He found himself on the perimeter of a junky backyard, a small plot strewn with multiple kiddie pools and a duty-knotted garden hose. Sucking down the impossibly hot air, he leaned on a short chain link fence, gasping for relief. Tilly was nowhere in sight, but Theo didn’t trust the situation. The forest was too peaceful, too welcoming. Irritated, he swatted at the air, declaring his suspicion. The mosquitoes and cicadas and heat had always conspired against him. Why should they stop now?

Somewhat rested, he started to take off again, but then survival gave way to purpose, reminding him that he had messages to send. Brandishing the stolen phone, he leaped in excitement when it didn’t have a password; he hadn’t even considered that possibility. Crouching into a squat, he paused, struggling to remember Apollo’s phone number. It seemed important to text everyone.

The memory came suddenly, a rush of numbers that felt obvious as he saw them appear on the brightly illuminated screen. “Of course,” he muttered. His message was straightforward. “Hey, this is Theo! Stop the bombing. Erase the phone records. I’ve been caught. Love you guys! Kai the most.” He hesitated before sending it. It felt too much like a farewell, too formal. He sent it anyway, immediately regretting it and sending a follow-up. “stop the bombing. erase the phone records. on the run. FBI knows everything but can’t prove it or catch me. I’m Kendrick in this bitch.” He laughed, wondering if his call had been picked up. Apollo had once told him about a device called Hailstorm that could surveil phones. “Hailstorm, Hailstorm, what was the range on that?” he wondered aloud, tossing the phone behind him and standing up.

“Same range as a cell tower,” Tilly answered. “You move, I shoot,” she decreed.

Theo froze, the darkness settling over him, unsure of where she was. She didn’t sound even remotely winded, he noted.

Theo stood completely still, straining to hear Tilly’s breath over the thundering symphony of his pulse, the cicadas, and cars on a nearby road.

She spoke again, her voice taunting. “You almost got away, kid, but that old lady wasn’t senile. She gave us her phone number.”

Theo remained quiet as she continued. “The Hailstorm cannot detect the content of phone communications, but I don’t have to guess what you sent or who you sent it to. What are your friends doing tonight?”

“Bombing,” Theo said, his voice faint.

“Bombing what?”

“A mural or two.”

“More graffiti?”

“Like we always do.”

“Of course. Get over here, kid. You’re wasting my time.”