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graying hair back in a ponytail and got in on the driver’s side. Danny got in next to him. Waltplugged the strange address he’d been given—44 Correctional Institution Road—into the GPS, and off they went.
    The Tesla was fast and sleek, and despite himself Danny felt seventeen shades of awesome riding in it. They drove quickly through what turned out to be the surprisingly small town of Cobalt. It was little more than a glorified crossroads, four streets, a couple of hundred houses, a 7-Eleven, a garage, a bakery, a Denny’s.
    â€œI think that’s your school,” Walt said, pointing to half a dozen redbrick buildings cleared from the forest.
    â€œI hope not,” Danny said.
    Walt winked at him. “Meaning to talk to you about this. Listen, son, you gotta float under the radar; just stick it out for a few months until we’re settled. You don’t have to stay there forever.”
    Danny didn’t like Walt’s tone. He wasn’t going to be part of a conspiracy to put one over on his mother. “I’ll stick out the school if you stick out the job, Walt,” Danny said.
    Walt bristled. “Don’t give me that goddamn look, son, I’m not a total screwup, you know.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” Danny said under his breath.
    The GPS took them to Correctional Institution Road in about ten minutes. Its odd name did not turn out to be much of a mystery.
    In the space of about five miles they rolled past correctional institution after correctional institution. Federal prisons, state prisons, maximum-security prisons, minimum-security prisons, and a terrifying bunkerlike placecalled ADX Cobalt or, to give it the full name on the sign, “The United States Penitentiary Administrative Maximum Facility of Cobalt, Colorado.”
    This was the famous Supermax prison that Walt thought he’d seen a documentary about on the National Geographic Channel. “This place has got the worst of the worst. All the terrorists you can think of, serial killers, you name it. They only get out one hour a day or something. Did you see that documentary?”
    â€œNo, I hate that channel,” Danny said.
    â€œYou should watch it. It’s good. You learn stuff. They had this whole thing about Stonehenge last week, did you see that one?”
    Danny ignored him and looked out the window at the ADX, fascinated by the coils of razor wire, lookout towers, an alleged antiaircraft battery, and even a moat.
    â€œOh yeah,” Walt continued, unfazed. “Apparently, before the Stonehenge they said there was a wood henge and before that there was a dirt henge … Wait! I think this is it.”
    Number 44 Correctional Institution Road was right next to the Supermax. It also appeared to be a prison, but not quite as intimidating as its neighbor. It was surrounded by a wire fence, which disconcertingly had holes in it, and beyond the fence the inmates appeared to live in what looked like mobile homes. A small sign said COBALT COLORADO FCF , 44 CORRECTIONAL INSTITUTION ROAD .
    â€œAre you sure this is the right address?” Danny asked. Itwouldn’t be the first time that Walt had gotten something like this wrong.
    â€œI’m pretty sure,” Walt said dubiously, driving up to a wooden hut at the prison entrance. A none-too-sturdy metal bar ran across the road, and a sign said PRESS FOR SERVICE .
    â€œI’ll do it,” Danny muttered. He got out of the Tesla and laid down his board, but the road, wasn’t cement—it was just compacted dirt. Disgusted, he picked Sunflower up and walked to the hut. He pushed the button.
    â€œYes?” a voice said through an intercom.
    â€œWe’re here to see, uh, a Mr. Randall?”
    â€œWhat’s your name?”
    â€œI guess … Brown.”
    â€œCome on up.”
    The swing bar lifted vertically. Danny got back in the Tesla and they drove through the gate.
    A man with a shotgun in a guard