Page 94 of Five Survive

It was her.

Arthur drew Red’s head back, brushing the wayward hair out of her eyes, and the dirt and the grit.

“You’re okay.” His words against the back of her head, warm and spreading. One hand against her forehead. “You’re okay.”

It was hot in here but Red was shivering, winter-night-without-heating shivering. Worse. Muscles vibrating uncontrollably beneath her skin, teeth chattering, crunching the last flecks of dirt in her mouth.

Her breath was too fast, whistling in and out of her chest, agonizing. Why was there pain everywhere? She was alive and it hurt to be alive.

“He didn’t shoot,” Arthur said, stroking the back of Red’s head, because she still had one. “You’re okay, you’re not hit. You’re in shock. Just breathe.”

Maddy bent down in front of her, angry red streaks down her face from crying, almost as deep as scratches, like fingernails had put them there, not water.

“You’re okay, Red,” she said it too, grabbing for Red’s hand, squeezingit.

“Here.” A glass of water appeared in front of Red. Reyna was holding it out, her hair out of place, bunched up like it had beengrabbed. But Red couldn’t take the glass, she was shaking too hard, the air quivering around her.

“He didn’t shoot you.”

Oliver’s voice, from farther away.

Red turned against Arthur’s chest, looking for where it had come from. Oliver was standing in front of the driver’s seat. He was holding one arm across his stomach, bending over it. There was a red mark on his cheekbone, the eye watering on that side.

“He didn’t take the shot,” Oliver continued talking, confusion in the one eye that wasn’t glazed. “I was blocking the door. You were out there for three minutes at least. And yet he didn’t take the shot. Why?” he asked her, like Red could possibly know why she was still alive.

Red shuffled, pushing herself away from Arthur, onto her unsteady feet. Her hands were still shaking, betraying her as she pushed against the floor.

Arthur straightened up too, faster than her, holding Red’s elbow to guide her up. She glanced down at the point of contact, where he held on to her. There was another mark on the back of his hand now, not just the checkboxes and theYOU OK?There was a graze, raw and bleeding, across three of his knuckles. And just to their right, on the floor, the white-and-blue bowl was smashed to pieces, the unfolded paper votes strewn about.

“Why didn’t he shoot you, Red?” Oliver said, straightening up with a wince, his voice finding its footing again.

“Oliver, no,” Reyna said, a hint of warning, a growl just beneath the surface.

But Oliver couldn’t be stopped. He wasn’t sorry. That was what he’d said, before he threw Red out of the RV, but he hadn’t meant it. He couldn’t.

He took a step forward.

“You’re the anonymous witness in the Frank Gotti trial, the entire case rests on you, why didn’t they kill you?” he said, shaking his lion head. “He had his opportunity. You were right there. For three minutes. Why didn’t he shoot you, Red?”

“I don’t know!” Red shouted back, rage churning in her gut, taking over all those other red feelings. It was brighter, hotter. “I don’t know why he didn’t fucking shoot me!”

She didn’t. She’d almost wished for it, kneeling in the dirt out there. Now the terror was receding, withdrawing from her fingertips and her limbs back into her gut, and she was just as confused as Oliver. This must be about her, about the trial. It was the only thing that made sense.

“He didn’t shoot you,” Oliver said again, like saying it would bare the answers, wringing them out of the words. “Why are you immune? He killed that old couple out there. He shot at Simon in the mirror. Would shoot any of us if we tried to leave the RV, but he didn’t shoot you, Red. And there’s only one reason why.”

“What?” Red said, because she wanted to know too.

“You’re the one working with them, aren’t you?”

“Oliver,” Arthur said, low and dangerous.

“Red’s the mole,” Oliver explained, meeting Arthur’s gaze. “Don’t you see? It’s the only thing that makes sense. They’re not going to kill one of their own.”

“But she’s the witness in the trial?” Maddy said, voice drawing up at the end, making it a question, seeding it with doubt.

Yes, Red was the witness in the Frank Gotti trial, that much was true, but suddenly she couldn’t speak to defend herself, because how could she? Her throat was narrowing, narrowing, a blockade, stifling the words before they’d formed.

“She’s the one who led us down this road, told Reyna to keep going,” Oliver said, raising his thumb, keeping score like Red had before. “The sniper has known things he couldn’t possibly know unless someone in here was telling him. Our escape plans, the note about calling the police. Red’s been holding the walkie-talkie this whole time, she’s the one who told us it wasn’t bugged. Why does she know so much about walkie-talkies, anyway? She’s outside for three minutes, she’s the witness, the one they’re here to kill, and yet they don’t take the shot. Maybe she’s not the witness, maybe she lied. Because she’s working with them.”

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