Page 115 of Five Survive

Simon was running up to the windshield, Arthur behind him, Oliver next.

Red followed them, peering through the gaps between their shoulders.

There was a black squad car pulling toward them on the road, red and blue lights spinning from its roof, lighting up the wide-open nothing. But it wasn’t pitch-black out there anymore, the sky was stained with the faint pink of twilight.

The police cruiser rolled forward, drawn by their headlights, wheels crackling against the road.

“It’s police, Maddy!” Simon called behind him, his voice cracking, breaking open. “We’re going to get you to a hospital real soon.”

The car peeled to a stop, directly in their headlights, before it reached the back end of the white truck.

“Arthur?” Red said, her breath on the back of his neck.

He turned to look at her.

“Would your brother kill a cop?” she asked.

Arthur’s eyes darkened, his mouth tensed as he searched inside for the answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “He shouldn’t, we’re not supposed to. But Mike wasn’t supposed to kill anyone tonight, except you. I didn’t think he’d shoot Don or Joyce, or Maddy. So…I don’t know. He’s unpredictable. He’s a soldier, my brother. He knows what the mission is: get the name from you and kill you. He wouldn’t let anything stand in the way of that.”

“So, he might?” Red said, watching beyond Arthur as the driver’s-side door of the squad car pushed open.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said quickly, turning back as a female officer began to step out of the car in her uniform, dark hair scraped off her pale face, blue shirt, badge glowing on her chest, throwing back the light. She was on her own, looking up at the RV, one hand gripped on the car door, the other by the radio on her shoulder.

Her eyes met Red’s for an instant and Red knew what she had todo.

There was no time to think it through. It was instinct, almost, something in her gut where the shame used to live.

She couldn’t let it happen. That woman out there might have a daughter waiting for her at home. Maybe they had a fight last night, about homework, about the state of the daughter’s bedroom. What had their last words been to each other? Red couldn’t let it happen to another little girl, to lose her mom and her whole world the same way she had. Killed in the line of duty. A mom who never came home, never flashed the headlights at the living room windows,never pulled those faces again in the mirror behind the breakfast table. The flag on the casket, the three-volley rifle salute, “Amazing Grace” on the bagpipes.

Red wouldn’t let that happen.

The undone walkie-talkie gripped in one hand, Red lashed out with the other, at Oliver. She brought her fist down against his wrist. He wasn’t looking at her, he didn’t see it coming. The knife flew out of his grip, falling to the floor with a clatter, skidding away under the table.

“What the—” he began to say, but Red was already moving away, charging for the door.

Heavy footsteps behind her, on her heels.

“Don’t, Red!” Oliver’s voice roared as he sprinted after her.

She didn’t look back; she knew what she had to do.

With a last look at Maddy—Reyna watching over Red’s shoulder, terror growing in her eyes—Red collided with the front door.

She grabbed the handle and shoved open the door. It crashed into the metal side of the RV with a crack.

“Not one more step, Red, or I’ll do it!” Oliver’s voice ripped against his throat, battered against her ears.

Red checked over her shoulder.

Oliver was standing by the sofa bed window, the mattress shoved aside. In his hand was the Zippo lighter, open, the flame dancing, fleeing from his breath. He was holding it out the window, pulling the shade up with the other hand.

“I’ll drop it, I will!” he screeched, head hanging off his neck again, tendons raw and red, a wild flash in his eyes. “You’re not leaving. I’ll drop it into the gas, set the RV on fire. I’ll do it!” He screamed those last words, foam and sweat around his open mouth, strings of spit hanging from his teeth.

“No, you won’t,” Red said, one final look at him before turning back to the open door. Oliver wouldn’t burn the RV for one reason: he was inside with them. His survival came first, above everything; he was the highest-value here, in his head. Oliver wouldn’t drop that lighter, and she knew it.

Red left the RV.

She charged down the steps full speed, shoes crunching against the gravel road as she sprinted to the left. Toward the white truck.

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