Above: Water protectors holding a ceremony on the banks of the Cannon Ball River were met by riot police who shot rubber bullets at point-blank range on Nov. 2, 2016. Photo by Robert Wilson.

Bismarck, N.D.—Forty miles north of where the Standing Rock resistance camps once stood, Matt Lone Bear and Carter Gunderson crouch on the curb, changing the brakes on a Chevy Blazer. As they wrestle a worn rotor off the axle, they discuss their plans. They’ll stick around until their court dates later in June, then hit the road for a tour of the Standing Rock diaspora—camps that have sprung up across the country to oppose fossil fuel projects, living on after the battle against the Dakota Access Pipeline (DAPL).

To the east, in Huntingdon County, Penn., the Gerhart family and their supporters have formed Camp White Pine on family property, which lies in the path of the Mariner East 2 natural gas pipeline. The pipeline’s owner, Energy Transfer Partners—the same company behind DAPL—hasinvoked eminent domain to cross the property, but construction faces resistance in the form of tree sits and other direct actions. Farther east, in Mahwah, N.J., the Native-led Split Rock Sweetwater Prayer Camp stands in the way of the Pilgrim pipeline. The camp’s Facebook page declares “solidarity with Standing Rock & all who resist the black snake worldwide.”

Lone Bear and Gunderson, however, think the next flashpoint is in Tacoma, Wash., where the Puyallup tribe and environmental groups are resisting a liquified natural gas plant.

“Tacoma seems like it’s got the confluence of all these trends in American resistance,” says Gunderson: There are water protectors in the spirit of Standing Rock, there’s a population center to draw on for mass actions, and it’s in the Northwest, where an anarchist-tinged direct-action culture thrives.

Lone Bear and Gunderson make unlikely friends. Gunderson, 26 and white, grew up in the wealthy Minneapolis suburb of Edina—“Audi Arabia,” he calls it. Lone Bear, 30, a father of four and a member of the Hidatsa tribe, grew up on the Fort Berthold Reservation, north of Bismarck. Their paths might never have crossed had they not been locked in the same jail cell Oct. 22, 2016, after police surrounded a prayer march south of the DAPL construction area and arrested 126 people. Held in an out-of-use rec room, they passed the time playing basketball with a sandal. And, says Gunderson, “We talked a lot. We basically talked about everything you could talk about.” Two days later they were arraigned on charges of criminal trespassing and engaging in a riot, and released on $250 bail.

Dozens of these cases have been dropped for lack of evidence. When Gunderson returned to North Dakota for his June 22 trial, he refused a pretrial deal—and 12 hours before the trial, he learned the charges had been dropped.