Oliver clambered forward, the white beams reflected in the dark of his eyes as they drew closer, the sound of wheels peeling against the road.
“Who is it?” he hissed.
“No, it’s not more of them, is it?” Simon said, one hand up to shield his eyes.
“It could be the police!” Maddy said, her hands clutched to her chest.
Red looked out the windshield, unblinking, filling herself with the white light, like the night had grown its own eyes, staring back into her.
“Turn on our headlights, Reyna.” Oliver pushed her toward the cockpit. “So we can see who it is.”
Reyna’s hand scrabbled forward, reaching for the lever without taking her eyes off those lights. She pushed it and the RV’s headlights clicked on, clashing with the others, head to head.
And now they could see what it was. Not a police squad car, but a white truck flecked with dirt, the low rumble of its engine as it rolled forward. Two figures obscured behind the windshield.
It swerved, slowly, to the spare stretch of road on their right, the headlights ripping free from theirs, four distinct beams.
“Who the fuck is…” Arthur trailed off, moving forward to stand beside Reyna at the front.
The truck sighed, pulling to a stop right in front of them, almost corner to corner with the RV. The engine switched off, taking the lights with it.
Silence and static, and the after-tick of their engine.
Now that their beams were no longer blinding her, Red could see it was a man and a woman, late sixties or early seventies she’d guess from this distance with two windshields between them.
“Who are—” she began to say. The static cut away.
“Get rid of them,” the voice crackled from Red’s hands. She flinched, staring down at the walkie-talkie. “You get rid of them now, or I will kill them.”
Not with the sniper, then. Not part of the plan.
“Do not tell them anything,” he continued, voice darker and deeper now. “Say you are fine, just broken down. If you tell them anything or signal to them in any way, I will shoot them both.”
Not part of the plan at all.
Red glanced up, caught Oliver’s eye, staring at her as the keeper of the voice.
“They’re not with him,” Oliver said. “We can use them to get help.” “He just said not to do that,” Arthur spoke up. “He just said—”
“I will kill them,” the sniper cut in, as though he had somehow heard. “If you tell them you’re in trouble, tell them anything, you will be killing them. I’ll do it.”
Static.
“Get rid of them or they die.”
Arthur’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open in a silent word.
“But—” Maddy started to say, but the rest didn’t matter, because they heard the clack of a door handle slicing through the too-quiet night. Red turned, watched the driver’s-side door of the truck fling open, waiting there as the man climbed out behind it. Fur-lined jacket zipped up to his chin, graying hair and red-dotted cheeks.
“Hello!” he called, cupping his hands around the word to protect it from the night. “You folks all right in there?”
He leaned into the truck door and it slammed shut just as the other side opened. The woman stepped out, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, eyes searching, looking through the windshield. They alighted on Red and the woman smiled, raising a pale hand in a still wave.
Red smiled back, with teeth, just as the voice in her hands said, “Get rid of them or they die. Open the door and tell them you’re fine.”
“We have to send them away,” Arthur said, turning his eyes to the door of the RV.
Oliver pulled him back. “But this could be our only chance to—”
“You heard what he said.” Arthur pushed against him. “Do you want to kill these people?”
“We have to do what he says.” Reyna walked over, resting one hand against Oliver’s chest. “You understand that? He’s pointing a rifle at them right now.”
“Hello?” the man outside called again, boots crunching against the road as he walked over, toward the door.
“Fine, go,” Oliver said, letting go of Arthur’s shirt. “Simon, you’re the actor. Act like we’re fine.”
“I’m not going out and standing in that doorway.” Simon shook his head. “He already shot at me once.”
“He told us we can,” Arthur said. “He won’t shoot if we’re sending them away. I’ll do it.”
In one quick movement, Arthur slammed down on the handle and pushed the front door. It swung wide open. The man stood just a few feet from the door, a wrinkled smile stretching into his face, skin folding like paper.
“Hello there, folks,” he said, eyes flicking up to Arthur as he dropped down the first step, then to Simon and Reyna behind, then Red. She stood back, gripping the walkie-talkie too tight between her hands, like she could make him not shoot by hiding him away.
“Hello, sir,” Arthur replied, bowing his head slightly, moving down another step.
