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metal detector, because I’ll turn around and walk right back out. Everything I saw in Alistair Meade’s trailer tells me that this group, the Citizens for Freedom, or whatever they call themselves, is legit, but up until a few days ago, I thought that Valor Savings Bank and the police were legit. When you don’t know what’s real anymore, it’s always better to have a loaded gun.
    Whatever history they have, Wyatt and Chance seem like they’re on the same team right now. Wyatt’s in front, Chance is in back, both in gorilla mode with Gabriela and me between them. Everyone’s twitchy. I subtly move my gun around to my hip in case I need to draw it. Carrying my Valor gun feels right tonight, but everything feels so wrong. Now that we’re around people, I’m twitchy and raw, an exposed nerve. My skinny jeans feel like a layer of hardened sweat, and I know I look and smell as bad as I feel.
    Another guy in a yellow vest is guiding people to an open set of double doors, and it’s fucking terrifying. There are no outside lights, but an extension cord shows a chain of lanterns going in, almost like we’re descending into a cave. It doesn’t even look like a high school; it looks like the pit to hell. I would’ve gone to Bear Creek, but theyclosed it and built Big Creek when I was a kid. It was a big deal—what to do with this land. For whatever reason, no one was allowed to get rid of it and build parks or houses, so here it is, a broke-down school that’s been empty for ten years. The guy by the doors has an assault rifle, which sets my blood cold.
    â€œG’won in,” he says with a thick Southern accent.
    Wyatt turns to meet Chance’s eyes, and I can almost read the conversation.
    What the hell are we going in to?
    Can it possibly be worse than where we’re coming from?
    Too late. More people are behind us with more headlights turning in all the time, and we don’t have a lot of choice. It reminds me of being in line for a roller coaster. By the time you decide you don’t want to ride it, they’re already snapping down the harness.
    We step into the hallway, and the scent is what hits me first—mildew and animal piss overlying that same weird smell that every school has that tells you you’re in trouble, or at least that you’re going to be miserable for a while. The classroom doors are closed, their glass windows pitch-black. All we have to guide us is the string of lanterns, one every twelve feet or so.
    The lights lead us around a corner toward the sound of a crowd trying to be quiet. A line of people waits at a set of double doors, and at first I can’t place the swoopy robot sound.
    â€œMetal detectors? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Wyattmurmurs, and my gun feels red-hot against my skin. I’ll run before I let them take it from me.
    â€œYou’re clean. Find a seat,” says the woman holding the wand, and then it’s our turn.
    â€œWe’re not giving up our guns,” Wyatt says quietly, and the woman barks a smoker’s laugh.
    â€œThen maybe y’all deserve to live,” she says. “You can keep your guns. We’re checking for wires and tech. Gotta make sure Valor ain’t listening in. Arms out, please.”
    Wyatt holds his arms out, and the woman swoops the loop over him. It bings loudly when it hits his backpack, and she gives him a sharp look.
    â€œWhat are you carrying, son?”
    Wyatt shakes his head, furious. “Nothing from Valor.”
    A bearded guy in his forties who looks a little like a bear yanks the pack off Wyatt’s arm. “You’d better hope that’s not what it sounds like, kid,” he says, all gruff menace. I take a step toward Wyatt, wanting to comfort him or defend him, and the guy with the beard stops me with a hand. He looks at me closely, eyebrows drawn down. “Stand back, honey. You don’t want to get