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.”
The 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.
Her husband’s voice was like a whip. “Come, Daiyu!”
The woman hesitated. She looked into the faces of the people in the room as if they might have an answer for her, a way out, a way to stay and go at the same time.
“You dishonor me, wife. Come! For the sake of our children.”
She looked at her husband. His stare was like a knife. She cowed, pulled the baby tight to her chest, bowed her head, and shuffled toward the door. As she passed Mazer she lifted her eyes and met his. She stopped. Mazer could see she was on the verge of tears. She looked down at her infant, then back up at Mazer, as if considering leaving the child with him, as if she knew she would not live out in the open and wanted at least one member of their family to survive.
Mazer couldn’t bear it. It was a breach of a protocol, perhaps even a cultural offense, but he said it anyway. “You don’t have to go. You can stay here with your children.”
The young father exploded with fury. “How dare you! How dare you speak to my wife, to separate us.” He spat at Mazer, grabbed his wife’s wrist, and pulled her toward the door. “You see?” he said to the others. “You see what foreigners will get us? They cannot be trusted.” He spat again at Mazer.