Chapter 2
Copper Valley, California
Three Weeks Later
The sun had crested over the top of the houses across the street. Things appeared to have calmed down. Wyatt peered through the blinds. He missed Howard Drucker, Keisha, and Jade, and not necessarily in that order. Mostly, he missed Melvin. Their lives would never be the same.
His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. A few empty boxes lay abandoned on the pavement. The army had airlifted MRE emergency rations to the town over a week ago. He wondered if there would be new supplies coming in.
Wyatt and his family had started dividing the food up into days. The stores were empty, but they had running water, so he guessed they were still all right.
It was quiet. The stray cat was finally gone from the yard. It had created quite a ruckus, yowling and growling last night. No matter which way he covered his head with his pillow, its screams penetrated his skull. The cat must have gotten into the trash can; the lid was off, and plastic bags were strewn across the grass. He’d better clean it up, he thought in disgust.
Crickets chirped. A formation of drones buzzed overhead making their way west across the milky sky. He watched an armored utility vehicle lumbering down his street. He opened the screen door as another passed by. The olive canvas parted, rows of battle-weary troops swaying as the truck made its way toward the interstate. He raised his hand tentatively with a self-conscious wave. The soldiers stared ahead, ignoring him. He quickly put his hand behind his back.
The soldiers looked as bad as the zombies, he thought, watching them diminish as the truck disappeared. These were not the same trucks as the ones that crammed the streets recently. Those vehicles had driven back and forth for the last three weeks, urging residents to stay home and report if they saw anything unusual. As if anything could be more bizarre than watching werewolves, vampires, and zombies duke it out in an epic battle. Nope, he laughed. Nothing was ever going to be the same in his world.
He had watched the news while he lay on the couch in the little porch they built outside the small bungalow where he lived. He couldn’t sleep; maybe he dozed for a bit, but he’d swear on a stack of Bibles that he hadn’t closed his eyes once.
He wanted to do something. It was crazy staying here, nice and safe at home, knowing what had happened. Wyatt was still reeling from the shock of learning that his father was a zombie and still alive. Well, not anymore, he swallowed past the lump in the back of his throat, his eyes burning. His father hadn’t survived the final confrontation with Dr. Vincent Konrad.
He kept replaying the final minutes of his father’s life. Wyatt’s chest tightened, and he balled his hands into impotent fists. He had believed his estranged father died a year ago while working somewhere out of the country. He’d had no idea, no idea at all, that his father had the plague.
He covered his eyes with his forearm, blotting out the memories of his father’s pocked skin, the way he shuffled, his missing fingers, the tortured sounds that came from his throat when he tried to speak. A tear slid down Wyatt’s cheek, and he hastily wiped it away.
His parents had fought, they all did. Their divorce was as ugly as any implosion when a family broke apart.
Wyatt pulled at a loose thread from his sleeve, unraveling the seam and leaving a gaping hole in his shirt. He rolled the soft thread in his hand, feeling that his own life had unraveled too, leaving a rip in his midsection.
He wasn’t sure of anything anymore, not his mom, his father, and not Carter White, his stepfather. He hadn’t been able to discuss it with them either. Carter was stuck in the hospital, his bullet wound turning septic. He had almost died.
Carter had collapsed at Monsterland before he even had a chance to talk about anything with Wyatt.
Wyatt knew his stepfather had a private confrontation with Vincent Konrad, but never discussed it with him.
Wyatt’s mother came home for a few hours to check on them each night and then returned to the hospital to stay by Carter’s side. Half the nurses had perished in Monsterland; the remaining half were busy taking care of the survivors. There had been no time for talking.
Had they lied to him? His throat clogged with emotion. Just thinking about it made him want to throw up. What if his mother had known? Wyatt couldn’t believe she would have kept that from him.
He cursed, banishing the thought. She would never let Wyatt’s real dad, Frank Baldwin, suffer. No matter what a selfish, arrogant, self-centered person his father was, she could never let another person live like that, or had the divorce changed her?
And what was Carter’s role in this? Did he know his father was sick with the plague? Did he want Frank’s family so badly, he was willing to hold that information from them, making them turn to their stepfather rather than their father?
Just weeks ago, when they almost died at Monsterland, he had called Carter Dad, for Chrissake. He wasn’t quite sure he felt comfortable doing that, even if that’s what his mother wanted. The title Dad, his father’s name, felt specific.
