Page 99 of Not Quite Dead Yet

She did stop, because the gate was right up ahead.

Jet grabbed a handful of Billy’s shirt, dragging him off the drive and into the tree line.

‘Camera faces this way.’ She didn’t let go of him. ‘We can sneak up behind it, cover the lens with tape.’

‘Have you done this before?’ Billy whispered.

‘What?’

‘Crimes?’

‘No,’ Jet snorted. ‘But I’ve watched TV, so …’

They walked slowly, together, skirting the thick undergrowth that lined the drive, eyes on the gate, the big white-and-blue sign that read:Mason Construction.A little boxy logo of a house, two windows and a roof.

Jet pointed out the small white camera, mounted on one of the posts.

They approached it from behind, hidden in the shadows, in its blind spot.

‘I’m too small,’ Jet said. ‘And one-armed. Can you …?’

Billy took the duct tape from her wrist, pulled a section free – hissing like a trapped wasp – and tore it off with his teeth. He reached up and around, pressing the tape over the front of the camera, adding another piece to be sure.

Jet walked over to the gate, stepped in front of the taped-up camera, and flipped it off. She’d only said it as a joke, but maybe she really was having fun. Billy too, joining her in front of the blind camera, raising his shirt up, flashing the pale flesh of his tight belly, even giving it a nipple.

Jet laughed, crashing into him.

Billy held her up, pointing to the keypad in the middle of the gate.

‘You know the code?’

‘Yeah.’ Jet clicked on the flashlight, pointing the beam at the metal keypad, trying to ignore that she saw two beams where there should be one. ‘I came to work here, actually, for a couple months, after I left Boston. Had to leave because Luke was too annoying about it, thought he’d start pissing in all the corners, claiming his territory. I didn’t want to be here anyway.’

She handed Billy the flashlight, freeing up her hand.

Pressed her finger to the buttons, the metal cold, stinging her skin.

‘022492,’ she said aloud as she punched it in. ‘Emily’s birthday.’

The gate buzzed, grating in her ears as it swung open, letting them through.

‘Breaking and entering,’ Billy muttered, following Jet as she turned the corner, the brick-and-metal building sitting there, waiting for them against the dark sky.

‘Just entering for now,’ Jet corrected. ‘Haven’t broken anything. Yet.’

They passed a parking lot, regimented rows of white vans with theMason Constructionlogo emblazoned on the side. A small army, Woodstock’s own.

‘There’s a camera on the main entrance too.’ Jet pointed, Billy’s flashlight following her finger. ‘Careful,’ she hissed, ‘don’t let it see the light. If you hide behind the wall and reach over, you should be able to get the tape on it.’

‘Yeah, I can do that,’ Billy said, sizing it up. ‘You wait here.’

He passed the flashlight back, fingers grazing hers, and hurried over to the wall, using it as cover. He tore off a long bit of tape, dropped the roll into his pocket, and pressed his back to the wall, pausing to shoot two thumbs up at Jet.

She shot one back, just one, all she had.

Billy sidled over to the corner, peered around, his hand following his eyes, reaching. Reaching harder.

‘Two inches up,’ Jet said.

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