“Everybody just take a breath,” Abner raised his hands. “Those bombs probably aren’t as delicate as you all fear. They’ve been silent for a long, long time.”
Irene Wilson’s lips trembled. “I don’t think that makes them any safer. My goodness, Abner. There’s not much left of our town as there is. There’s not going to be anything left at all if one of those bombs explodes.”
“Like it or not, we’re going to have to do something with that balloon,” Abner returned. “We can’t just let it lay in the weeds and pray it decides on its own to leave us be and float somewhere else. Better we come up with some kind of a plan before black helicopters and government vans start showing up all over town. I want all of you to think about the kinds of people who are going to start appearing the moment they learn about this balloon. Imagine it. Think of all the trespassers. Think of all the cameras and all the questions. Think about all the problems we’re going to have to deal with again the moment we pop back on all the maps. I tell you all, we have to figure out ourselves what we’re going to do with that balloon bomb now that it’s found us.”
The crowd nodded and recognized that their sheriff spoke wisely. Something had to be done. It was no problem that they could ignore while hiding in the secluding shadows of their homes. But what could they do? Who could they consult? The future was unclear, and the path ahead felt as sensitive and dangerous as those bombs on Hank Reverman’s flatbed trailer.
“Let’s convene at the same time three days from now,” Beth offered. “We’ll share ideas, and then we’ll vote on the best thing to do. This is not beyond us.”
Nobody slept well in the following nights. It was not the fear of a shockwave roaring through town that made those villagers toss in their dreams. Their nightmares did not swirl around explosions. Rather, their fears grew from the thought that the rest of the world would suddenly have a reason to remember them.