“Put the knife down, Oliver!” Reyna’s voice rang out, louder than the screeching guitars and the thunderous, rifle-crack drums.‌

Red raised her chin, the tip of the knife only a few inches from her neck, shaking in Oliver’s grip. His eyes were wild, too much black, too much red where white should be, bloodshot where the sweat had trickled in.

She didn’t move, hands still raised. Red had known Oliver all her life, but she didn’t know this version of him, the person the red dot had turned him into, pushing him to the farthest point. But it must have always been there, somewhere inside, this Oliver. Dormant, waiting until he was needed. He didn’t even look like himself anymore, hair greasy with sweat, pushed back in chaotic clumps, skin red and blotchy, those puppet strings making his head hang sideways on his neck again as he studied Red back.

Her eyes trailed down the knife in his hands. And the thing was, Red wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure this was just an act to get her to do what he wanted. There was a knife in his hands, and part of Red believed he would use it if he had to. He’d thrown her out of the RV once to save himself. She was expendable to him, disposable. And here she stood, in Oliver’s mind, between him and his survival. There wasn’t a choice.

“Fine,” Red said darkly, not loud enough over the music, but Oliver read the word on her lips.

He bared his teeth in a faltering smile that didn’t fit his face. He’d won, again.

“Now!” he barked, the knife moving up and down with his voice. Red inhaled. “Can I at least get some clothes to change into first?”

She gestured with her head, at the overhead cupboards above the sofa, Maddy’s case inside with both of their things.

“No, not you!” Oliver said. “You might use it as a distraction to communicate with the sniper somehow. Hands where I can see them.”

“I’m not working with the sniper, Oliver,” Red snapped back. “I’m the witness, they’re here to kill me.”

“Except they didn’t, did they? When they had the chance.” Oliver’s eyes left her for a second. “Simon, you go. Get some of Red’s clothes out of Maddy’s case.”

Simon stiffened, looking instead at Red.

“It’s okay.” She nodded, and her arms were still raised, but she wasn’t sure she could feel them anymore. Fizzing, like they were made of static, and Red missed that, the quiet sizzle of the walkie-talkie.

Simon walked the three steps over to the sofa and stood up on it, the plastic creaking under his shifting weight as he opened the cupboard, ducking his head to swing the door fully open. He reached up, the angry wasp sound of the zipper on Maddy’s bag.

“Red’s stuff should be at the top,” Maddy called.

Simon cocked one finger to let her know he’d heard. He reached inside, came back with his hands clasped around a pair of pants, one leg flicking itself up and around his arm.

“Black jeans,” Simon called, voice barely audible, trapped inside the cupboard. Well, Red only had two pairs of pants and one pair of shorts with her, and she was wearing one of those. She was glad Simon hadn’t gone for the shorts, as hot as it was in this RV, exposed skin would feel like a target, glowing in the night.

Simon reached in with the other arm, shoulder rolling as he rustled inside the bag, picking up one item that Red couldn’t see, shaking his head and putting it back to select another. He pulled away, shutting the cupboard door with his elbow and jumping down.

“Here,” he said to Red, coming over, handing her the clothes.

“No.” Oliver intervened, blocking Simon’s way with one arm. “On the floor.”

Simon checked with Red. She nodded, what choice did she have? There was a knife to her throat.

Simon dropped the ripped black jeans in a crumple at her feet, and then the top he’d chosen. An old long-sleeved T-shirt in a dark plummy red. It had been her mom’s once.

“Red’s your color,” Simon said to her over the music, an awkward closed-mouth smile on his face. Was he trying to make her feel better with that smile? Or was it masking something else, because he also thought she was a mole? No, Simon couldn’t. He knew her. And yet, he could have been the one who voted for her to die. But she wasn’t dead, and that was the new problem.

“Red, come on,” Oliver shouted, dipping his head to indicate the clothes on the floor.

“At least let her go into the bathroom to change.” Arthur stepped forward, tendons sticking up under the tan skin of his neck. Not quite like puppet strings, but close. He was angry, Red could tell. Or scared. Or both. Arthur couldn’t think she had anything to do with all this, could he? No, he’d stood by her, all night. Dragged her away from the red dot, held her when the shock set in.

Oliver swung the knife, pointed it at him until Arthur retreated one step. “No,” Oliver said. “If we leave her alone, she might get a message to the sniper somehow. She has to stay where I can see her.”