“Y’all okay?” the man asked. “We thought we saw some lights flashing from the road back there, drove around to see if anyone was in trouble.” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Looks like you got a couple of flats there at the front.”
“Yeah,” Arthur said, scratching the back of his head. “We think we drove over something, got a couple of punctures.”
“Well, I’ll be,” the man said, standing back, glancing at the rear tire. “Looks like you got a third out, too.”
“And I think I smell gas.” The woman stepped forward now so that she too was framed in Red’s view of the open door, blocked by Arthur’s moving shoulders as he scratched at one of his own arms.
“This is my wife, Joyce,” the man said, nodding to her. “I’m Don.” “Nice to meet you both,” Arthur said.
“Where are y’all from?” Joyce said, a sweet smile on her face as she stood side by side with her husband. Red tried not to picture it, the red dot floating across their backs, darting unseen between their heads. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.
“Philadelphia,” Arthur answered.
“Thought I recognized the accent,” said Don. “Long way from home.” “Yeah, we’re on our way to Gulf Shores, for spring break,” Arthur said. “Bless your hearts,” said Joyce.
Oliver moved toward the door then, his jaw set, clearly deciding it was safe if Arthur hadn’t been killed yet. He pushed past him, dropping down to the final step.
“Hello,” he said, voice crisp and clear, back arrow-straight, the full Oliver Lavoy display. “Nice to meet you both. I’m Oliver.”
“Don. Joyce,” Don repeated. Seemed he recognized that Oliver was the natural leader here. How could you not, with that straight back and those fierce golden eyes? “We live on a farm just yonder, back that way. We were passing by and saw flashing lights.”
“What must y’all think of us, coming home past two in the morning,” Joyce giggled, hiding it behind one hand. Red noticed the blue polish peeling off her nails. “We were with our daughter, she lives in Jacksonville. She just
had a baby this afternoon, our first grandbaby.” The words burst out of her, tripping over each other, like she couldn’t have not said it, like maybe that was the reason they’d stopped after all.
“Oh, congratulations to you both,” Oliver said, and Red could hear the smile pasted over his voice. “New grandparents.”
“We’re so excited,” Joyce said, looking up at her husband. “Aren’t we, Don? We couldn’t not go and meet the baby right away, could we? She’s called him Jacob, after my daddy who passed last year, and he is the cutest little bundle you ever saw. Isn’t he, Don?”
“Yes, dear.”
“But,” Joyce went on, eyes flicking between Arthur and Oliver and Reyna as she told her story, “you know how it is, with a new baby, you don’t want your parents hanging around, telling you what you’re doing wrong that first night. That’s why we decided not to stay the night and drive home, leave her and Thomas to it, you know?”
“I see.” Oliver nodded. “Well, I’m sure she appreciated you driving all that way and back to visit.”
“We’re going to go again next weekend, aren’t we, Don?”
“Joyce, will you hush up for one moment?” Don said in answer, an affectionate burr in his voice. “These people don’t want to hear our life story, I’m sure.” He looked down, grinding his boot into the road, raising his heel to study it. “She’s right, you know. You got a gas leak all around here. Looks like the whole tank might’ve emptied.”
Please don’t let him look too hard and see the bullet hole in the side there, the one that took out the tank.
“Yeah, we think a branch might have got caught under us,” Oliver said, not missing a beat. “Must have dragged it for a while and it punctured the tires, knocked something loose underneath.”
Don made a face, gritting his teeth. “Have you called Triple-A?” he asked.
“Yes,” Arthur said, at the same time that Oliver said, “No.”
An awkward moment, Don’s gaze trailing up away from the two of them. He must have noticed the broken window then, his eyes narrowing, skin
crinkling between his brows. The static fizzed and Red held the walkie-talkie behind her.
“We couldn’t get a signal,” Oliver explained.
“Oh.” Joyce smiled; she hadn’t picked up on the strain in Oliver’s voice. “The service is terrible around here. We’re lucky to get one bar in our house, and that’s with me hanging out the window in the back bedroom.”
