Oliver’s eyes burned into hers, past them, into the unknowable things behind, like he could see her thoughts racing back and forth, trying to pull them his way.
The static from the speakers fizzed against her too-tight fingers, tongue pressed against the back of her teeth.
Which one?
She had to choose one of them. Had to make a decision, now, down to her. Two outstretched hands, waiting. Reyna or Oliver?
Red’s heart thudded against her ribs, trying to break free, to take no part in this. Red had known Oliver forever, he was right about that. And she’d chosen him once already, four hours ago, coming back to the RV when her gut and her mom told her to run. Should she have run? Where would she be by now? Would Don and Joyce still be alive?
“Red!” Oliver shouted, impatient now, flexing his fingers and taking one step toward her.
The hairs stood up on the back of her neck and her gut told her to move, to peel away from him because there was danger behind his eyes. And this time, Red listened to it. She backed up, eyes still on Oliver, moving two steps
toward Reyna by the front door. Quickly, before she could regret it, or double- or triple-think it, she turned on her heels and pushed the walkie-talkie into Reyna’s warm hand.
Reyna’s fingers closed over it, catching Red’s for a moment. A shared blink.
“No!” Oliver barked, charging forward, the RV juddering with his heavy steps.
Arthur darted into Oliver’s path, his body blocking them from him, a line of sweat rolling down his temple.
“Stop,” he said, voice spiking, his mouth grim and tense as he held one hand up to Oliver’s shoulder, pushed against it. “It’s Reyna’s decision if she wants to tell.”
Simon hurried over too, joining the barricade beside Arthur, arm to arm. The Lavoys on one side of the RV, Reyna and Red by the door, Simon and Arthur in the middle. Maddy had gotten to her feet now, watching, chewing anxiously at her thumb.
“It’s not!” Oliver stopped in his tracks, spraying the words into Arthur’s face. “It’s my decision. I’m in charge here. I don’t care what Reyna tells him, I am not leaving this RV! No one is leaving this RV!”
A flutter in his voice, hidden just beneath the rage. He was frightened, wasn’t he? That was what this was. Underneath those too-wide shoulders and golden-brown eyes, and red-flushed skin, Oliver was scared. By the time it reached the surface, though, it had twisted itself into anger, for cover.
“We have to do what he wants,” Reyna called across the barricade. “There’s no other way.”
“Don’t you dare tell him, Reyna!” Oliver shouted back, peering through the gap between Simon’s and Arthur’s heads. “Don’t you dare tell him what I did.”
The barricade jostled back as Oliver pushed against them.
Reyna sucked in a deep breath and let it out, the air playing through Red’s tied-back hair. She raised the walkie-talkie to her lips and held down the button.
The static cut out.
“Hello?” Reyna said, the word shaking only at the edges. Static.
“Hello,” the voice crackled from the speaker. “I’m here.” Static.
“Reyna, don’t you fucking dare!”
“It’s Reyna Flores-Serrano,” she said, holding down the button, pressing her eyes shut. “I think I have the secret that you’re looking for.”
Static.
“You do, do you?” the voice hissed, dark and deep, giving nothing away. “Let’s hear it, then.”
“Reyna!”
Arthur dug his heels into the floor as Oliver pushed against him. “Oliver, stop!” Simon said from the struggle.
“It’s about what happened to Jack Harvey, in Hanover, in January,” Reyna said, her chin bunched and trembling, eyes still closed. “How he died.”
Static as she let go of the button, eyes flickering open, backing away against the door as she looked up and saw Oliver’s face, the silent threat in his eyes.
The static stretched on and on. Universes bloomed and died in the seconds they waited, listening to the empty hiss. Red willed the voice to come, like she had countless times before, different voice, different reason, but it never worked before either.
“Come on,” Simon said, daring a glance back, eyes focusing on the walkie-talkie in Reyna’s grip.
A crackle.
The static died.
Silence. It felt strange in Red’s ears, after all this time.
“Sounds like a touching story,” the voice said. He cleared his throat. “But it’s not the one I’m looking for.”
A gasp. From Maddy; Red knew without looking.