“It’s fine, Arthur,” Red called, fingers too sweaty and swollen as they worked the top button of her shirt and down. “It’s fine,” as the knife returned to her, followed by Oliver’s eyes. What a ridiculous word that was. Fine. She was undressing at knifepoint and there was a sniper outside and she was supposed to be dead. But she was fine, you know?

Arthur shook his head. He knew it wasn’t fine, but he stepped back all the same. De-escalating, the tension easing slightly in Oliver’s shoulders as he watched Red undo the rest of her buttons.

“Here, Maddy,” Red said, pulling the blue-and-yellow flannel shirt off her arms, standing there in her bra and jeans. She chucked the shirt past Oliver’s head and Maddy caught it, clutching it to her chest.

Red picked up the T-shirt from the floor, pulled it over her head. She reached her arms through to the ends of the sleeves and pulled the thin material down over her stomach.

“Jeans,” Oliver barked. “Come on, quick. Before he wonders what we’re up to.”

Red kicked off her sneakers, using each foot to pry the other off. Oliver bent forward, knife still raised, and collected them in one hand, passing them over to Maddy, who started to slip off her own shoes.

Red dropped her eyes and unbuttoned her jeans, pulled down the zipper. She peeled the jeans down, the dark gasoline stains sticking to her knees,

clinging to her pale skin. But she pushed and they gave, falling, bunching around her ankles. She stepped out of them.

Red stood, in this RV, in her underwear and socks, and she looked up at the others. She wasn’t ashamed to be standing here in her underwear. Red knew real shame and this wasn’t it. Real shame was killing your mom and having to live with it, knowing that she died and the last thing you ever said to her was that you hated her. If Red survived that, she could survive this. She stared around at the others, daring them to look her back in the eye. Could they put a stop to this? If Arthur, Reyna and Simon all stepped up, could they stop Oliver from making Maddy go through with this? There were three of them. But Oliver was the one with the weapon. And he was probably the only one who would use it. Or maybe that wasn’t the reason at all. Maybe they didn’t trust her either, thought she was working with the sniper. What did Red expect, she was still lying to them.

Oliver scooped up her light blue jeans and passed them over to Maddy.

“Go get changed in the bathroom,” he urged his sister, over a new song just starting. Notes steadily climbing in threes, entering through Red’s ears,

biting at her nerves and her exposed legs.

Maddy closed the bathroom door behind her. The last thing Red saw was the look of numb shock in her eyes. Were they really doing this?

Red grabbed her black jeans from the floor and slipped them on. There were rips on one knee and up the thigh of the other leg; she hadn’t bought them that way, they were just old. Maddy and Oliver’s mom had bought her these ones.

“Maddy’s shoes,” Red shouted at Oliver. She hadn’t packed any others. He kicked Maddy’s white sneakers over and Red wriggled her feet inside,

no need to undo the laces. Maddy hated when she put shoes on like that. You’ll break the backs, she always said, but Red didn’t think she’d mind just this once.

The song escalated, high notes on the guitar cascading all around her. And then building again, creeping up the scale.

“You okay?” Reyna mouthed to her, across the RV.

Red nodded, just slightly, so Oliver wouldn’t see. The knife wasn’t as close anymore but it was still there in his grip, pointing at her throat. People came undone when you stuck a knife in that spot, didn’t they? But it wouldn’t really matter where a rifle got you, would it? Anywhere and you’d come undone around it, like the scattered puzzle of Don’s head.

The bathroom door opened soundlessly, buried under the song, and Maddy stepped out in Red’s flannel shirt and her jeans, dark stains at the knees. She had on Red’s tattered sneakers too, the laces done up neatly, double-knotted.

“Good.” Oliver beckoned her over. “Okay, do you have a hair tie?” he shouted into her ear. “You need to tie yours back in a ponytail, the same height as Red’s.”

Maddy always had a spare hair tie on her wrist, sometimes more actually. Red often borrowed them, never gave them back because they all got lost somehow.

Maddy pulled up the sleeve of Red’s shirt, revealing a black hair tie sinking into the flesh of her wrist. She rolled the band into position over the base of her thumb and fingers, and turning to study Red’s hair, she gathered

her own up, running her fingers through, pulling the strands to the crown of her head. She secured the hair tie around the ponytail, once, twice, three times, then pulled it tight.

Oliver looked between the two of them, Red and Maddy, and again, frantically, eyes narrowing.

