Dany looks at her aunt.
There is a goose egg rising on Aunt Norah’s forehead. A cartoon circle and stars revolve around her head. Mac is curled up in the footwell, and Eva, hands gripping the steering wheel, is pale with panic.
Only then does she dare to look at Faraday, beside her.
Dany sees the dark blossom of blood on the teacher’s pale blue shirt. Too high for the heart. Too low for the throat. His chest is rising and falling. Breath. Life. But there is blood dripping from his open mouth too.
The wave of panic dims – and she feels it, the descent of dead calm. With calm comes reason. First, she pulls her mask out of her pocket, and slips it on her face. Her fingers, practiced at the motion, reform the seal. “Knife, scissors. Something sharp, now,” Dany calls out, holding her ha