Wyatt pressed his fingers into his eyes, twin drops of tears leaking from the corners. He had called his stepfather Dad while his birth father was still alive. It was true his real father had dropped the ball regarding both him and his brother, but Wyatt’s thoughts roiled with confusion. He was still their father.
His brain kept replaying the carnage of Monsterland; like a broken news loop, the images wouldn’t stop. That day had started with such promise. He and his two best friends scored tickets to the grand opening of Monsterland from Dr. Vincent Konrad himself!
He couldn’t believe how they had waited in the car before the colossal gates, breathless with excitement to get in. News reporters lined the red carpet like it was some big Hollywood movie premiere. It was the most exciting thing to ever happen to him. Thousands of people were there, more than half his town, world leaders from all over the globe, and now nothing was left. Not in any of the parks stationed strategically on six different continents.
Monsterland was finished, Vincent Konrad’s dream of a chain of giant theme parks to contain the monsters of the world was destroyed by its inhabitants and finished off by the armed forces.
Wyatt and his friends were rescued after the massacre and brought home. His stepfather Carter was medevaced in a helicopter and had been in a medically induced coma for weeks.
Wyatt learned that all the parks worldwide were obliterated. All seven of them: two in Africa, one in Asia, Australia, Brazil, France, and of course, the one in Copper Valley. Each one was devastated: the vampires dead, zombies shot on sight, and the werewolves had their heads inexplicably blown off by a device around their necks.
Nothing made sense. Vincent’s vision was altruistic. He was Wyatt’s idol, and then somehow, it all went wrong. Wyatt couldn’t figure out what Vincent’s motivation would have been. He didn’t understand why Vincent went through all the trouble of setting up these theme parks to protect the monster populations, reignite the world economies, and then have it all explode, destroying everything he built.
He did admit to himself though, on that fateful opening night of the park, the more he did see of Monsterland, the more disillusioned he was with Vincent.
Monsterland sucked. It was a glorified zoo that exploited the sick and encouraged mad consumerism. You had to feel sorry for the poor creatures living there. Maybe that’s what caused the rebellion, Wyatt thought.
Yet, in his final confrontation, he saw a side of Vincent that scarred him. Vincent wanted to kill him and Carter, and if not for Melvin, would have succeeded. He just couldn’t figure out why.
No matter how much Wyatt tried, he couldn’t get rid of the images of all the blood.
Vincent’s intention of uniting the world ended up leaving it shattered instead. The one news report that managed to broadcast speculated that Vincent had simply lost his mind.
Every world leader was murdered, and governments all over the globe scrambled to set up new regimes. The former vice president, now President Nate Owens, was on television when he declared the United States was in a state of emergency. Congress met to authorize martial law.
“Don’t panic,” President Owens urged.
Wyatt smirked. “Yeah sure, no reason to panic.” Leadership across the globe was wiped out on opening day in the parks, as a result of Vincent’s catastrophe. Wyatt had such faith in Vincent’s vision, and couldn’t believe his altruism ended in an epic disaster. Nothing made sense to him.
After Monsterland fell, Wall Street crashed. Economies all over the world were teetering; governments were collapsing. Trade was at a standstill. All airports were on lockdown. Nobody was allowed to go anywhere until they sorted the good guys from the bad.
It was going to take years to clean up this mess. And here he sat in Copper Valley while the world burned around him. Wyatt took a long gulp of the soda he’d abandoned earlier on the coffee table. It was flat, but the artificial sweetness warred with his fatigue, giving him a giddy rush of adrenaline.
He pulled out his cell phone from his back pocket, cursing when he saw it was still dead. The phones lost their signal in the early hours of the morning; the cell tower must have been compromised. It went down twice last week, but they managed to get it restored quickly. He wanted to call Howard Drucker to rehash what happened. Wyatt couldn’t seem to stop talking about it to him. Howard was probably sleeping anyway. Any sane person would be getting as much rest as they could.
Wyatt rose and looked out the door of the screened porch, then walked outside into the morning. The reassuring chirp of the birds eased the tension in his shoulders. He looked down at the dead cell phone in his hand, wishing he could call Jade. His eyes prickled, and he swiped them, glad he was alone. He missed Jade with every fiber of his being. A shuddering breath rocked him, and he knew it would be better if Jade didn’t see him like this.