“Not quite right,” he shouted. “Yours is too long.”

Knife still in hand, Oliver backed up to the table, reaching for the scissors with his spare hand. He didn’t ask Maddy first. He spun her around, the heels of his hands on her shoulders, and he grabbed the length of her ponytail with his knife hand. He opened the scissors, positioned them about three inches up from the ends of Maddy’s hair, and he snipped. It wasn’t a clean cut, sliding through, opening the scissors and closing them again and again until the end was hacked off. Uneven, but Oliver seemed pleased with it.

Shards of Maddy’s light brown hair scattered to the floor. They glittered, not quite as much as the glass had, but they still held the light.

Oliver moved her back to study her again, dropping the scissors.

The scissors. They were a weapon too, right? Could Red get to them? And then what? She couldn’t stab Oliver Lavoy with them. She could threaten to, but he’d know it was an empty threat. And his might not be. Not rock paper scissors, but scissors knife rifle. Scissors lost every time in that game.

“Yours is too neat!” Oliver shouted. “Red’s hair is messy. Can you pull some bits out at the front, and some lumps at the top of your head?”

Maddy nodded, teasing out wispy strands of hair to frame her face like Red’s bangs. Pulling at clumps in the ponytail, so they stuck up on her head.

“Better!” Oliver shouted, and that smile was back, the one that didn’t belong. “Perfect.” He gave Maddy a shake on the shoulders. “You can do this, you know.”

He didn’t wait for her to disagree. He walked past Red, knife gripped hard in his hand, circling the kitchen counter where the music was loudest. He opened the lid of the saucepan and reached in, removing two phones, one with a marble orange case. He thumbed at the screens, probably checking the battery levels. “Okay,” he shouted over the noise. “Take your phone and Reyna’s. Actually, take Simon’s too, he’s on a different network.” He pulled

out a third phone. “You keep driving until you find a house and some help, or until the first bar of signal appears on one of these phones.”

He bundled the iPhones up in one hand and walked over, passing them to Maddy. She nodded, slipping two into her back pockets, one at the front. Oliver was blocking her, Red couldn’t see Maddy’s face, her eyes, but she could imagine the fear in them. Was this really going to happen?

“Look at me, Maddy,” Oliver barked, reaching his spare hand out, knocking a finger under her chin. “You can do this! Walk calmly out the door, turn to the side as soon as you can, that’s where you and Red look most alike, in profile. Walk to Don, take the keys out of his hand, then straight into the truck. Shut the door, start the engine. Back up, turn, and then drive the hell out of here. Not fast while you’re still in view. But once you’re past those trees, you put your foot down, understand? Drive as fast as you can into some signal, or to a house and a landline. And when you call the police, remember to tell them it’s an active shooter and they need to send officers right away. Do you know where to send them?”

Oliver shifted and Red could finally see Maddy. She looked frozen, welded to the floor of the RV. A quiver in her lower lip as she searched Oliver’s face for the right answer.

“McNair Cemetery Road,” Simon was the one to answer. “That’s the road we turned off down here. I remember. They’ll find us if you tell them that. Tell them to look for headlights.”

Maddy nodded, swallowing her bottom lip now, eyes glazed with terror, like she couldn’t even listen, like words were just noise battering against her ears.

“Maddy!” It was Arthur now, stepping around the swell of music. “I really don’t think you should do this. You shouldn’t. It’s too risky. There must be another way. Red?” Arthur looked back at her, desperation in the pinch of his mouth.

Red shook her head, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes to see Maddy this scared. Her Maddy.

“Don’t go,” she said. “Don’t do it, you don’t have to.”

“Shut up, you two!” Oliver roared, puppet head rolling loose on his neck as he whipped back to Maddy. “Don’t listen to them, they don’t understand. This is going to work, okay? Maddy, Madeline, look at me. It’s going to work and you will be fine. You’re going to save us all. You. You’re going to save us. It will work. It’s a Mom plan, a win-win.” Oliver’s voice was raw from shouting, cracking at the edges, just like his smile. “You get out of here and call for help. And once you’re safely gone, we can let the sniper know we still have Red. That will protect us in the meantime. She’s obviously worth something to them.”

But not to anyone else, clearly. Red once thought Oliver looked at her like a spare sister. She’d been wrong about the second word, though, the one that mattered.

“Don’t go, Maddy!” Arthur said, and there were tears in his eyes too. “Don’t! Red?!”