Reyna’s eyes darkened, shadows cast by her eyebrows drawing together, lines of confusion across her forehead. “What?” she whispered to herself, staring down at the walkie-talkie, hissing again.
The struggle in the middle of the RV stopped, Oliver pulling back, straightening up, a new look rearranging his face, red patches slowly receding under his collar. His eyes did the opposite: they lightened.
“It’s not about that,” he said, voice almost returned to normal, croaking only on the lowest notes. “It’s not about what we did, what happened. It’s not about me.” And as he said that last part, the smile was back playing across his face. Not cruel this time, just unapologetic and there, he didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t have to be afraid anymore.
The barricade broke apart. Arthur bent forward, breathing hard, wiping the sweat from his hands against the front of his jeans. Simon stretched up, burying both hands in the mess of his dark hair as he said, “Fuck me,” followed by a low whistle.
“Not about what happened to Jack?” Reyna said, her voice climbing up at the end, but it wasn’t really a question, not one that needed an answer. She couldn’t believe it, that was why. She had been so sure; Red could tell by her eyes, by the fall of her mouth.
“It’s not about me or Reyna,” Oliver said through the smile, turning to look at Arthur, Simon and Red in turn. “We aren’t the ones with the secret. It’s one of you.”
The breath caught in Red’s narrowing throat as she studied Oliver’s smile. Was the RV getting smaller around them, tighter? It was supposed to be thirty-one feet but they’d never measured. What if it was twenty-nine and shrinking? Oh no, Oliver was watching her as she looked around. It couldn’t be her. She had one secret, but no one knew about it, that was the entire point. She didn’t even want to think it, in case Oliver could somehow read it in her eyes. Not him. Especially not him.
Simon shuffled, and Arthur hid his hands in his front pockets, glancing up at the ceiling. Was the RV shrinking around him too? Squeezing them all together. Too hot. Too stuffy.
Reyna handed the walkie-talkie back to Red, the weight of it against her skin a small comfort, until the static cut out again.
“I’m starting to lose my patience.” The voice crackled back into life. “I have twenty-four more rounds with me.” He paused, let that number sink in.
It did, sinking right into Red’s gut, where it churned with that other, yawning feeling. Twenty-four. Four deadly holes in each and every one of them. “If I don’t get my answers soon, I will start shooting at the RV randomly.”
Static. Crack.
The microwave exploded.
Maddy screamed. Simon dropped.
Glass rained down, sparks flashing around the new hole in the back of the machine, a glimpse through into the night beyond.
There was a matching hole in the bathroom wall. Walls, metal, plastic, glass, it went through them all, in less time than it took for Red to blink, to flinch and hold her hands up to her ears, the walkie-talkie hitting the side of her head.
“There’s one,” the voice said, whispering right into Red’s ear. The next second, it refilled with static.
“Fuck!” Simon said, pushing himself up from the floor, brushing off his legs. Patting his chest like he was checking for holes. But he wasn’t in its path, none of them were. Oliver had been the closest, and the shot had taken something from him: his smile.
Crack.
Red’s hands were ready by her ears.
A splintered hole lower than the last shot, in the wall just above the stove, a few inches closer to where the six of them stood. Oliver darted away, knocking into Arthur as he did, the RV shuddering with his feet. He came to stand by Maddy at the dining table, one hand on her shoulder.
“We should take cover!” he yelled.
“Where?” Simon shouted back. “There is no cover. The bullets go through everything!”
Simon was right; there was nowhere to hide. The RV wasn’t a shield, it wasn’t safety, it was only an illusion, a false barrier between here and the red dot outside. A hot tin can, shrinking, filling with holes. The night punching new eyes through the walls to watch them squirm.
“There’s two,” the voice hissed, so close to Red’s face, it was as though she could feel his breath, blowing through the speaker.
He had twenty-two more bullets to go, how long until one of them found flesh and bone and worse?
“Give me what I want,” the voice continued, Red holding it up for the others to hear. “You’re getting closer. Yes, this is about someone who died. Someone who was killed, in Philadelphia. You know who you are.”