He glanced back at the smoke rising from the remains of the giant theme park. There was nothing there anymore; he put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the morning rays. Squinting, he tried to make out the outline of the Werewolf River Run, but all that was left was a broken silhouette.
A screen slammed. Wyatt watched his neighbor walk down toward the street. The man turned, trying to catch Wyatt’s attention with unblinking eyes. Wyatt hadn’t meant to make eye contact, but it was too late. The only thing left to do was stare back with steely resolve, willing the other man not to talk.
Wyatt glowered again for a long minute, his gaze unwavering, his jaw tight with as much unsuppressed rage as he could manufacture. They seemed locked in some battle.
Please don’t start a conversation, Wyatt silently begged. Hank Roberts was the most annoying man in Copper Valley. Once he opened his mouth, he had little control of what came out of it.
Wyatt saw Hank’s Adam’s apple move, heard him clear his throat noisily, and regretted his amateurish attempt at machismo. Hank broke the silence first. Well, at least Wyatt was the winner of the staring contest.
“Carter okay?” Hank asked. He was older than Wyatt's mother and Carter, probably nearing fifty, his thinning hair uncombed and sticking up in tufts around his head. He wore pajama bottoms, ratty old slippers and a sleeveless tee shirt that pulled against his bulging belly.
Wyatt cleared his throat, his voice rusty. “He’s still at the hospital.”
Hank took this as an invitation to conversation, moving across the lawn to Wyatt’s house. Wyatt watched the grass envelop the other man’s feet. It sparkled with early morning dew.
“Heard you kids kicked some serious monster butt at the theme park.”
Wyatt’s face reddened, and he shifted on his feet. He felt unaccountably shy and didn’t want to talk about what happened in Monsterland yet. He hadn’t even examined his actions, let alone his feelings. Wyatt and his friends had done things they never thought they were capable of doing. It still felt like an out-of-body experience.
“You guys developed some superhuman powers overnight, huh?”
“Superhuman powers? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Wyatt.
Wyatt put his hand on the door handle as if he was ready to go in. Hank shuffled his feet faster, his thin arms moving like pistons from an old locomotive. He called out breathlessly, cutting off Wyatt’s escape.
“Crazy, just crazy … making a theme park with monsters. Werewolves, vampires, and zombies.” Hank shook his head. “Was it bad?” He stood so close that if Wyatt opened the door, it would hit his neighbor in the chest.
Overhead, a trio of helicopters flew by, their rotors breaking the morning silence. They both watched them pass. Hank gruffly said, “News. They’ve been busy.”
Wyatt watched the choppers make a hard right toward the small airport, realizing with a start that a soldier sat in the opening of one of them, a machine gun in his hands. Why would the news have an armed soldier on their aircraft?
Hank spit on the ground and said, “News ain’t on. TV’s gone dead.”
Wyatt’s eyes darted to the dim interior of his home. He didn’t want to talk to Hank, his probing expression making Wyatt feel violated. He stared dumbly back at him. Hank wouldn’t move. Wyatt knew he wasn’t getting out of there without something.
Wyatt nodded to acknowledge the conversation, his throat clogged with emotion. He had seen ugly things. No matter how much he wanted to close his eyes, the horror filled his brain. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. He could smell the zombie decay, feel the vamp’s creepiness. His stomach was tied into a hard ball of nerves. The thought of his father living in Zombieville like an animal made him nauseous. Sweat dotted his forehead. The street swam for a minute, but he focused on Hank’s big nose, covered with blackheads.
A coyote howled nearby. It was so loud, it reverberated, followed by another, and then another call. They both turned to look for the animals.
“Damn nuisances, those coyotes. Gonna get my gun,” Hank informed him, then headed back to his own home.
Wyatt shivered, a cold sweat enveloping the rest of his body. It didn’t sound like any coyotes he’d ever heard before. Wyatt moved down the walk to stare at the mountains. He must have been there a while. The sun traveled higher in the sky, but he hadn’t felt the time pass. He was thinking about Melvin. He reminded himself all the werewolves were dead, well, almost all of them were. He stopped his galloping thoughts, wondering if his friend was okay.
Hank was back, seconds later, a rifle cradled in his arms like a baby. Wyatt came to awareness to look blankly at the neighbor who was saying something. “What? I wasn’t listening,” Wyatt murmured.
