"I want you out because your roof is open and your structure is unstable," he said smoothly. "I'm trying to keep you alive."
"And the sirens?" Martha snapped. "You here to keep anyone alive when those didn't work?"
Halverson's face tightened at the mention. He stepped back half a pace, then nodded to Rusk.
Rusk's free hand went to his belt where a small black pouch hung. Not a gun, a tool. Zip ties, gloves, the ordinary equipment of someone who expected compliance.
Larry Fitch cleared his throat, trying to sound helpful. "Martha, come on. Just take the room. It's one night. You can sort it out later."
Martha's voice went cold. "Get off my porch, Larry."
Larry's smile flashed brittle. "I'm trying to keep you from making it worse."
Halverson raised his voice slightly, projecting like he wanted neighbors to hear. "Mrs. Caldwell, last warning. Open the door and come with us."
Martha tightened the chain. "No."
For a moment, everything held in a tense, wet silence. Then Halverson nodded once as if the decision pained him and took a folded paper from his jacket pocket.
Rusk moved his phone so the paper filled the frame. Halverson read aloud.
"Under county emergency declaration and public safety statute, this residence is declared temporarily uninhabitable. The occupant is ordered to vacate pending structural assessment. Failure to comply authorizes law enforcement to enter and remove the occupant for their own safety."
He lowered the paper. "Now, open the door."
Martha didn't answer. She slipped her phone up to her ear again.
"Dean," she whispered. "He's reading an order."
Dean's voice cut through the crackle. "Go out the back right now. Don't argue. Move."
Martha glanced down the hallway toward the kitchen, one of the few rooms not completely ruined. The back door was there. Her car keys were on the hook where they always were.
She could do it. She could move.
But then Halverson did exactly what she'd been afraid he'd do. He leaned toward the crack and looked inside again, eyes locking on her table.
"You've been collecting paperwork," he said too casually. "That's good. We'll make sure it gets secured."
Martha felt something flare hot in her chest. "You're not touching my papers."
Halverson's expression didn't change. "Mrs. Caldwell, those papers can get soaked, lost, stolen. You need us to safeguard them."
Rusk shifted closer to the door. Martha's body went rigid. The chain suddenly felt flimsy, like jewelry, like something designed to break.
"No," she said again, louder. And this time there was no bargaining in it.
Halverson's jaw flexed. He nodded to the deputy standing behind him, another man in uniform who had stayed quiet until now.
The second deputy stepped forward with a small crowbar tucked at his side like it was a normal tool for a normal day. Martha's breath caught.
Through the phone, Dean's voice rose. "Martha, are they forcing entry?"