“Even worse today,” Don added, eyes back on Oliver, though he didn’t look as sure and easy as he had thirty seconds ago. “Our neighbor told us that this morning, some truck drove into the cell tower south of Ruby. Knocked out all the networks. Apparently he fled before the police got there. I’m guessing it was a stolen truck and he drove around the turn too fast, lost control. I called AT&T from the road this afternoon and they said their engineers were dealing with it, and service should be back by morning. If they can be trusted,” he added with a sniff.
Red swallowed. They did that. Drove a truck into the cell tower to disable it. All part of the plan to trap them here. But this wasn’t part of the plan. Don and Joyce weren’t supposed to be passing at this time. Don and Joyce weren’t supposed to find them trapped here, in the wide-open nothing, on their way back late from meeting their first grandchild. Don and Joyce weren’t supposed to happen.
“That explains it, then,” Oliver said. “Excuse me for one moment.” Oliver held up a finger and then backed up the steps, through the door of the RV. He walked toward the dining table, pushing Red out of the way, beckoning to Maddy, hiding by the sofa.
“If you were driving a car,” Don was saying, “we might could have towed y’all.” He looked around, surveying the giant hulking shape of the RV. Red stepped forward, brushing against Simon at the threshold to outside. “This is quite something, isn’t it?” Don said, slapping the metallic side of the RV.
“Thirty-one feet,” Red said.
“Is that right?” Don said, a crinkle in his eyes as he looked up at her, pursing his lips to blow out a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be.”
“It’s my uncle’s.” Simon stepped forward, shooting the couple a smile.
Red caught the sideways view, muscles straining in his cheek.
“Really?” Don asked. “And how much does something like this set you back?”
The static spluttered behind Red’s back, cutting out. “Send them away,” the voice threatened, low and hissing. Red held her breath.
“What was that, son?” Don looked up at Simon.
“I said I think it’s for people with more money than sense,” Simon chuckled, loudly, covering the static. “Like my uncle, I guess.”
“Right.” Don laughed politely.
“Well, we got no sense and no money.” Joyce joined in the laughter, her shoulders hitching. That was when Red’s eyes finally caught it, slipping over the side of Joyce’s shoulder, hiding in the folds of her tied-back hair. The red dot. Waiting. Ready to put a hole in her.
Red swallowed again, her smile stretchy and tight, pulling uncomfortably at her skin. Keep a straight face, just like she was taught. Give nothing away with her eyes. Face straight, story straight, all she had to remember. Can you remember all that, Red?
“How many does it sleep?” Don asked. “There are five of you, right?” “There’s six of us,” Reyna corrected, a quiver in her voice that made Red
think she’d seen the dot too. Reyna was premed; she knew all the soft and delicate things waiting there beneath Don’s and Joyce’s flesh, all the horrifying ways they could split apart in the path of a bullet. Insides that would stay inside, because they were going to send them away to save them. Red must have stopped smiling; Joyce was looking at her funny.
“You okay, sweetheart?” she asked.
Red blinked, pasted the smile back on. “Yeah,” she said, “you?”
“I’m finer than a frog hair split four ways,” Joyce answered. “But I’m worried about y’all and how we’re gonna get you on your way.”
“What happened to the window here?” Don asked, his feet shifting, eyes too, straying up to the shattered glass.
“Tree branch,” Reyna said, almost too quick, like Oliver’s lie had been waiting on the tip of her tongue. But it didn’t quite fit. “We were too big to
come down this narrow road here, but we pushed through because we couldn’t turn back, next thing we know, tree comes through the window.”
“Right.” Don nodded, blinking slowly, like he was trying to picture it in the pitch-black behind his closed eyelids.
Red heard whispering behind her. Not from the walkie-talkie, from Maddy and Oliver, bent over the table, their backs to her.
She sidled away from the open door as Simon asked Don and Joyce about their new grandchild, and how the birth went.
Red stepped up behind Maddy, peered over her shoulder. On a piece of paper, ripped from the pad, Maddy was writing something with the felt-tip pen, waiting for Oliver to tell her the next word.
Red squinted to read the note. Help, call the police. There’s an—
“Active shooter,” Oliver hissed at her, Maddy turning his words into
scratchy black letters on the page. “We are trapped.”
“You can’t do that,” Red said, making Maddy jump, smudging the last word. She hadn’t known Red was right behind her. “He said he’d kill them.”
