Three patrol cars were approaching up Goliad Avenue as Cole exited the building. They were less than a quarter mile away, lights and sirens screaming.

Savannah stepped aside as Cole hustled onto the bus and placed Curtis on the floor behind the driver’s seat. He sat back behind the wheel and noted the shock on Savannah’s face.

He answered her unspoken inquiry with one word. “Coodles.”

Cole had to maneuver the bus around police barricades and streams of yellow crime-scene tape to get to the center of what remained of Leightner Bridge.

He shut off the engine. Silence stretched out for a few seconds before Savannah whispered Cole’s name.

He pivoted toward her. Tears welled in her eyes, even as her mouth formed a fragile smile.

“I think we’ve done it right, Logan. I think this is where they’re supposed to be.” She motioned for him to look back.

He came slowly out of the seat and turned.

A chill raked his spine.

His teammates were glowing a brilliant cerulean blue. And they were whole again.

Strong. Healthy.

Healed.

The wounds had disappeared. Life shone in their eyes. Their expressions were serene, almost euphoric.

They were the boys Cole had known before.

He made a visual connection with each boy in turn. There was peace in every pair of eyes, understanding on every face. Even forgiveness.

Seconds later a blinding light from above washed away Cole’s vision. A swift, warming wind whistled through the open windows, and the bus began to tremble on its busted axles.

Savannah reached for Cole’s hand. There was grief on her face, but no fear.

Their eyes met, and he told her it was time to go.

As they moved to leave, Cole felt a squeeze on his leg. The grip was strong, the skin warm. He looked down to find Curtis peering back at him from beneath his hat brim. The sheriff’s arm came up, his hand holding his badge as an offering.

Cole accepted the tarnished star with a nod. The men shook hands. Curtis offered something close to a smile, then motioned Cole away with a shift of his eyes. It was a gesture Cole had seen countless times before—a gesture that said, Now get the hell out of here before you really get in trouble with me.

Cole followed the directive, pulling Savannah behind him as they stepped off the bus and moved away.

The clouds overhead parted in a slowly expanding circle, like a giant whirlpool of vapor in the sky.

There was a shutter of metal and glass, and the bus began to rise. The ascent was slow, steady. Ten feet. Twenty. Fifty.

Cole’s arm fell on Savannah’s shoulder as the wrecked heap of rubber and steel continued its slow creep upward. When it rose above the cloud level, the opening in the sky began to close. The aperture of swirling fog narrowed underneath the vehicle, enveloping it.