Static.
Red lowered the walkie-talkie, glancing across at the other side of the RV, catching Maddy’s eye. They held on for two long seconds. There was something new there, a strange shift in Maddy’s eyelids, a glaze like panic across them. A look Red didn’t recognize, and she knew all of Maddy’s faces. What was wrong? Red tried to decipher it, but Oliver interrupted her.
“Someone who was killed, in Philadelphia,” he said, repeating the sniper word-for-word.
Definitely not Red then. She had never killed anyone, not unless you counted her mom, and Red wasn’t sure people would. It was her fault, yes, all her fault, and she was the one who carried the guilt, but she hadn’t been the one carrying the gun, the one who made her get down on her knees. Two shots to the back of the head.
Simon was shaking his head, running his hands over his torso like he was still checking for holes. Arthur’s hands were in his pockets again, or maybe they’d never left. Red wasn’t the only one looking; Oliver was studying them too.
“Anything to do with your uncle, Simon?” Oliver asked, pointedly. “He lives in Philly too, right, he ever killed anyone?”
“No.” Simon shook his head even harder. “He’s not like that. And if he has, I don’t know anything about it, it’s not my secret. I swear,” he said, doubling down on those final two words.
Reyna shifted behind Red and the RV creaked with her weight. A creak, not so different from that muted crack, and Red’s hands were ready, halfway to her ears. But it wasn’t, not this time. She looked around, at the cockpit, the dining table, the sofa bed, and it didn’t matter that Maddy also slept on the
left because neither of them would ever sleep on it, the kitchen with the destroyed microwave, the punctures in the bathroom wall. How could she stand here, stand it, knowing that that crack could come any time, and there would be another gaping hole, through the walls, the furniture, her stomach? Blood was red and so was she. The color of her mom’s favorite coat, though Red had never worn that one to bed in winter; she couldn’t get close to it, in case she took the smell out of it and replaced it with her own. And, anyway, why was Maddy still looking at her like that?
“Arthur.” Oliver turned to him instead, narrowing his eyes, the pupils grown too large again, dark and unnatural. “You’re the newest here, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for him to answer. “Maddy, how long have you known Arthur?”
Maddy jumped at the sound of her own name, finally blinking away that look. “Oh, um,” she said, glancing awkwardly across at Arthur. “Maybe six or seven months. Since the start of senior year.”
Why was she answering, why was she helping Oliver? Couldn’t she recognize the danger back in his eyes? Didn’t she feel it up the back of her neck?
“But you go to a different school, right?” Oliver directed the question back at Arthur.
“Right,” Arthur said, removing his hands from his pockets, crossing them in front of his chest, the drawn YES/NO boxes visible on the back of one hand, Red’s shaky check mark.
Oliver stepped toward him. “You don’t like your friends at your own school, then? Or they don’t like you? Why is that?”
“I—I,” Arthur stuttered. “It’s not like that. I have friends. Simon happens to be one of them. And Maddy. And Red.”
He said her name last, but there was her mark, right there on his skin, bones rippling beneath it as he tensed.
“What are you doing, Oliver?” Reyna asked. He ignored her.
“But you live in Philly too.” Oliver took another step toward Arthur. “And you’re the person here that everyone knows the least. Maddy’s been friends
with Red since they were born, and Simon since middle school.”
“So?” Arthur said, taking a step back as Oliver kept coming, prowling toward him.
“So, are you the one with the secret?” Oliver pulled up, right in front of him, their noses too close.
“No,” Arthur said, raising one finger to push his glasses back up.
“Come on, stop wasting time!” Oliver slapped a hand down on the kitchen counter beside him and then he charged, wrapping his hands in Arthur’s shirt, driving him backward. “He could start shooting again any second! What’s the secret? Who died?!”
“I don’t know!” Arthur shouted back, trying to wrestle his arms inside Oliver’s grip as they slammed back against the refrigerator door.
“Oliver!” Simon darted forward, trying to pull Oliver away, but he was too weak and Oliver’s shoulders too wide. “Can we please remember who the real enemy is?” he pleaded, voice breaking. “The guy outside with the fucking rifle. Not any of us.”