“How is the sniper going to know if I pass them this tiny note?” Oliver turned to her, a low hint of rage stirring in his voice. How dare she question him. He was the leader, didn’t she know? “He is hundreds of yards that way. He’s never going to know.”
“He might,” Red said, breath stalling in her chest. Come on, she had to do better than that.
“How, Red, how?” Oliver’s eyes flashed. “Go on, explain to me how the sniper is going to see this tiny piece of paper.”
“When you hand it over,” she said, straightening her back too, raising her chin. He was only a few inches taller than her like this. And she couldn’t let him do this.
“I have a plan for that, obviously,” Oliver spat. “Maddy, fold it, and again, and now on the top, write: Do not read until you’ve left this road. Now, quickly.”
Maddy folded the note, her elbow crashing into Red as she did, tongue tucked in her teeth. “Say it again,” she said, preparing the pen, shaking in her
grip.
“Do not read until you’ve left this road,” he spat, keeping his voice low. “He said he would kill them.” Red watched Oliver watching his sister as
she scratched out the words, blocky and big on the small square of paper. “He’s going to kill them.”
“No, he won’t,” Oliver replied, ripping the finished note away from Maddy. “I will shake Don’s hand and pass it over. If I angle it right, the sniper won’t even see the handshake, he’ll just see me trying to get rid of them. Don will know something’s wrong and not to react when he reads that top part. They won’t read the rest until they’re safely out of here, and then they’ll send help. The sniper will never know, he can’t know. This is going to work.”
He flipped the note in his hand, unfolding it to check the words inside. Help, call the police, there’s an active shooter. We are trapped.
He refolded it, pressing harder than Maddy had, eyes spooling across the
words on top, scratchy and desperate. Do not read until you’ve left this road. “What if it doesn’t work?” Red said, hand darting out to hold on to
Oliver’s sleeve, surprising them both. Maddy too, who gasped behind her. “He’ll kill them. That’s someone’s mom and dad out there. New grandparents. Don’t do this. Don’t drag them into this.”
“Red, be quiet. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugged her off.
But she did know, she knew better than anyone. If something happened to Don and Joyce, their daughter would blame herself for the rest of her life. Why hadn’t she insisted they stay the night? Why couldn’t she have had the baby tomorrow instead? Or yesterday? All her fault, dead because of her.
Red couldn’t put that into words, though, it didn’t belong, wouldn’t fit. So she tried just one word.
“Please.”
“What’s going on?” Arthur was back inside the RV, his voice low, walking over to stand between Red and Oliver. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving them a note to call the police, passing it over in a handshake,” Oliver said, like he was expecting praise for his bright idea.
Arthur looked at Red and she tried to tell him with her eyes. Please understand.
“You can’t do that.” Arthur turned back to Oliver, and Red breathed out, so glad that Arthur had come back, glad that he was standing right here next to her, on her side. “He’ll shoot them,” Arthur said.
Oliver rolled his eyes, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “No he won’t, he will never know. The sniper hasn’t actually taken a shot at one of us yet. Not one. Maybe he’s actually bluffing, just trying to scare us into doing what he wants, maybe he isn’t planning on killing anyone. Not us, not them.” He tried to move past but Arthur stepped in his way.
“What if he does shoot?” Arthur hissed. “You’d be killing them.”
“Well, I guess it’s four against two. The others would agree with me.” Oliver gestured his head toward Reyna and Simon in the open doorway. Then his eyes flicked back to Red and Arthur; they were the two, outvoted, outnumbered.
Unless:
“Maddy?” Red said.
Maddy held her gaze. “They’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “We can’t not ask them to help us.”
“You’ll thank me when the police turn up and save you,” Oliver said, like it was a threat.
The static crackled into silence.
“You have sixty seconds to get rid of them,” said the voice, vibrating in Red’s hand. A metallic double click from the speaker as he cocked the rifle. “Fifty-nine, fifty-eight.”
“Move.” Oliver pushed Red out of his way, the note folded small, clutched in one hand.
“No,” Arthur whispered, but he didn’t move to stop Oliver. Red tried, grabbing his shirt again. “Oliver, please don’t—”
Oliver turned, angry puppet strings up his neck again. His free hand darted out to Red’s throat. He shoved her and she fell back onto the sofa.
