Joe slipped out of the room. She heard him go down the stairs and out the door. She picked up the remote with her bony hands and hit the red button to turn on the oversized, boxy television that sat atop her dresser. She flipped through the channels until she landed on CNN. Where was Wolf? Wasn’t Wolf supposed to be on now? It was one of the women anchors. Lillian couldn’t keep them all straight. They all looked the same to her. All very young and very pretty. At least when it was Wolf, you knew it was Wolf.

The female anchor was saying, “Details of what, exactly, is happening on Garrett Island continue to come in. There are reports of multiple casualties as autonomous cars made by the Arrival corporation continue to go haywire. And it’s not just happening on the island. We’re hearing that across the country.”

She watched a few more minutes of the news and concluded that she knew more than the reporters did. She’d had some firsthand experience of what was going on here.

Lillian picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels.

“Oh,” she said when she landed on Dr. Phil.

He should do a show on her, she thought. Dr. Phil should do a show about sons who were thinking about putting their mothers in a home.

She couldn’t imagine that Joe would do that now. Not after what she had been through. She’d been traumatized.

Every cloud had a silver lining.

Joe hopped onto his stolen bike and pedaled toward the downtown. The headquarters of the Garrett Island Police Department was one block off the common, and that seemed like the most sensible place from which to get a handle on things.

The street out front of the house he shared with his mother was, at least right now, clear of Arrivals, so he was able to make good time. He was rounding a corner into another part of the neighborhood, the coast still clear, when his cell phone rang.

He took one hand off the handlebars and got the phone out of his pocket. On the screen were the words lisa carver.

So maybe she wasn’t the one who’d been injured at the event. When he’d talked to his dispatcher, he’d said something about the president of the company losing her leg. Maybe she wasn’t as badly hurt as he’d been led to believe. He tapped on the screen to take the call.

“Chief Bridgeman,” he said.

“Joe!”

Who the hell—

“Sandra?” he said.

“Yes!” she cried.

“Are you okay? And why are you using Lisa—”

“Where are you?” she said.

“I just left my house. One of those cars tried to get my mom and—”

“Oh God! Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, she’s fine.”