"Sure." Amber was over by the band; she was staying all night or going over to Art's. Willow told her that she was leaving, and she and Patrick picked their way slowly through the woods. "I've got to get a little flashlight," Patrick said as they splashed across the stream.
When they came out onto the road, a patrol car was parked in the middle. Two cops were ticketing a long line of cars and trucks that were pulled off to the side. "What's the matter?" Willow asked.
"Blocking the road. Obstructing traffic."
"They are not. What traffic? This is the top of the mountain, for God's sake."
"You want to give us a hard time?" He was threatening. Patrick pulled her away.
"Let's go, Willow."
"Have you been drinking, lady? I wouldn't want to see you driving."
"We're walking." Willow glared at the cops and let Patrick guide her down the road. The band was working on a Dixie version of America the Beautiful; the sax floated high over the tree tops into the night. She looked back. One of the cops was answering a radio call; the other was still ticketing. They were trying to ruin everything. "Why, Patrick?"
"Groups," he said, after a moment. "Tribalism. They're afraid of change. When they get their backs up, Willow, you've got to work around them. If you challenge them, they get worse. It's weird, but the more powerful people are, the more frightened they are, usually. You'd think it would be the other way around."
"We've got to fight back," Willow said.