She was trying. But Maddy was listening to Oliver, and he had the knife. “Maddy!” Red cried.

“Oliver, can we think about th—” Reyna began.

“It’s okay!” Maddy shouted above their voices and the music, nodding her head too fast, eyes rattling with it. “It’s okay, everyone. I can do it. I’m going to get help for you, I promise. I can do it! I can save you all!”

“You don’t have to!” Red yelled back. “Just because Oliv—” Oliver turned on her, brandishing the knife.

“She’s made up her mind, Red, stop trying to manipulate her!”

“It’s okay, Red,” Maddy said, staring right at her, eyes locking on. “I can do it. I want to do it. I trust Oliver. I’ll save us all. I can. I’m not scared.”

But she was. She was so scared. Red had never wanted to see that look on her best friend’s face and now she’d probably never forget it.

“Right!” Oliver screamed above the song. “I’m going to turn the music off and I want the rest of you to be absolutely silent. Don’t say a thing! Red, you keep your mouth shut and you keep your hands where I can see them. Maddy, have you got the phones? Are you ready?”

She nodded.

Arthur was shaking his head.

“Okay!” Oliver shouted. “Go stand by the door.”

Maddy did, her feet dragging against the floor, like she was hoping the RV would grow up over them and trap her inside so she didn’t have to go. But she’d chosen, and she’d chosen Oliver, just like Red had countless times tonight. He was the natural leader, her big brother, and Red couldn’t compete with that.

Maddy waited by the door, fingers raised above the handle, shaking, and she looked just like Red, when you see yourself in one of those dressing room mirrors, see what you look like from behind. Maddy’s hair was only a shade or two darker, but the night would hide that. It had to. Because if Maddy was actually going to do this, then it had to work, Oliver had to be right and Red had to be wrong. Had to.

Should Red say goodbye? Tell Maddy she loved her, just in case. She’d had last words before, and she’d regretted them every day since. She could do it right this time. No. No, because they weren’t last words, and Maddy couldn’t think that either. This had to work. Maddy was going to drive out of here and she would be fine. She was going to save them all.

Maddy looked back over her shoulder, and Red told her as much as she could with her eyes.

Oliver pulled his phone out of the pan and tapped at the screen. The music cut out, the air hissing in its absence.

No, that was the static, back at last, filling Red’s ears. She breathed it in. Oliver rounded the kitchen counter, standing between Maddy and Red,

knife still gripped in his hand.

He looked at his sister and nodded his head. Just once.

“Red? Red?” Oliver said loudly, not looking at her. “Where are you going?”

Then he nodded at Maddy again.

Her lips were gone, sucked back into her face as she pushed down on the handle and the door swung open, inviting in the dark night.

“No,” Red whispered, and Oliver shot her a look, knife raised.

Maddy turned, bowed her head and walked down the stairs, the night taking her away. She reached the road, steps crunching beneath her, and then

pushed the door of the RV shut behind her.

“Come,” Oliver whispered, grabbing Red by her elbow, dragging her with him to the front of the RV.

“Where the fuck has Red just gone?” he shouted, voice grating in his throat and Red’s ear.

The others gathered in behind. Just five of them now. Simon leaped over the driver’s seat to see. Arthur pressed in on Red’s other side. The muscles in his face were flickering, a tortured look in his eyes as he stared out the windshield. He leaned forward, hands fidgeting against his legs, nails digging in. This will work, Red wanted to tell him. It had to, because the alternative was unthinkable. They were wrong, Oliver was right.

He had to be right, holding on to her elbow, knife in the other hand, eyes focused ahead.

Red caught movement in her periphery and whipped around, staring out the windshield into the night.

There was Maddy.

Red’s blue-and-yellow shirt glowing in the headlights.

She was walking toward the truck, toward the driver’s-side door. Slowly, every step measured and calm, pressing into the road and peeling up.

There was something dangling from Maddy’s left hand. The keys. She had the keys. This was going to work. Red was wrong, she was wrong and she didn’t need to have said any last words at all, because it was working.

Her heart was in her throat, beating so hard she couldn’t hear the static anymore.

She was wrong, it was going to work.

Maddy was just a few feet from the truck now, movement in her neck, ponytail swinging as she glanced up.

“Go on,” Oliver whispered, guiding her forward. Maddy stopped.

She reached out for the door handle. Crack.