far more than was their share--and put them in his sack, which he looped over his shoulder. Then he picked up one of the toddlers and took the hand of the other. He moved toward the door without looking back at his wife. "Come, Daiyu."
The wife was still holding the infant in her arms, rocking it gently. It had stopped crying. The woman looked torn, afraid. She clearly didn't want to go.