Sunrise by Mike Mullin Page B

couldn’t summon nearly as much enthusiasm as Mayor Petty. I shook his hand and left his office in a state of stunned disbelief.
    After Mayor Petty agreed to the election, our daily routine didn’t change much. Darla and I worked on the farm every morning and biked to Warren every afternoon, to campaign instead of trying to convince people to protest. When they could spare the time—which was rarely—Uncle Paul, Alyssa, Max, Rebecca, and even Anna walked to Warren to help with the campaign. Mom came along occasionally, but she never campaigned. When I asked her what she did in town, she said she was “visiting” and evaded my questions about who she was visiting with. Ed worried that his past would be a liability and stayed behind on the farm. Ben had neither the skills nor inclination for politics.
    Campaigning meant going door to door and talking with people, often while we helped them with their chores. There was no radio, no television, no flyers, and nobody had time to attend rallies, so the campaign had a decidedly low-tech feel. Darla kept meticulous notes on everyone we talked to. She said it wasn’t much different than keeping track of cows. She thought we’d win, but it would be close—within twenty votes.
    After about five weeks of this, something changed. People stopped answering their doors when we approached. Several said they were too busy to talk. One guy, a Petty supporter, pointed a shotgun at us. I could understand being tired of talking to us—heck, I was tired of talking, myself—but the change came about almost overnight. Nobody would tell us why
    I sought out Nylce Myers, who’d led a squad during the attack on Stockton. She was a huge supporter and one of the toughest women I had ever met other than Darla. Surely she would tell me what was going on.
    “It’s nothing, Alex. The mayor’s people are spreading ugly rumors, that’s all. I’m sure it’s not true.”
    “What’re they saying?” I asked.
    “They claim Stockton attacked us because of you. They say you told them we had stockpiles of pork.”
    “That’s . . .” my voice trailed off as I thought about it. What had I said on that icy road in front of Stockton last year? Before Darla and I started off to find my folks? I strained to remember. “Oh, f—”
    “What is it?” Darla asked.
    “I did tell them. When we were trying to buy medical care for Ed. The guy said he’d heard Warren had plenty of hogs, and I said yeah, thousands.”
    “So you didn’t really tell them.”
    “But I confirmed it.”
    “What’re you going to do?”
    “I don’t know. I need to think about it.”
    “You mind keeping this under wraps until he decides?” Darla asked Nylce.
    “Sure, whatever you need.”
    “Thanks,” I said and gave her a hug before leaving.
    After dinner that night, I trudged out to the greenhouses to sit on the warm soil and think. It came down to this: what did I value more, my integrity or the town’s survival? Framed that way, it was easy. I’d choose lives over morals any day. But I couldn’t quit thinking about it—couldn’t come to terms with my decision to lie about what I’d said in Stockton.
    I’d been out there a good long while when Mom entered the greenhouse. “You don’t look so good.”
    “I’m okay.”
    “You’re working too hard. You look like you’ve been beaten more than a threadbare rug.”
    “Really, I’m okay. I’m thinking.”
    “It’s Darla. She’s pushing you too hard.”
    “She’s the one who keeps me sane, Mom.”
    “Stay home tomorrow. Spend some time with Alyssa. Relax for once. We’ve hardly seen you all month.”
    “I can’t. Maybe after the election.”
    “Mayor Petty says Darla’s putting all this election nonsense in your head. You don’t have to do everything she tells you to, you know.”
    “What’s with you and Darla anyway? Why don’t you ever talk to her? You talk about her enough.”
    “I don’t—”
    “You do! You complain about her to Uncle