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, squeezing it. “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 been grabbed. 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 the YOU 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.”
But Red was the witness. She might be a liar but that part was true. Then why hadn’t the sniper killed her, the small voice in her head asked. She should be dead now. That must have been what they wanted, what all this was about. “Why would she be working with them?” Reyna spat, and it was clear which side she was taking. Reyna couldn’t have been that other yes vote,
could she? But that left Simon, Arthur or Maddy, and that hurt more.
“I don’t know,” Oliver spat back. “Money? Everyone knows Red needs money.”
Red winced. Everyone did, huh?
“But what does the sniper want if this isn’t about Red being the witness?” Simon asked, moving his hands up and down like a weighing scale, shooting Red a sympathetic look so she knew it was only hypothetical. Had he been the Yes vote? No, Simon wouldn’t do that to her.
“I don’t know but—you know what—it doesn’t really matter anymore.”
Oliver’s eyes flashed. “Because now we…Wait, hold on a second. Red, hold your hands up in the air where I can see them. Do it now!”
Red hesitated, glancing around the RV at the rest of them. No, not again. Were they turning on her again? No, she shouldn’t think like that. This was Oliver, all Oliver. They weren’t on his side, they’d fought him to open the door so Arthur could come get Red, that must be what happened, reading the signs. And yet there was danger in Oliver’s downcast eyes, and Red didn’t want to set him off again, the terror stirring in her gut.
She put her hands up by her head, palms open, arms bent at the elbows, glancing back at the kitchen counter, at the walkie-talkie hissing away on top of it. Her job, her responsibility.
“Keep them there,” Oliver said, charging forward, but he moved past her, into the kitchen.
Red looked back at Arthur. He was shaking his head.
Oliver went to the oven, pulled it open and reached inside, coming back with the saucepan, lid taped down. He brought it over to the counter and started picking at the pieces of duct tape, peeling them away.
“Oliver?” Maddy asked.
He shushed her, the sound too harsh, like a coiled snake buried there in his throat.
Oliver slid off the lid and reached inside. His hand closed around his own phone, pulling it out from under the rest.
He held a finger up, demanding silence from the rest of them, as he then turned to his backpack on the counter, reaching his spare hand inside. The
hand reemerged clasped around a Bluetooth speaker, black and round, dotted in honeycomb holes.
He turned it on with a welcome beep, and then unlocked his phone to connect.
Red watched him scrolling through his music app again, selecting a playlist labeled Classic Rock. He pressed play on a song and slid the volume bar all the way up.
The guitar began, deafening, striking up and down. Then the drums, shaking the RV and the very bones inside her.
Red looked at Oliver’s screen before he dropped it back into the saucepan, replacing the lid. The song was “Paranoid” by Black Sabbath, and Red must be losing her mind because she almost found that funny, standing here with her hands raised like a fugitive. All because she didn’t die.
Oliver grabbed the walkie-talkie, placing it right beside the too-loud speaker. He still thought it was bugged, didn’t he? Or he wasn’t taking the chance for whatever he had to say next. Oliver moved away, gesturing silently for the others to gather around him by the table. They did. They must have been scared of the danger in his eyes too. Arthur came to stand beside Red, the fabric of his shirt brushing against her raised arms.
“Red,” Oliver said, and she could only just hear him over the music blaring behind her. “Keep your hands where I can see them or I will duct-tape them behind your back.”
“That’s not necessary,” Arthur growled back at him.
Red’s arms were aching already, elbows drooping, but she kept them up, gritting her teeth.
Oliver’s eyes circled the group, skipping over Red. “What I was saying is, it doesn’t matter anymore, whatever this secret is that the sniper wants. Because now we have the upper hand.”
He paused, waiting for the vocals to come back in on the song.
“We know they won’t shoot Red,” Oliver shouted, voice still half buried. “She’s immune, for whatever reason, whether she’s the mole or the witness or…it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they won’t shoot her. And now we know that. And we can use it.”
“What are you saying?” Reyna shouted, words almost lost under the noise. “I’m saying that Red can leave the RV without getting shot!” Oliver
replied. “She’s immune. We can use that to escape.”
“You mean send Red out to go get help?” Simon yelled, hands cupped over his ears.
“No, not Red!” Oliver returned, shooting a glance her way, and she raised her hands a little higher. “I don’t trust her. She could be the mole, working with them.”
“I’m not!” Red shouted, just as the song was ending, an abrupt and ringing quiet after that last chord.
Oliver silenced them all with his terrible eyes, waiting for the next song to begin. It did, three quick notes strummed on the guitar, followed by another sequence. Red actually knew this song; Mom and Dad used to sing it whenever they were driving on I-95. “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC, and this time Red couldn’t not laugh as the drums pitched in. No one else could hear except her, and yes, she must have finally lost her mind, like she lost everything else. Retrace your steps, Red. When did you last see your mind?
“There’s enough evidence to suggest Red is the mole, we can’t trust her!” Oliver came in with the vocals, showing too many teeth.
“So, what’s your plan, then?” Simon shouted. Plan, plan. Red had a plan once. There was a graze on the skin of Simon’s hand too, as he swiped the hair out of his eyes, dragging it out of his sweat.
Oliver turned to his sister.
“Maddy,” he shouted as the chorus began. “You and Red are the same height. Your hair is basically the same color. If we dressed you up in Red’s clothes, the sniper wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. You’d look the same through his sights.” He stepped forward, looming over Maddy. “He’ll think you’re Red and he won’t shoot. You can leave the RV and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t —”
Maddy’s lips formed around the next words, but she didn’t say them loud enough to be heard.
“He’ll think you’re Red. She’s immune for whatever reason; he won’t shoot. You walk calmly to the truck out there, get in, turn around and drive
away. You’ll take a couple of phones with you and as soon as you drive into a signal, you call the police. Or as soon as you find a house and ask to use their landline.”
