20
I always thought cell phones wouldn’t work in the middle of the woods.
I take out my phone and stare at the incoming call uncomprehendingly. According to Caller ID, it’s Eugene.
I accept the call, mentally thanking the cellular tower deities of the woods, who are, more than likely, my Enlightened grandparents. They must have a booster or something for the Temple. If they don’t, I’ll have to buy Verizon stock when I get out of this.
“Eugene, where are you?” I bark into the phone. One of the cops looks at me worriedly. He must’ve mistaken the excitement in my voice for danger. Ignoring him, I continue, “Have you made progress?”
“We’re about to enter the woods via the road Hillary suggested,” Eugene says. “Regarding progress, I’m afraid it’s a long and disappointing story—”
I don’t h
