Constable Molly Smith 01 - In the Shadow of the Glacier

voice so calm he might have been instructing a toddlers’ swimming class. “There’s nothing more to be gained here.” He turned and faced the group at the park entrance. “And you too. Go home. Nothing can be settled tonight.”
    Smith was facing the anti-park group. They shifted and muttered amongst themselves. People at the back began to slide away, trying to look as if they hadn’t really been part of all this. The pro-park people, including her own mother, for heaven’s sake, were behind her. She heard similar mutterings, people suggesting that they just leave.
    Tocek’s shoulders relaxed. Chen let out a healthy breath.
    “Stay in your place!” Brian Harris stepped to the front of the line. His right hand was buried deep in his pocket, ball cap low over his eyes. “You heard that pig bitch on TV. The cops are on the side of the appeasers’ park.” He grabbed the shoulder of a man who was retreating back into the crowd. “Are you running away? Like they did?”
    The man looked at the line of police—all five of them, young, inexperienced, terrified, trying hard not to show it—then he looked at Harris. “No way,” he said. He spat in the general direction of Solway’s feet.
    “Peace now!” someone yelled. It might have been Barry Stevens, Lucky’s friend. “Come on,” he said, “show us. Are you on the side of peace or war? Only one way will get us all killed.”
    “Killed. I’ll kill you, you traitor.”
    A rock flew over Smith’s head. A woman cried out.
    A stone, about the size of a pea, hit Chen in the chest. He watched it bounce off and fall into the street. A brief shower of pebbles fell on them. Smith lifted her hands to shield her face. Somewhere behind her, glass broke.
    The front line was swaying, moving from one foot to the other. All they needed was a reason to rush forward.
    She turned to look at the line in front of the park. Robyn Goodhaugh, who’d protested at the Grizzly Resort in a wolf mask, jumped up and down, like a baby confined to a Jolly Jumper, throwing torrents of verbal abuse across the street.
    “Mom,” Smith yelled. She looked at the row of faces. Most scared, some exhilarated. “Mom?”
    “I’m here.” Lucky stepped out from behind a bush. Michael was holding her arm.
    “Please, Mom,” Smith said. “Go home. I do not want to have to worry about you.”
    Lucky’s eyes moved.
    “Mom?”
    “She’s right, Lucky,” Michael said. “We’ve made our point.”
    “Barry, Jane, everyone,” Lucky called to the people surrounding her. “This is out of our control. Let’s go.”
    “Retreat is not always a dishonorable action,” Barry said. Michael tugged on Lucky’s arm, and she turned to follow him.
    Now all Smith had to worry about was protecting the citizens of this town and herself.
    “See that guy,” Tocek said. “In the blue cap. He’s inciting them. Follow me, Solway. Hey, you,” he called, walking forward. “Let’s talk, buddy. Time to calm this down.”
    “Talk is appeasement,” Harris shouted. He waved his left hand toward the people behind him. His right was still in his pocket.
    Smith heard sirens coming from all directions. Vehicles pulled up and doors slammed, men shouted and dark shapes were all around them. Cops with helmets, riot shields, tear gas.
    Smith ran her eyes over the crowd. Fucking Ashcroft’s fucking cameraman was filming everything.
    She turned back to the mêlée. People, those with a sliver of common sense, were running in all directions. A good number of the anti-park crowd held their line. Rich Ashcroft came into sight: he said something to his cameraman, and the red light of the camera turned toward her. All Smith could do was to ignore it.
    Robyn ran across the street, straight toward the camera. She threw something. The cameraman ducked, pulling his equipment with him, and a brown beer bottle shattered at his feet. A couple of demonstrators from her side followed her, and people who’d been standing in Ashcroft’s vicinity surged forward to meet them.
    Relieved that, for once, her mother’d seen reason and was hopefully well out of the way, Smith gathered what scrap of courage she could find and gripped the handle of her truncheon. Before she could make a move to try and separate the warring packs, her radio crackled. Police not wearing riot control gear were being called back. She couldn’t see the two Mounties nor Solway. Evans was slightly behind her, telling park supporters to go home. A line