Hunter and Halo
There’s no media scrum outside our house. No clutch of news vans at the end of Blackwood Drive. Helicopters circle over the forest, near the Hillises. Dad ushers us into the car, his head on swivel.
“Don’t talk to anyone who comes up to you,” he says, fumbling the key into the ignition. “If anyone bothers you, page me right away. ’Kay?”
“Is it really on the news?” I ask.
Leah nods at me from the front seat, eyebrows up. “It was on CNN this morning.”
Dad starts the car.
“—not said whether the disappearances are connected—” an unctuous NPR woman says. Dad switches the radio off.
Dad drives through Woodacre in silence. He’s taking us to the library, ostensibly to study, mostly to decompress. Mom spent the last few hours pacing the kitchen, slamming cabinet doors, fiddli
