Page 95 of Five Survive

But Redwasthe witness. She might be a liar but that part was true. Then why hadn’t the sniper killed her, the small voice in her head asked. She should be dead now. That must have been what they wanted, what all this was about.

“Why would she be working with them?” Reyna spat, and it was clear which side she was taking. Reyna couldn’t have been that otheryesvote, could she? But that left Simon, Arthur or Maddy, and that hurt more.

“I don’t know,” Oliver spat back. “Money? Everyone knows Red needs money.”

Red winced. Everyone did, huh?

“But what does the sniper want if this isn’t about Red being the witness?” Simon asked, moving his hands up and down like a weighing scale, shooting Red a sympathetic look so she knew it was only hypothetical. Had he been theYesvote? No, Simon wouldn’t do that to her.

“I don’t know but—you know what—it doesn’t really matter anymore.” Oliver’s eyes flashed. “Because now we…Wait, hold on a second. Red, hold your hands up in the air where I can see them. Do itnow!”

Red hesitated, glancing around the RV at the rest of them. No,not again. Were they turning on her again? No, she shouldn’t think like that. This was Oliver, all Oliver. They weren’t on his side, they’d fought him to open the door so Arthur could come get Red, that must be what happened, reading the signs. And yet there was danger in Oliver’s downcast eyes, and Red didn’t want to set him off again, the terror stirring in her gut.

She put her hands up by her head, palms open, arms bent at the elbows, glancing back at the kitchen counter, at the walkie-talkie hissing away on top of it. Her job, her responsibility.

“Keep them there,” Oliver said, charging forward, but he moved past her, into the kitchen.

Red looked back at Arthur. He was shaking his head.

Oliver went to the oven, pulled it open and reached inside, coming back with the saucepan, lid taped down. He brought it over to the counter and started picking at the pieces of duct tape, peeling them away.

“Oliver?” Maddy asked.

He shushed her, the sound too harsh, like a coiled snake buried there in his throat.

Oliver slid off the lid and reached inside. His hand closed around his own phone, pulling it out from under the rest.

He held a finger up, demanding silence from the rest of them, as he then turned to his backpack on the counter, reaching his spare hand inside. The hand reemerged clasped around a Bluetooth speaker, black and round, dotted in honeycomb holes.

He turned it on with a welcome beep, and then unlocked his phone to connect.

Red watched him scrolling through his music app again, selecting a playlist labeledClassic Rock.He pressed play on a song and slid the volume bar all the way up.

The guitar began, deafening, striking up and down. Then the drums, shaking the RV and the very bones inside her.

Red looked at Oliver’s screen before he dropped it back into the saucepan, replacing the lid. The song was “Paranoid” by Black Sabbath, and Red must be losing her mind because she almost found that funny, standing here with her hands raised like a fugitive. All because she didn’t die.

Oliver grabbed the walkie-talkie, placing it right beside the too-loud speaker. He still thought it was bugged, didn’t he? Or he wasn’t taking the chance for whatever he had to say next. Oliver moved away, gesturing silently for the others to gather around him by the table. They did. They must have been scared of the danger in his eyes too. Arthur came to stand beside Red, the fabric of his shirt brushing against her raised arms.

“Red,” Oliver said, and she could only just hear him over the music blaring behind her. “Keep your hands where I can see them or I will duct-tape them behind your back.”

“That’s not necessary,” Arthur growled back at him.

Red’s arms were aching already, elbows drooping, but she kept them up, gritting her teeth.

Oliver’s eyes circled the group, skipping over Red. “What I was saying is, it doesn’t matter anymore, whatever this secret is that the sniper wants. Because now we have the upper hand.”

He paused, waiting for the vocals to come back in on the song.

“We know they won’t shoot Red,” Oliver shouted, voice still half buried. “She’s immune, for whatever reason, whether she’s the mole or the witness or…it doesn’t matter. What matters is that they won’t shoot her. And now we know that. And we can use it.”

“What are you saying?” Reyna shouted, words almost lost under the noise.

“I’m saying that Red can leave the RV without getting shot!” Oliver replied. “She’s immune. We can use that to escape.”

“You mean send Red out to go get help?” Simon yelled, hands cupped over his ears.

“No, not Red!” Oliver returned, shooting a glance her way, and she raised her hands a little higher. “I don’t trust her. She could be the mole, working with them.”

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