Zanele watched her back, trying to look like she suspected nothing as she walked to the police station to clock in for her next shift on patrol.
"Shouldn't we be watching the CSF with the other girls?" said Mapula, "I know our shift starts soon, but-"
"But nothing. If we miss a shift of police duty, they'll know we're up to something. We've got to keep up appearances." There was a pause. Zanele looked around at the bleak street. "It's empty tonight," she added.
Ahead, the blue sign of the police station spilled its calming light onto the road, showing no hint that anything was wrong. On the far side of the station, Handel and his shadow Hengsha walked with two of Zanele's other sisters, who pretended not to notice Mapula and Zanele. Zanele pulled open the door to the station, letting herself and Mapula in.
Inside, there were no officers. A South American woman stood over a desk that hadn't been there yesterday, with a pair of CSF soldiers at her sides.
Zanele put out an arm to stop Mapula. "Hold it."
"Ah," said the South American, standing up straight. "The local militia. Don't be alarmed. Please, come and sit down."
Zanele drew her gun, flicking the safety off. "Explanation. Now!"
The two CSF soldiers aimed their guns, metal and plastic clicking with deadly potential. The South American, whom Zanele suddenly recognized as Freya Sanchez, put up her hands. "Guns down," she said, "everyone, put your guns down. The local government has tasked us with control of border security. We make the policies now."
Mapula gasped. "Why didn't we hear about this?"
Good, thought Zanele. She's thinking.
"You're hearing about it now," said Sanchez curtly.
"We're not taking your word for it," Zanele spat. "Show me someone I trust, then I'll let my gun down. And don't you dare bring in the mayor. You've gotten to her, and I know it."
"Hey," said Mapula, "where is the police chief? And the police?"
"What have you done with them?" Zanele demanded.
"They're not here!" snapped Freya, pounding a fist onto her desk. "And for the very last time, put down those guns."
Mapula let hers down, and Zanele reluctantly did the same, saying, "Now answer the question. If they're not here, where are they? There's no excuse for the police chief being gone while you're doing this."
Freya's lips tightened. "They're not available."
"That's it." Zanele brought her gun back up. "We're leaving."
"You shouldn't do that," said Freya, her voice stone-hard.
Feet padded gently on the ground behind her, and Zanele wheeled around to see two more women blocking their way. They wore armor like the CSF, but they also had machetes sheathed at their waists.
"We've made new allies," said Freya. "They make far better business partners than you and your mayor."
Zanele and her sister locked eyes for a moment, sharing in each other's horror, then watched as another woman joined Freya at the desk. The newcomer towered over the South American, her chest and shoulders broadened by black mesh armor. A cruel frown was burned onto her face, and wooden jewelry and red cloth bands hung loosely from her arms and legs, all the way down to a metal chain clasped around her right ankle. Most strangely of all, her hair was dyed pink and hung past her hips.