“Have you ever hit someone with your car and driven away?” Oliver shouted into Arthur’s face, those puppet strings under his skin again, at the back of his exposed neck.
“No!” Arthur said, struggling against Oliver’s iron grip. “Sold drugs to someone? Did someone overdose?” “No, I’ve never hurt anyone!”
Arthur bucked, kicking against the refrigerator, pushing away.
Oliver was stronger, shoved him back, forearm pressed against Arthur’s neck.
“I’m not like that!” Arthur rasped, the wind knocked out of his chest, trapped in his pinned-down throat.
“Oliver, stop it!” Reyna screamed. But didn’t she know? She couldn’t control him anymore, no one could. He was loose and he was wild.
“Someone was killed, in Philadelphia!” Oliver roared in his face. “You must know.”
“OLIVER!”
That was Maddy. He didn’t listen to her either.
“It’s not me, we just learned that!” Oliver continued, pressing harder. Arthur’s face was turning red. “It’s not what me and Reyna did. And it’s not about the Frank Gotti case, so it’s nothing to do with me or Maddy!”
Arthur’s eyes darted across to Red, strained and in pain as he struggled against Oliver’s grip. She had to help him.
“Oliver, leave him alone!” Red shouted, daring to move forward. It was useless, Oliver wasn’t listening, too focused on Arthur’s face, inches from his.
“Just tell me what it is!” Oliver spat. “I am not dying in this fucking RV!” “M-my br-brother,” Arthur managed to hiss, raspy and weak.
“Your brother? Your brother fucking what?” Arthur looked at Red again, wide and desperate.
Red needed to help him. And they had that deal, remember, the one Arthur didn’t know about; that he didn’t have to talk about his brother if she didn’t have to talk about her mom. Except, for some reason, her mom wouldn’t leave her alone tonight.
Oliver’s free hand was at his side, fingers balling into a fist, then flexing out. No. Nonono. They’d just heard what happened after Oliver punched that Jack. Jack might have hit him first, but Oliver hit him harder and that was all it took. A fatal bleed on the brain. Oliver wasn’t going to hit Arthur, was he? Then why was his thumb tucking itself under his fingers, forming a fist that stayed?
No, Red couldn’t let him. But what could she do? Oliver was the strongest, the natural leader, the highest-value. Red didn’t have the secret. This wasn’t about what happened to Jack Harvey, or the Frank Gotti case, which she knew forward and back, Oliver had just said that. It wasn’t. The voice had confirmed it: Maddy and Oliver weren’t being held hostage for the name of the witness. So what could she do?
But that clue: someone who was killed, in Philadelphia. That fit two people Red knew of. Her mom, killed on her knees five years ago in an abandoned power station. Two shots to the back of the head. And the other, more recent, was…unless…unless this whole setup wasn’t about getting the name, like Oliver had initially thought, holding him and Maddy as hostages. What if they already had the name? No, it couldn’t be, that was the whole
point, but it wasn’t impossible, was it? Oliver said it happened all the time. Which meant that—
“Oliver, stop!” Simon pulled at his shirt. “You’re choking him!”
Red had to help Arthur, she had to, his breath now wheezing through his throat in a terrifying low whistle, Oliver’s fist raising by his side. Red had to help, and now she knew how. They already had the name, didn’t they? That was it. Why hadn’t she realized sooner? Why had she blindly followed what Oliver said? Maybe she had realized, part of her, and she’d only wanted to keep it, like Oliver had with his secret. Of course. She knew it now, cold and inevitable. This was all about her. About the plan. If she gave it up now, she’d lose it all, wouldn’t she? But she had to help Arthur.
“Stop!” Red screamed, the sound tearing at her throat. “Oliver, leave him!
It’s me!”
Oliver pulled back slightly, releasing Arthur’s throat. His head whipped over his shoulder and he stared at Red. “What did you say?” he demanded.
Arthur coughed, bending over as Oliver finally let go, stepping away from him.
Red looked up and breathed out. “I’m the one with the secret.”
