“That must have been so insanely terrifying,” I say honestly. “I mean, to be out there all by yourself, thinking you’re going to die.”

“Except that I wasn’t by myself,” Nora says. “I saw the truck driver before I passed out. He was the Good Samaritan. He walked in front of my headlights, and then crouched down next to my window. It was open because all the glass was broken.”

“And he pulled you out?”

“Yes,” Nora says. “But not right away. At first he checked on me. Then he called someone.”

“Nine-one-one?”

“I guess, but it sounded more like a normal conversation. Maybe he was asking a friend what to do. I’m sure he didn’t know whether he should move me or not.”

“I’m sure,” I echo, wanting to shake her for being so clueless. “What did he look like?” I ask, channeling Mason and Cassie.

“Uh…” Nora says, warily. “Just normal,” she says, and I don’t press it. In fact, I don’t say anything at all. “Anyway, then he came back over and said, ‘Help is coming,’ and I passed out a couple seconds after that.”

It hits me again that Nora doesn’t know she died.

“Wow,” I say, because it seems safe.

Nora’s quiet, except I can hear her inhale and exhale like she’s breathing through the trauma. Finally, she laughs a little.

“What’s funny?” I ask.

“It’s just weird what you remember.”

“Like what?”

“Like the guy,” Nora says. “It’s mean, because he saved me and all, but he reminded me a little of Daffy Duck.”

“Huh?” I ask. “He looked like a duck?”

“No,” Nora clarifies. “He reminded me of him. It was his voice. He had a lisp. It wasn’t as pronounced as Daffy’s, but…”

Nora keeps talking about cartoon characters, but I don’t hear her. I’m lost in thought, time-traveling back to when we first came to Omaha and I visited the aquarium. I remember the unsettling stranger who talked to me and then disappeared.

The otherwise nondescript stranger with a lisp.

Even though lisps are incredibly common, I feel it in my bones that this is more than a coincidence. But why would the same agent who was there to Revive Nora—who possibly caused her death—be at the aquarium? And why would an agent be so covert while speaking with me? We’re one big network, all working together. Everyone knows one another. Everyone except…

The hairs on my arms stand up; a shiver dances down my spine.

“Are you there, Daisy?” Nora asks.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’ve got to go.”

I end the call before she says goodbye, and then I sit in shock.

Finally, because I’ve got to tell someone, I dial Megan. The second she picks up, before she has the chance to say anything, I spill.

“Megs,” I say, fear in my voice, “I’m pretty sure I saw God.”

The floorboards creak outside my door and I stop talking for a minute to listen. When no one comes in, I continue in a whisper.

“Even though Nora hasn’t confirmed that someone had her killed, I know it’s true,” I say. “And that is just… off-the-rails crazy. And then they hid her, but didn’t tell her about the program, and now they’re Reviving new Converts? It’s all too much. If this is how things are going, I’m even more worried about Matt. I’m going to pull together notes on everything I know and share them with Mason tomorrow,” I say. “He’ll know what to do.”

“I think it’s the right move,” Megan says. “You’re taking control.”

“Love you, Megs,” I say.

“Love you more.”

When I finally go to bed, I imagine Matt’s car being driven off the road and have to shake my head to fight off the thought. I toss and turn for hours, thinking of one gruesome scenario after another. I lie on my left side and the thoughts are there. I switch to my right—no escape.

Finally, I force myself to remember that Matt isn’t Nora: He won’t tell.

Then again, I think as I flip to my stomach, it seems that God paid me a visit, so maybe he’s watching me. And if he’s watching, then maybe he already knows, anyway.

thirty-six

In the morning, anxiety slams into me. Then I think of Audrey singing to Matt and me at the breakfast table and I smile. I climb out of bed, shower, and go to find Mason before school.

Unfortunately, he and Cassie are on their way out.

“We need supplies,” he says. “We’re headed to the store. Want to come?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“I’ll let you drive,” he offers.

“Sold.”

Cassie sits in the back and I buckle into the driver’s seat. I’ve only had two lessons, but I have my learner’s permit now, so I sort of know what I’m doing. Even so, easing the tank out of the driveway is no easy task: I run over a patch of yard in the process.

I do better on the main roads, and somehow I manage to get us to the supermarket in one piece. Mason and Cassie put on parent faces as we walk inside, and I bounce along after them, giddy from driving.

The store is unusually busy and the lines are so long that I start to worry that I’ll be late for school. We split up to shop and manage to do it pretty quickly. Then, even though we’re pressed for time and it would be faster if Mason drove back to the house, I don’t pass up the opportunity to pilot the return trip, too.

More confident this time, I have no trouble at all, not even with the sharp turn onto our street. But just when I blinker to pull into the driveway, Mason’s hand flies to my knee.

“Stop,” he commands.

“What?” I say, slamming on the brakes. I look at the street in front of me and behind. I’m afraid I’ve run over something or someone.

“Shh,” he hisses.

Confused, I look at Mason’s face. And that’s when I want to scream.

Mason is a different person, one I’ve never seen before. Every muscle in his body is tense. His eyes are narrow, piercing. His jaw is clenched. And even though I didn’t see him grab it—didn’t know he had it on him—he’s holding his gun.

“Back down the street,” Mason says. Suddenly, I can’t remember how to put the car in reverse. I fumble with a few things before Cassie pops up from the backseat and pulls the gearshift down to R. Slowly, I manage to creep backward a few dozen feet away from the house.

“I’ll go,” Cassie says to Mason. “You stay with her.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Mason says. “Drive away. Check in ten.”

Cassie nods once.

In seconds, Mason is inside the house, I’m ducked down in the back, and Cassie is driving a little too fast for residential streets. Only when I peek out the window at the house as we’re speeding away do I realize what freaked Mason out in the first place.

The front door is wide open.

thirty-seven

“Are we moving here?”

“No, it’s just a safe house,” Mason says.

I’m standing in a dirty living room in Hayes, Texas, frowning at my surroundings in disbelief. I feel like I was teleported here when, really, it took thirteen hours by car. And still, I know nothing. Mason and Cassie were engrossed in their too-quiet conversation or calls from other Disciples the whole way. And with no one to talk to, the weight of too many nights with too little sleep got to me. The only scenery I saw was the backs of my closed eyelids.