I drove slowly with the lights off, creeping up and down side streets while the two of us looked for Jordan and Tico—or anyone else we’d be less happy to encounter. I headed in the plant’s general direction, though I was hoping not to get too close.

“Wait!” Suzanne shouted.

A thick-set figure was standing ahead of us in the middle of the street, waving his arms over his head. It’s indicative of my frame of mind that I was ready to gun it and run this guy down—and my expression must’ve reflected my murderous impulse, because Suzanne barked, “No! Maggie! It’s okay!”

I slowed to a stop, and none other than Troy Cameron came around to my side of the car.

“Mmmph! Mmmph!” he said through his wired-shut jaw. His face was tear-streaked, his T-shirt soaked with sweat.

I hooked my thumb toward the back of the pickup.

“In,” I said.

I thought he’d get into the back seat, but he climbed onto the cargo bed instead.

My slow drive wound up into the hills. As I rounded a woodsy curve, there was a huge thunk on the car roof, and I slammed on the brakes.

Jordan came tumbling onto the front hood, laughing.

“What the fuck, Jordan!” I said as I huffed out of the car, flashlight in hand.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, rolling onto his back, still on the hood. “I’ve always wanted to jump onto a moving car like in the movies, and I figured this was my shot. Oh, hi, Suzanne. And … Troy?”

“Mmmph!” Troy said from the back.

Jordan walked up to Troy and gave him a firm handshake-hug. “Thanks,” he muttered into Troy’s ear, “teammate.”

“You,” Suzanne barked, pointing at Jordan as she stepped out of the car, “are an idiot.” She turned to me to add, “Sorry.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” I said. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

Tico emerged from the dark woods and strolled up to the car like a normal, not-insane person. “Hey, guys.”

“Turn around,” Suzanne ordered as I shone the flashlight on him, and he revealed a thick bar of red running down the back of his shirt. Suzanne pulled up the shirt’s bottom flap and peered at the wound. “We need to get you to a hospital. Or to Maggie’s mom to stitch you up.”

“Nah,” he said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“‘It’s just a flesh wound,’” Jordan said in a British accent as he rolled off the hood.

“What is wrong with you?” I asked him.

“Nothing, aside from everything,” he said cheerfully. “I killed one of the suits, at least. Now Tico and I have decided it’s time to stay on offense.” He looked to Troy. “You up for that?”

Troy nodded. “Mmmph!”

For the first time, I noticed the heavy tan duffel bag hanging over Tico’s shoulder. The printing on the bag’s side read “Hogan Construction.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Candy-gram for Ishango,” Jordan said.

An exasperated Suzanne threw her hands down to her sides. “Maggie, I don’t understand half the shit your boyfriend is saying.”