Near Madison, Georgia. The gently sloping hill was covered with people, tents, and trash. There were people as far as Lila could see, from those high up among the copses of scrub pines dotting the top of the hill, to the throngs pressed right up to the outer fence, which had been set up to keep onlookers from getting too close to the real fence surrounding the detention camp. It was like an enormous party. Everyone was drinking, singing, hugging, laughing. She could see the roadies for Hot Button setting up in a space between the laser fence and the real fence. Lila hoped they would sing the defenders’ song more than once. Alfe passed her a bottle of moonshine. It wouldn’t be long before real booze, brand-name booze, would be back in stores, along with real soft drinks, real lipstick, real meat. She took a swig, then tapped Cheena on the elbow and held out the bottle. Cheena was dancing; Lila tapped her a second time, harder, just as another roar went up from the crowd, starting up high and spreading like a wave down the hill.
