Even through the closed blinds, River saw the lights in the parking lot. There were several, and they were bright. Or maybe, with the absence of automobile lights lately, she’d simply forgotten how strong headlights could be. But she knew they couldn’t be car lights, not with the petroplague raging.
Whatever was happening outside the apartment was more activity than she had seen in days, and she didn’t like it. Activity, especially during curfew hours, was a bad sign. Of what, she didn’t want to find out. She quietly extinguished all lights, including the glow from the computer monitor, and sat on the floor in the kitchen, listening intently.
The pounding on the front door was so sudden and so loud she nearly jumped out of her skin. Someone rapped on the windows as well, and a beam of light flickered around the room as a flashlight tried to penetrate the window dressings. The banging on the door continued. With that much force thrust upon it, River was sure the cheap aluminum frame would crumple.
“Open up! Police!”
Like hell I will, she thought. It was a nice trick. Some gang of toughs trying to find out which homes were still occupied. What would they do if they got inside? Robbery if the apartment was empty? Something more violent if they found a woman?
The pounding stopped and the lights danced. River heard voices of command and held her breath. She softly opened a drawer at head level and slid out a knife.
The door exploded inward amid shouts and flashing lights. She rose above the countertop to confront the invaders, knife in hand.
“Drop the knife! Police!”
Blinded by the bright beams shining in her eyes, River squinted and saw uniforms and utility belts. A row of handguns was drawn, pointing at her.
God, are they really cops?
“Drop the knife!”
She dropped it and raised her hands over her head, laughing. Cops, she could handle.
“What do you want?” she said lazily.
Four figures spilled into the living room; in the awkward light River thought maybe one of them was a woman. River stayed motionless in the kitchen while the officers located the light switches and turned them on.
The female cop approached and studied her face. River suppressed a sneer.
“This isn’t her,” the cop said. “Search the apartment.”
“We ran out of pot last week,” River said, taunting. She had no fear of the police. But what were they doing here, for Christ’s sake? In the midst of the city’s turmoil, they had the resources to send four cops to Christina’s apartment?
“Where is Christina Gonzalez?” the woman asked.
“I don’t know. Why should I tell you?”
“We have a warrant for her arrest.”
“Christina?” River gasped. Fuck, was it the raid on the Seven-Eleven? Did they actually make an ID from a security camera or something? “Christina’s never done anything illegal in her whole life.”
“Not according to this.”
The female officer patted River down for weapons and then handed her some documents. As far as she could tell in a quick scan, she was holding papers that gave the police authority to forcibly enter the house if necessary for the purpose of arresting Christina.
On a charge of murder in the first degree.