We had covered this. I pressed the transmit button. “White SUVs, at least three of them. Maybe more, maybe less. They’ll be identical, probably driving together. Over.”
“This is Red Two. Do we have a make and model? Over.”
Willy knew we didn’t. He’d been razzing me about that since we brought him in.
“Negative,” I replied.
“Red Leader, this is Red Two. Upon return to base, I would like to conduct a vote to revoke the man card of Red One. Any boy who cannot identify a vehicle by make and model or engine sound should be relegated to washing Barbie’s Corvette for the remainder of their childhood, over.”
“This is Red Leader, agreed. Over.”
“Screw you both.”
“You forgot to say, over. Over.”
“Screw you both, over.”
“No thank you, over,”Willy replied.“Still cold as balls, over.”
I shivered. I was freezing. I should have grabbed a heavier jacket. The rain beat at the top of the umbrella and cascaded over the sides, splashing up around me. My jeans and shoes were soaked, and even though the sun wouldn’t go down for another two hours, it was lost behind the dark storm clouds and downpour.
I rubbed my hands together and noted that the small spot where Stella had written her message on the far corner of the bench had finally been painted over, the black metal shimmering under a bead of rainwater.
The radio in my jacket squealed. A loud, piercing bolt of feedback.
I saw the headlights then, three—no, four—approaching vehicles. I jammed down the transmit button. “I’ve got four vehicles coming down Tranquility Lane toward me. I think it’s them.”
“I’ve been watching the road. They didn’t pass me. Did you see them, Red Two?”
“Negative.”
Static.
I pressed the button. “They passed one of you. There’s no other way in. Over.”
Static.
The four SUVs came to a stop in a line at the center of the road. Their headlights were on due to the rain, and the beams sliced through the weather, illuminating the blacktop and the gravestones on either side. The wiper blades on the first SUV sloshed back and forth, batting away the water with a rhythmicthump thump.
I reached into my jacket, slow this time. I didn’t want to draw attention and pressed the button. “It’s them. Four SUVs, all white.”
Another squeal erupted from the walkie-talkie, and then it fell silent.
No response from Dunk or Willy.
I couldn’t see inside the SUVs. The interiors appeared black, shadows, lost behind the storm.
I pressed the button again. “Are either of you there? Can you hear me?”
I waited for the doors of the SUVs to open, for Ms. Oliver and the others to come out. The SUVs just sat there—the headlights watching me, the windshield wipers continuing their dance.
Thump thump.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
Something was wrong.
