The snow had melted and the streets had returned to their normal sizes during the twilight that followed the sunrise. Buildings no longer loomed crazily. The cracks in the roads had healed over and now the only damage remaining had been done by the town’s inhabitants.

When dawn had come, the people had reverted. Amber had been outside. She had watched them fall to their knees, weeping at their loss, each one of them feeling the same pain yet isolated in their own grief. One by one they dragged themselves home, still crying uncontrollably, and closed their front doors.

The cops had come, then. Lucy Thornton and the officers who had survived the night came in trucks, picking the dead and the injured up off the ground. They would have gathered up the remains of their very own Chief Novak, but Amber hadn’t been around to see that. She wondered how they were coping with his loss.

Once the dead were taken away and the injured were carted off, the clean-up began. Glass was swept and sidewalks were washed of blood. Rubble was collected. Torched and trashed cars were towed.

At around nine, the people re-emerged from their houses, their tears dry. They replaced windows and fixed doors and hammered and drilled and worked, and they did all this silently. They didn’t look at one another if they could help it. They didn’t make eye contact.

The kids weren’t allowed out yet. Amber didn’t know if they were still in their panic rooms or if they were just confined to their houses. Either way, the town had to be made presentable for the lies to continue.

Amber walked back to Virgil’s house. The Charger was parked on the road outside and the van sat on the driveway. Warrick was checking it when he saw Amber.

“She’s been shot,” he said. “Look. Three bullet holes.”

She looked. “Did they hit anything important?”

“Just bodywork. Still, though … she’s injured. My baby is injured.”

“She’ll live. And how are you?”

“Me? I’m fine. Everything’s in working order. A few extra bumps and bruises, but those are to be expected, are they not? Hey, maybe if I sat in the Charger for a while …”

“The healing thing only works on Milo, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah,” Warrick said dejectedly, “that’s what I figured. It’s some car, all right. He was knocked around pretty rough last night and this morning it’s like nothing happened. That’s a handy vehicle to have in this line of work.” He slapped a hand on the van. “You hear that, you lazy thing? Milo’s car heals him when he’s hurt. When was the last time you patched me up, huh?” He rolled his eyes, and they settled on the Charger. “How long has he had it?”

“Hmm? Oh … God, I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.”