"For one, Americans don't run. That's just not what made us great. It sure as hell ain't what made us great again, that I can tell you. We may withdraw on occasion, as I directed us to in Syria, but we don't run, and we sure as hell don't crawl hat in hand to some shit-hole like Mexico—especially when they're no more capable of dealing with this than is the greatest nation on earth—I mean, am I right, folks?"

And to Tess' utter astonishment, people began to clap—Carson, of course, but also Ashley and Abbie and Cameron's activist friends, not to mention the State Trooper and the two Secret Service agents.

"It's true. It's true. Let me hear it if you think I'm right!"

And they did, continuing to clap and to nod their heads, saying 'Right on' and slapping each other on the back, pumping their fists. During which time Tess met eyes with the good-looking dark-skinned kid—he couldn't have been more than 19—Johnny, from Tuscan, and knew, based on his expression (and the fact that he wasn't clapping), that he was the only sane person left.

And then they were moving, both of them, toward each other and toward the door, making a beeline as everyone clapped and the volcanoes spewed molten rock; as several shadows flitted across the window, like kites, like pterodactyls, after which the soldiers on the roof promptly opened fire.

"Oh, and Miss," said Tucker, halting on a dime, turning to Tess and Johnny. "It's only fair to tell you that if you take one more step toward that door … I'll have you shot."

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