Page 51 of Five Survive

“You almost need something round under it.” Arthur hugged the mirror. “So that it rolls, like a skateboard.”

“Good idea,” Reyna said, testing how secure the first handle was.

Everyone had good ideas—not Red, though. She stood back, useless, unused. She hoped the others didn’t think she was doing it intentionally. She couldn’t even think of anything round, everything that popped into her head was full of sharp edges. Including that fucking pattern in that fucking curtain.

“I got it!” Simon shouted, too loud, darting behind the mirror to the refrigerator. He opened it and came back with his hands full. A can of beer clenched in both fists. He held them out to Oliver.

“That works,” Oliver said. “Grab four more.”

Simon grinned, disappearing behind the refrigerator door again. “See,” he muttered, “this is why it’s stupid that they tell teenagers not to drink. Drinking saves lives.”

That hadn’t worked with Red’s dad, though, had it? Taking whatever life he’d had left after Mom.

Simon passed the rest over, and Oliver placed the beer cans down on their sides, a few feet in front of the entrance, spacing them equally. Picking up the closet door again, he placed it on top of the cans, parallel to the front door. Sliding it forward and back for good measure, nodding to himself.

“We’re done too,” Reyna said, not holding on to the mirror anymore, just the handle that side, Maddy on the other, testing it. Reams and reams of duct tape were wrapped around the top of the mirror and the purple plastic, binding them together. It was ugly, but it worked. “Yeah, it will stay up,” Reyna said needlessly.

“All right, let’s put it on the door, then. In its first position.” Oliver picked the mirror up by its middle. He turned on his heels and shifted his arms, carefully balancing the mirror on the center of the closet door, pointing at a diagonal, at the space between the closet and the front door.

“Simon, stand there, will you?” he asked.

Simon did, commenting, “Handsome as ever,” as he stared at his reflection.

“Reyna, will you hold that side?” Oliver said, taking the purple handle on the right while she took the one on the left. They fiddled for a moment, making sure the mirror stood up straight.

“Maddy, stand by the front door for a second.”

She did, winding around Red on her way. She pressed against the door, standing as far back as she could.

“What do you see?” Oliver asked her.

“I see Simon,” she said, trying not to react as Simon winked at her through the mirror.

“Okay, now Arthur stand there, by the sofa.”

Arthur shuffled sideways into the gap.

“Okay, so let’s see.” Oliver used his foot, pushing the closet door several inches toward Reyna, the mirror moving with it, one beer can rolling free. “Now, Reyna, pull your handle forward while I pull mine back.” The bottom of the mirror protested, scraping against the door, but it shifted into its new angle. “And now what do you see, Maddy?”

“Arthur,” she said, which, judging by her brother’s reaction, was the correct answer.

“Okay,” he said. “It’s clumsy, but it works. Arthur, can you come hold this?” Arthur stepped forward, taking the handle from Oliver, the mirror tipping forward as it passed hands.

“The only problem is,” Oliver continued, both hands free now, one moving to his chin, “I think the two people being the reflections also have to control the mirror. There’s no space for anyone else, and the rest of us need to be at the windows, recording to find the muzzle flash when he shoots. So, which two are going to be our reflections?”

The room was silent, only the fizz of static to mark the passing seconds by.

“Well, it can’t be Maddy or me,” Oliver said, gaze moving across them all. “We’re the ones he’s holding hostage. He won’t take a shot at either of us.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “The sniper never actually said that.”

“No, but he wouldn’t, would he?”

Arthur didn’t seem to have an answer for that one. Well, that left all the non-Lavoys, then. What else had Red expected?

“Simon, Arthur, it should be you two,” Oliver said, brows drawing low, darkening his eyes with shadows.

“Why me?” Simon glared back. “Who died and left you in charge?”

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