He walked down the planked walkway and around the back of the club. If he was going to head to the center of town to see what was happening, he’d have to be careful. Take narrow pathways between buildings. If he had to cross a road, do it as quickly as possible. Those fucking Arrivals, quiet as they were, could sneak up on you real fast.

“Derek.”

He knew the voice.

Derek stopped and turned slowly. Brandon Kyle, minus his enhanced stomach, his clothes streaked with mud, was half-hidden behind half a dozen tall blue garbage cans at the back of the yacht club.

“Mr. Kyle,” he said. “You look a little worse for wear.”

“I’m not having a very good day,” Kyle said.

“You didn’t make it off the island.”

“No,” Kyle said. “But not for lack of trying.”

Derek nodded, feigning sympathy. He offered up a weak smile. “I kind of like it here. Or think I would, when the crazy car thing is over.”

“Like to spend the rest of your life here?”

Derek gave the question some thought. “Perhaps.”

“I can help you with that,” Kyle said, raising his arm suddenly.

“Jesus, Mr. Kyle,” Derek said, seeing the gun in the man’s hand. “There’s no call for that.”

“I’ve been so good to you,” Kyle said.

“Mr. Kyle, please—”

Kyle fired, putting a bullet squarely in Derek’s chest.

The man’s mouth opened wide—as much in shock as in pain—but no sound came out. He put a hand to his chest, held it there, then dropped silently to his knees. Five seconds after that, he fell to the ground completely.

If anyone had heard the shot—and Kyle had no doubt that people had—they weren’t coming to investigate. It was the Wild West in Garrett today.

Kyle tucked the weapon into the back of his belt, flipped his jacket over it so it wouldn’t be seen, then got out his phone to double-check how to get to the address he’d looked up earlier. He was going to have to do it on foot, of course. Maybe a ten-, fifteen-minute walk, more if he had to take a longer route to avoid Arrivals.

Derek attempted to speak, but his throat was filling with blood. But in his last few seconds, he managed to raise one hand a few inches off the pavement and extend his middle finger.

But Kyle didn’t see it. He was already on the move.

Forty-Five

They still had to get home.

Sandra was comforted by Archie’s arms locked around her as they sped through the streets of Garrett, but she was constantly watching for more Arrivals. She hadn’t forgotten how, while on that bicycle, she’d dropped her guard a moment and nearly ended up as an Arrival hood ornament.