News helicopters flew overhead, capturing the thick train of bodies that filled the road. What had started as about a thousand people soon swelled to three times that number as more and more people left their homes and offices to join in the march
A six mile walk would take most adults about two hours. But with thousands of people of varying speed and ability, the line moved slowly. The sun set while they covered the stretch of the 163 that hung over the San Diego zoo.
Once it became clear the protesters were taking over the freeway, the police had redirected traffic and did not attempt to force them off the road. But as the freeway ended and the 163 turned into 11th Ave, police lined the streets. Siren lights flashed in the twilight sky, blocking them from taking the planned turn down Russ Blvd. Lena slipped through the crowd to find Taunza.
Taunza walked near the front of the crowd. She saw Lena approaching and shook her head, knowing what Lena was thinking before Lena opened her mouth. "We're not going to be able to go through the college," she said. "Too bad. Can always count on college students to join a protest."
Lena looked to the side. Even with the streetlights on, it was growing dark out. "Prof. Greenburg said she would tip off the Black Studies department about tonight. So some of her students might come, even if we don't take the march through campus."
"They just have to get through the barricade," Taunza replied, eyeing the cops that lined the street.
She was right. Now that they were off the freeway, it was clear that the police knew where they were heading… and were funneling them along a designated route. Rather than weaving through the university and nearby neighborhoods, the march headed straight down 11th Ave.
Rows of silent, unmoving police lined the road. Squad cars parked in the streets at every intersection, forcing the protest to continue on a straight path.
At 11th and Broadway, an armored vehicle parked sideways in the road, turning the protest up Broadway, toward police headquarters. The cops in uniform still stood along the edge of the road but more officers in riot gear began to join the line.
Lena's heart thumped in her chest. She raised her chin and set her shoulders. Lena walked tall and confident, feigning indifference to the armed watchers on the sidewalks.
Taunza took Lena's hand. She squeezed tight and Lena returned the gesture. Then she reached for the person on her other side. She didn't know them, had never seen them before today, but she took their hand as well. They looked at her and then reached for the next person beside them. Soon a line stretched across the four-lane road. They raised their arms, each person holding tight to their neighbor.
Those in front of and behind them in the march noticed and linked arms. Row by row, waves of clasped hands rose in the air.
"HANDS UP. DON'T SHOOT," someone in the crowd started chanting, and the rest soon picked up. "HANDS UP. DON'T SHOOT."
Yellow police tape cordoned off a section of pavement in front of the Salvation Army building at Broadway and 13th. News trucks flooded the street with light, and reporters stood with their backs to the road, speaking into the cameras as the protest passed behind them.
One photographer ducked under the tape. He ran out ahead of the protest, jogging backward to photograph the march moving toward him. Halfway down the block, a police sergeant stopped him. Lena couldn't hear what was said, not over the roars of "HANDS UP. DON'T SHOOT" and the steady beat of thousands of marching feet. But she saw the sergeant gesture back toward the press area and, after a moment of what looked like heated debate, the photographer complied.
Police headquarters were in sight now. Armored vehicles parked on E street and in the upper levels of the parking deck along Broadway. Floodlights from atop the trucks lit up the parking lot adjacent to the building.
The officers in everyday uniform had vanished, replaced entirely by rows of cops in riot gear, their faces obscured by riot masks.
Taunza hissed in a deep breath at the sight, and Lena grimaced in agreement. For all that she and Stef had tried to stay optimistic about how the city would handle the protests, Lena knew what crowd control looked like. This wasn't it.
She was just glad that Stef had been out on patrol today; her shift should have ended more than an hour ago. By now Stef would be at home with their kids and - Lena thought with a twinge of guilt - she was probably a nervous wreck that Lena wasn't home yet. She'd promised Stef that if things got dangerous, she would come right home.
They crossed the parking lot, approaching police headquarters. The cops in riot gear stood shoulder to shoulder, forming a solid barrier twenty feet from the building. Lena eyed the heavy batons in their hands and the white, plastic restraints that dangled at their belts, standing out in sharp relief against the black uniforms and body armor. Technically she was keeping her word. Despite the increasingly armed police presence and the discontented rumblings in the growing crowd over the last few nights, they'd had a week of peaceful protests, followed by a harmless, albeit un-permitted, march. Things hadn't gotten dangerous… yet.
Stef stood shoulder to shoulder with her fellow officers and watched through the clear plastic of her riot mask as the flood of protesters came toward them. On her left, Officer Jeffries shifted uneasily. His grip tightened on the baton in his hands.
"Steady there, Jeffries," she said. The kid was barely a year out of high school and had only been on the force a few months.
"I didn't think there would be so many," he said. He glanced at Stef. "I heard in LA they threw molotov cocktails at the police."
Stef shook her head. "That was the media hyping things up," she said. "There's never been proof of the Black Lives Matter protesters doing anything violent. They're grieving. They're angry. They want to be heard. And they're allowed to be. Remember we're not here to shut down the protest, just to make sure things stay safe, okay? So loosen up on that baton and keep your eyes sharp."
He nodded and uncurled his hand, letting the baton hang loose at his side like Stef's did.
"Jeffries!" Sergeant Wilson barked. The boy turned to look at his CO. "We need more bodies down by Broadway." Wilson pointed. "Go find McCaskill and see where he wants you."
Jeffries nodded and stepped back from the line. Stef slid over half a step to fill in the gap, keeping her eyes fixed on the approaching crowd. Crowd control was almost entirely about spotting problems before they happened. If they had any chance at keeping all hell from breaking loose tonight, it would be by paying attention to the crowd, and responding with minimum engagement.
Wilson leaned in over her shoulder. "I don't care what you talk about at home, Foster, but this isn't the place for it," he hissed. "There's a lot of angry people out here tonight and I'm not going to let any of my boys get hurt because you're distracting them with your bleeding heart." He paused. "Understood?"
Stef cocked her head slightly and forced an amicable expression. There was only one answer she was allowed to give. "Yes, sir," she replied.
"Good." He straightened. "Mayor announced a curfew about thirty minutes ago," he said. "They can protest as much as they want for the next two hours, but at 10:00 everybody is going home."
He walked away and Stef went back to watching the approaching crowd. The sound of their chant echoed in her ears: "HANDS UP. DON'T SHOOT." Over and over again, voices flooded the air with rage and grief and frustration.
Stef swallowed hard. A curfew wasn't going to stop this. She was just glad that she and Lena had talked about the risk of these protests turning dangerous. Stef didn't know how a vigil where Mike Harrison died had turned into a march on police headquarters, but she was sure that Lena would have gone home. By now, Lena would be sitting on the couch with their kids, watching the news and worrying because Stef hadn't come home at the end of her regular shift.