Page 105 of Five Survive

Red raised the walkie-talkie to her lips, pressed the push-to-talk button.

“Help, call police! There’s a shooter down McNair Cemetery Road and one of us has been sh—”

A hand came out of nowhere, colliding with the walkie-talkie, smacking it out of Red’s hands.

It fell to the ground, shattering into pieces.

The static died with it.

Red’s eyes stayed down there with the broken walkie-talkie, not looking up. Because she knew that hand, the one that came out of nowhere. Knew the black scribbled check mark and boxes by his knuckles, matching the ones on hers.

It was Arthur.

Red’s gaze trailed up from the check mark on Arthur’s hand, up the sleeve of his shirt, to his face, inches from hers. Eyes wide and wretched behind his glasses, rubbed raw, mouth open and his breath heavy, shoulders moving with it.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not you.”

Arthur blinked, slow, painful, and that was answer enough somehow.

“What the fuck?!” Oliver was on his feet now, charging over, eyes skipping between the smashed walkie-talkie and Arthur. “It’s you!” he roared, taking a handful of Arthur’s shirt, shoving him back. “You’re the mole. I’m going to fucking kill you!”

In one quick movement, Oliver had Arthur’s arms pinned behind his back. Arthur didn’t struggle, he let it happen, watching it play out in the dark of Red’s eyes.

“Simon, search him!” Oliver barked, holding Arthur in place. “Search him!”

“What the fuck is going on?” Simon said, walking over, pink stains of Maddy’s blood up his forearms too. “Why did you do that, Arthur? I don’t underst—”

“He’s with the sniper,” Oliver cut him off. “He’s been playing usthis whole time. Search him. There’s probably a microphone on him. Quickly, Simon!”

Simon’s face cracked with the betrayal, shaking his head. But he did what Oliver asked, patting his hands down the sides of Arthur’s shirt, moving around to check the back pockets of his jeans. Then at the front, sliding his hand into each pocket.

“Got something,” he croaked, pulling out a small, round, plastic device, holding it up for Oliver to see.

“I knew he was listening, I knew we were bugged,” Oliver growled, letting Arthur go with a rough shove, grabbing the device from Simon.

“It’s not a microphone,” Arthur said, but Oliver was already moving, charging across the width of the RV to the window behind the sofa. He pulled a corner of the mattress free.

“No, wait!” Arthur said.

Oliver swung his arm in an arc, throwing the device outside, far into the darkness of this never-ending night. But it had to end sometime; morning was on its way.

Oliver turned back.

“Now we can talk,” he said darkly, “without your little friend out there listening.”

“He wasn’t listening,” Arthur replied. “That wasn’t a microphone.”

“What was it, then?” Simon asked this time, taking a step back from Arthur, so he was shoulder to shoulder with Oliver, bearing down. “What was it?”

Arthur’s breath stuttered in his throat, a dry, scratching sound.

He checked in with Red’s eyes before answering.

“It’s a button,” he said. “A remote control. For a light I attached to the top of the RV earlier.”

Red remembered him up there, while she was watching the moon cross the sky. She’d seen him climbing up the ladder and, yes, therehad been something in his pocket, hadn’t there? She’d thought it was his phone. But that wasn’t all. She also remembered the way his fingers had fiddled at the front of his jeans all night. He wasn’t fidgeting because he was scared, he’d been talking to the sniper. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not Arthur. Not him.

“With a light?” Oliver asked, eyes narrowing. “That’s how you were communicating with the snipers?”