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Mac walters story he heard about boy6/26/2023 Then, suddenly, the red lights began to flash and a woman cried out, “Thank God, they’re finally here!” Frozen, expecting some new treachery, the concertgoers huddled on the stage and watched the cold beams approach. Just after Hesh regained his senses, six pairs of headlights appeared on the dirt road above them, which the patriots had obligingly cleared by overturning the camp truck in the weeds and opening a path through the barrier at Van Wart Road. A few of the women had been hurt in the scuffle, a dozen others were hysterical (Christina included, who couldn’t locate either Truman or Hesh and feared the worst), and several of the men had broken bones and gashes that required stitches, but no one had been lynched, no one died. They destroyed everything they could get their hands on, and then, as if by a prearranged signal, they vanished. They were like Indians in a movie, Christina said later. One of them had cut the lights and then they’d rampaged through the field, smashing chairs, burning books and pamphlets, putting stones through the windows of the buses and cars in the lot. They’d spent their rage on the folding chairs, on the pamphlets and tables and sound equipment. Hesh never knew how long he was out - half an hour? Forty-five minutes? But when he woke, the night was black, lit only by a bonfire in front of the stage, and the patriots were gone.
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