“The Plonks have retreated beyond the end of this block, sir,” Lt. Graham said. “Likely toward the muster yard. We’ve got barricade cars closing the intersection now.”

“Suarez reported snipers over in four and five,” I said. I followed Graham into the old CDC building, which his men had secured. They had reported taking two captives.

“Yes, sir. Lt. Suarez said there was a brief stand-off. Two of his men were wounded, but then the snipers retreated.”

“They aren’t retreating,” I said, “they’re falling back. They’re leading us in.”

Past the broken glass doors, two children sat on the floor under armed guard. I nudged the older one, a girl, with my boot and said, “Do you know the muster yard? The field in the middle of the camp with the big white buildings around it?” When she nodded, I said, “I know men are waiting there for us, so don’t deny it. Just tell me how many.” She didn’t answer, so I nudged the little kid, a boy of nine or ten, with my boot. “How many guns do your guys have?”

“We don’t know anything,” the girl said and put her arms around the kid.

The kid said, “We don’t live here.”