“You shut up,” he hissed, bending over her. “You’re going to get us all killed.”
But he was going to get them killed, those innocent people outside, and he didn’t care, he didn’t care because they weren’t him.
“Forty-seven, forty-six,” the walkie-talkie crackled.
Arthur reached out a hand and Red took it, pulling her to her feet, but it was too late, Oliver was in the doorway, pushing past Reyna to walk down the steps.
“We have a landline at our place,” Joyce was saying. “We can give some of y’all a ride and you can call for help from our house.”
They walked over to the door, Red’s hand in Arthur’s and she couldn’t remember now, how it had got there.
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Oliver said, voice loud and cheery. “We’re fine here. We were actually just going to get some rest now; we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. You said the service should be back in the morning, we’ll call Triple-A when we wake up, no problem.”
“Are you sure?” Don asked. “It’s no trouble.”
“Very sure,” Oliver’s voice boomed. “Think we all just want a good night’s sleep and then we’ll worry about getting this RV fixed in the morning. Right, gang?” Oliver turned back to look at them, all six of them gathered by the door, Maddy’s breath on the back of Red’s neck.
“Right,” Reyna said with a smile, but she didn’t know what was about to happen.
“If you’re sure?” Don returned the smile, dipping his head. Could he tell something was wrong? “Come on then, Joyce-bug, let’s get you home.”
“Before you go,” Oliver said with a flourish, “I wanted to say thank you so much for stopping, and a huge congratulations on becoming grandparents.” Red watched as Oliver stepped to the left, reangling Don, putting his back to the sniper’s position.
Where was the red dot?
“Congrats, sir.” Oliver offered his hand to Don in the darkness. Note tucked under his thumb.
“Bless your heart, aren’t you sweet?” Joyce said, as Don reached out and took Oliver’s hand, shaking it up and down just once.
Oliver’s hand withdrew, empty.
Don’s face darkened, his eyebrows drawing low as he looked down at the piece of paper in his hand.
Reyna noticed it too, head shifting sideways on her neck.
“Well, it’s been nice chatting with you all anyway. Don says I can talk until the cows come home.” Joyce laughed, her face up to the sky, and it was too much, this was too much.
Should Red scream at them to get in the RV, or tell them to run? Like she should have before, if she’d only listened to her gut and not Oliver.
Don hadn’t moved. His eyes shifted across the note and up, a muscle twitching, pulling at the lines around his mouth. He looked at the broken window again.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding at Oliver, closing his fingers around the note. Another nod. Now he must know that something wasn’t right here. But he wouldn’t know what until he unfolded the note scrunched up in his hand. “That’s very kind of you,” Don laughed nervously.
Oliver laughed with him. “Well,” he said, “you must be tired after such a busy day. We’ll let you get to it.”
“Sure.” Don gritted his teeth as his boots pivoted on the road, keys jangling in his grip. He turned to his wife, straightening out his face before she saw it. He didn’t want her to know. “Come on then, honey, we better get out of here.”
Maybe it would be okay. Maybe they’d get back in their truck and be out of here before the sniper knew anything was wrong.
Red wasn’t breathing, staring as Joyce gave her a final smile, a final wave. The only one who didn’t know, eyes kind and crinkled, blue polish peeling off her nails. She turned to go, walking alongside her husband. Red didn’t blink, she couldn’t, she had to protect them with her eyes.
She could hear Arthur’s breath stuttering in his chest, beside her. His hand wasn’t holding hers anymore, small movements in his shoulders, disturbing the air around her. Was he shaking?
“You have a safe trip home,” Oliver said cheerfully, raising one hand in goodbye as they approached their truck.
Crack.
Too quick.
Joyce folded sideways onto the road, a space where the middle of her face had been.
“Joy—” Don said, not panicking yet, because he didn’t know, maybe she just fell.
Crack.
A plume of blood in the headlights.
A gaping hole in Don’s face, beside his forever-open mouth. He fell slowly, knees buckling first, crumpling backward over his legs, bent all wrong. Empty stare up at the stars, a halo of red pooling on the road.