Maddy backed away from her brother, stumbling against the driver’s seat. Her face changed, rearranging to make room for the fear: a space between her lips, hanging open, a gap above and below the color of her eyes, stretched too wide. She shook her head.
“I don’t think I can,” she cried, into the music.
Oliver nodded his head in response, making her go still. “You’re the only one who can!” he said. “It can’t be Reyna, or me, or Arthur, or Simon. You’re the only one who looks like Red. It has to be you. You’ll be fine. The sniper didn’t shoot Red. She was out there for three minutes and he didn’t shoot her. All you have to do is get to that truck right there and drive away and you can send help for the rest of us.”
“Oliver, this is too risky,” Reyna said. “We don’t know why he didn’t shoot at—”
“Hands up, Red!” Oliver roared.
Red braced her elbows against her hips, keeping her hands, palm out, by her shoulders. If she’d lost her mind, then Oliver must have lost his hours ago. How could he ask his little sister to do that? To leave the RV in full view of the sniper? It was madness.
“You don’t have to do it, Maddy!” Red shouted, staring at Oliver instead. “You don’t have to do what he says.” But wasn’t she a hypocrite, because look at her, standing here with her hands up because he’d ordered her to. The song changed again, to one Red didn’t recognize, more guitars screeching in her ears, more drums beating up and down her ribs.
Maddy looked nervously up at her brother. “I don’t know,” she said over the music.
He stepped forward. “You have to do it, Maddy. You’re the only one who can. The only one who can get help for the rest of us. Don’t you think I’d go if the circumstances were different?” He stabbed a finger against his chest. “If I could be the one to rescue us all, I would. But that’s not how it’s played out.
You’re the only one who can do it. The only one who can make sure we all survive the night.”
“This is a terrible idea,” Arthur said loudly. “Maddy, you shouldn’t—” “Shut up, Arthur!” Oliver snarled at him, face softening again as he
turned back to Maddy. “It will work, Maddy. Do you think I would send you out there, my little sister, if I thought there was any chance of you getting hurt? Of course I wouldn’t. They will think you’re Red, and she’s immune for whatever reason. They will let you go.”
Oliver was nodding and then so was Maddy, not quite in time with him. “Okay,” she said, voice wavering, punctured by the screaming guitars. “I
think I can do it.”
“Good girl.” Oliver stepped forward, planting a kiss on the top of her head, pinching her shoulder in his full grip. “Simon.” He whipped around. “Where did you say the keys were? For the truck?”
“They’re still in Don’s hand,” Simon replied, gaze darting to Maddy. “Okay, you just walk to Don, calmly, slowly, like you know they won’t
shoot you because you’re Red.” Oliver had both his hands on Maddy’s shoulders now, speaking right into her face. “You take the keys, you can do it, just don’t look at his head. Then you walk to the truck, get in. Start the engine, pull around and drive out of here. Got it? It’s simple.”
Maddy was still nodding, she’d never stopped, but Red could tell that she didn’t want to do this. She was terrified, almost vibrating with it. And Red wasn’t sure now if Maddy was more scared of the man out there with the rifle, or of that look in her brother’s eyes.
“I can do it,” Maddy repeated, eyes swimming as she looked around at them all. “I can do it,” she said. “I’ll get help, I promise.”
Her eyes latched onto Red. Shifted. What did that mean? Another look Red didn’t understand. Did she want Red to step in, to put a stop to this?
“Maddy, you don’t have to—”
“Red!” Oliver spun to face her. “Take off your clothes!”
“Maddy’s scared, she doesn’t want to do this!” she shouted back at him.
Oliver took one step forward, but then so did Red, closing the gap. Fuck it, they’d both lost their minds, they could do this dance together. Oliver
didn’t listen to her last time, about the note, and two people died. He would listen to her this time. It was Maddy, and she was too damn important.
“Why are you making her do this, Oliver? You don’t know it will work. We don’t know why they let me live just then, but it’s not because I’m working with them, I’m not! I don’t care if you believe me, but we both care about Maddy! She is not expendable, just a pawn for you to use in one of your plans. How many of those have gone right for you tonight? Oh, that’s right, none of them! You can’t send her out there in front of a rifle. If Maddy doesn’t want to do this, then she doesn’t have to, and you can’t manipulate or bully her into it. Or throw her out like you did to me!”
Red’s words had sharpened too, razors dragging themselves up her throat as she threw them toward Oliver. He’d made her think her last thoughts, out there on her knees, and he wouldn’t do that to Maddy too. No. Enough was enough. Oliver’s eyes flashed, but so did hers, jaw clenched, hands still raised but now they were fists.
“Red, take your clothes off!” Oliver barked. “Oliver, stop it!” Reyna shouted.
“RED?!”
“No,” Red said. “I won’t. I’m not listening to you anymore.”
If Maddy couldn’t refuse her brother, then Red could do it for both of them. She could do that. Maddy took care of her and now it was Red’s turn.
Oliver’s nostrils flared, eyes flickering as they jumped between Red and Maddy, head hinging on his neck. Dark circles in his eyes like fat beetles, legs skittering up his eyelashes. Red stepped forward again and Oliver moved back, legs knocking into the table. This time he would listen, he would—
Oliver checked behind him, down at the table. In the next second, he lunged for something, wrapping his fingers around it.
Red couldn’t see, not until he swung back, the jagged kitchen knife gripped in one hand. Sharp. Reflecting Oliver’s distorted face back up at him. Rivulets of sweat dripping down his skin.
Maddy gasped. Simon stepped back.
Oliver raised the knife and pointed it at Red’s throat.
“I will only ask you one more time!” he screamed, and the knife glinted at her. “Take off your clothes!”
