dad’s truck is still a good half mile in front of us—two faint red dragon’s eyes staring back from the depths of the cave. But with no other cars to hide behind . . . “He’ll see us.”
“Then he’ll see us. But I can’t drive like this. I wouldn’t worry, though—we’re so far, he’ll never make us out.”
With a twist, Timothy flicks on the lights, and the gray road appears in front of us. I wait for the dragon’s eyes to glow brighter . . . for my dad to panic and hit the brakes . . . but he just keeps moving. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I pull out my cell phone to check the time. The bars for my signal fade from four . . . three . . . two . . . just a tiny X. No signal.
“If you want, we can turn back,” Timothy offers. “Have them call in the helicopters and—”
“No,” I insist. I lost my father once. Now that he’s back, I need to know why. “I’m fine,” I tell him.
“I didn’t ask that, Cal.”
“Just stay with him,” I add, squinting into the night and never losing sight of the dragon’s eyes.
For the next few miles, we chase him deeper down the desolate road, which I swear narrows with each mile marker. By the time we hit mile marker twenty-two, we’re so deep in the Everglades, the black sky presses down like a circus tent after they’ve yanked the main pole.
“This was stupid of us,” Timothy says. “What if this was the whole point: to lead us out where there’re no witnesses, no one to protect us, and only one way to get in or out?”
I’ve known Timothy a long time. He rarely lets a hair get out of place. But as he grips the steering wheel, I see a clump of them matted by sweat on his forehead. “Listen, Timothy, if this were an ambush—”
Out in the darkness, halfway between us and my dad, two other red dragon’s eyes pop open.
“Cal—”
“I see it.”
We both lean forward, tightening our squints. It’s another car. Parked on the side of the road from the looks of it.
Without a word, Timothy pumps the brakes and shuts the lights. I assume he’s trying to use the darkness to hide us—but in the distance, the new dragon’s eyes shake and rumble . . . then shrink away from us. This new car—it’s got no interest in us. It takes off, chasing my dad.
“Maybe that’s his buyer. Or his girlfriend.”
A burst of blue light explodes from the new car. I blink once, then again, making sure I see it right. Damn.
“Cops,” Timothy agrees. “State troopers, I bet. They love Alligator Alley as a speed trap.”
Sure enough, the new car zips forward, a blazing blue firefly zigzagging toward my dad’s truck. The dragon’s eyes on the eighteen-wheeler go bright red as my dad hits the brakes. But it’s not until they both slow down and pull off onto the shoulder of the road that we finally get our first good look.
“You sure that’s a cop car?” Timothy asks.
I lean forward in the passenger seat, my fingertips touching the dash and my forehead almost touching the front windshield. That’s not a car. It’s a van. And not a police van. No, the siren’s not on top. The blue light pulses from within, lighting up the two back windows where the tint is peeling.
I lean in closer. My forehead taps the windshield.
There’s a swarm of rust along the back.
My tongue swells in my mouth, and I can barely breathe.
What the hell’s my van doing out here?
13
T imothy rides the brakes, keeping his distance. “Cal, maybe we should wait back and—”
“That’s my— Someone stole my van from the parking lot.
Get us up there!
”
We’re barely a few hundred feet away as a uniformed cop approaches the driver’s-side door of my father’s truck. My dad rolls down his window . . . a few words go back and forth . . .
“Looks like he’s giving him a ticket,” Timothy says as we slow down and veer toward the shoulder of the road. The cop looks our way, shielding his eyes as we flick on our headlights. I’m too busy rechecking the license
“Then he’ll see us. But I can’t drive like this. I wouldn’t worry, though—we’re so far, he’ll never make us out.”
With a twist, Timothy flicks on the lights, and the gray road appears in front of us. I wait for the dragon’s eyes to glow brighter . . . for my dad to panic and hit the brakes . . . but he just keeps moving. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I pull out my cell phone to check the time. The bars for my signal fade from four . . . three . . . two . . . just a tiny X. No signal.
“If you want, we can turn back,” Timothy offers. “Have them call in the helicopters and—”
“No,” I insist. I lost my father once. Now that he’s back, I need to know why. “I’m fine,” I tell him.
“I didn’t ask that, Cal.”
“Just stay with him,” I add, squinting into the night and never losing sight of the dragon’s eyes.
For the next few miles, we chase him deeper down the desolate road, which I swear narrows with each mile marker. By the time we hit mile marker twenty-two, we’re so deep in the Everglades, the black sky presses down like a circus tent after they’ve yanked the main pole.
“This was stupid of us,” Timothy says. “What if this was the whole point: to lead us out where there’re no witnesses, no one to protect us, and only one way to get in or out?”
I’ve known Timothy a long time. He rarely lets a hair get out of place. But as he grips the steering wheel, I see a clump of them matted by sweat on his forehead. “Listen, Timothy, if this were an ambush—”
Out in the darkness, halfway between us and my dad, two other red dragon’s eyes pop open.
“Cal—”
“I see it.”
We both lean forward, tightening our squints. It’s another car. Parked on the side of the road from the looks of it.
Without a word, Timothy pumps the brakes and shuts the lights. I assume he’s trying to use the darkness to hide us—but in the distance, the new dragon’s eyes shake and rumble . . . then shrink away from us. This new car—it’s got no interest in us. It takes off, chasing my dad.
“Maybe that’s his buyer. Or his girlfriend.”
A burst of blue light explodes from the new car. I blink once, then again, making sure I see it right. Damn.
“Cops,” Timothy agrees. “State troopers, I bet. They love Alligator Alley as a speed trap.”
Sure enough, the new car zips forward, a blazing blue firefly zigzagging toward my dad’s truck. The dragon’s eyes on the eighteen-wheeler go bright red as my dad hits the brakes. But it’s not until they both slow down and pull off onto the shoulder of the road that we finally get our first good look.
“You sure that’s a cop car?” Timothy asks.
I lean forward in the passenger seat, my fingertips touching the dash and my forehead almost touching the front windshield. That’s not a car. It’s a van. And not a police van. No, the siren’s not on top. The blue light pulses from within, lighting up the two back windows where the tint is peeling.
I lean in closer. My forehead taps the windshield.
There’s a swarm of rust along the back.
My tongue swells in my mouth, and I can barely breathe.
What the hell’s my van doing out here?
13
T imothy rides the brakes, keeping his distance. “Cal, maybe we should wait back and—”
“That’s my— Someone stole my van from the parking lot.
Get us up there!
”
We’re barely a few hundred feet away as a uniformed cop approaches the driver’s-side door of my father’s truck. My dad rolls down his window . . . a few words go back and forth . . .
“Looks like he’s giving him a ticket,” Timothy says as we slow down and veer toward the shoulder of the road. The cop looks our way, shielding his eyes as we flick on our headlights. I’m too busy rechecking the license
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