“Can’t it? Think about it, Dad. Everyone in this godforsaken town is so brainwashed over this football team that they either can’t or just won’t see what’s really going on. They’re so hung up on wins and losses, victory and revenge, that they haven’t even questioned how those guys could have possibly survived that crash. But you’re not from here, which makes you one of the few sensible people around.”

“Those boys walked into that picnic on their own two feet, Savannah. Why would their parents question the players’ survival?”

“They wouldn’t. And Cole and I knew they wouldn’t. But you’re not one of them, Dad. You can’t tell me you haven’t questioned it. You were on that bus Friday night. You saw what happened to your team, and you know they couldn’t have lived through it.”

“I thought you said they didn’t live through it.”

“That’s right. They didn’t. They’re dead.” She paused. “They’re as dead as your assistant coaching staff.” He turned from the window, and she nodded. “Yes. For whatever reason, Mona only brought back the players. I’m sorry for the loss of your colleagues, Dad. But if it’s any help, I’d say your assistants got the better deal. At least they’ve gone on to a better place. The Jackrabbits are stuck in Killington, looking for food and stinking up the place even more.”

The kitchen fell silent. Savannah gave him a moment to absorb what she’d said.

“I suppose you’re going to tell me this Mona is also the one who healed Logan’s hand?”

“Yes. Surely you had suspicions about that, too, right? There’s no way that hand could have healed as quickly as it did, not without some kind of miracle … some kind of magic.”

Hickham returned his gaze to the window. “So where is she now? This … Black Mona?”

Savannah told him about Mona’s death at the riverside, finishing with the old lady’s dying words. “The last thing she said was that victory over the Badgers was the only thing that could save the Jackrabbits’ souls. Otherwise, I guess they’ll just remain in limbo. From what I saw at the Blunts’ ranch, it’s not going to be a very pleasant eternity, not to mention a particularly safe one for the rest of society.”

“So what you’re telling me is that this crazy old woman sold my players’ souls … and her own, for victory?”

“She’s a Jackrabbits fan, Dad. It’s what they do.”

He returned to the table and gazed up through glassy eyes. “And what exactly do you want me to do?”

Her hand fell on his arm. “First, I want you to tell me that you’re all right. That we’re all right.”

“Aren’t we?”