“Heard Nolan Steward got killed. You know, I work for his dad.” Hank shook his head, a smirk on his face. He seemed lost in thought.
Wyatt cleared his throat to say goodbye; he wanted to leave, get away from his probing questions. The older man stopped him by tugging on his arm. Wyatt pulled away to a safer distance.
“Well, see ya,” Wyatt said.
Hank ignored him. “Was it a werewolf? Can’t believe the president is gone. Ripped to shreds, they said. Imagine that, ripped to shreds!” Hank went on, oblivious to Wyatt’s impatience. “Knew that Steward boy was a problem, though. That kid was always bothering me at the shop. ‘Fix my tire, wash my car.’ Real nasty-like. You know, like he expected me to be his servant or something.”
Wyatt made a move to leave, but Hank looked up at him again, still blabbering. “He got bit or something? That must’ve hurt.” He chuckled to himself. “TV’s out again. Internet too. On one minute then off, must be … hey,” he called as Wyatt escaped back to the house, his face bleached as white as the bones burning in the destruction of Monsterland.
Wyatt reached the haven of his front porch, ran in and closed the door behind him, hoping to drown out Hank’s grating voice.
His back against the door, he closed his eyes, trying to blot out the image of Nolan Steward’s zombie hands reaching for him. The disease got to him so quickly, his tanned face turning to sickly pale green, his eyes … Wyatt thought, the dead, lifeless eyes zeroing in on living flesh, reaching, grabbing … He squeezed his own eyes tightly shut as if it could block that image, but saw instead his father’s body lying like a pile of empty clothes in the street.
Startled by noise, he turned to face the inside of the house where the light from the kitchen spilled over the floor. He didn’t remember leaving it on. Heart pounding in his chest, he snatched a standing lamp to use as a weapon. The shade unbalanced it, making it wobble in his hand. “Sean?” he called out, a panicked look on his face.
“It’s just me.” Gracie, his mother, walked from the kitchen, pausing in the doorway to lean against the jamb, her palms wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.
“When did you get back?” Wyatt asked, placing the flimsy chrome lamp next to the armchair. He frowned, wondering why he thought it might be useful. He needed to stash some of his and Sean’s baseball bats around the house.
“A few minutes ago. Did you sleep?” Her face was so drained she looked like a ghost. Her dark hair was pulled off her face and tied in a sloppy ponytail. She looked exhausted. “Want?” She held out her cup of steaming coffee. She grimaced when she noticed the can of soda with the name Whisp sprawled across the red surface. “Whisp.” She said the name of the product distastefully. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to drink that stuff anymore.”
Wyatt glared, then picked up the can, taking a long swig. “How can anything this good be so bad?”
“Wyatt,” his mother said tiredly. “It’s got red dye 47 or something that will peel the paint off cars.”
“I saw a video on the internet once where it turned gasoline into water. It’s the end of the world, Mom. What’s the difference?” He sighed. “It helps to keep me up. I don’t want to sleep. Every time I close my eyes …” He looked up. “How is Carter?” He wanted to ask her about his father but found when he focused on her hollow eyes, he couldn’t start that conversation.
“He’s up now. Fever broke last night. I tried to call, but the phones aren’t working. They wanted him to stay, but they are stretched to the limit …”
“They let him leave?” Wyatt’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “He’s home?”
She held her finger in front of her mouth. “Sleeping. They loaded him up with antibiotics and painkillers.” She sat down on the worn sofa, a puff of dust erupting as she settled back. “We need to talk.”
“I know we need to talk, Mom. I …”
Gracie interrupted him, her voice soft and tender. “You’ll feel better if we discuss it. I promise you.”
Wyatt pressed his hands against his eyes, trying to blot out the image of his father as a zombie. He was haunted by the memory of his father shuffling into the street, his arms outstretched in supplication, his grunts the only communication he could muster. Frank couldn’t talk, yet he still tried to protect both Wyatt and Carter from the ruthless megalomaniac Vincent Konrad. He learned on that fateful night his estranged father had worked for the billionaire as his lawyer, helping him to organize the parks until he supposedly died on the job, disappearing without a trace.
He sat down next to his mother, a groan escaping his lips. He kept his distance, needing the separation until he could sort the whole thing out. Had she known?
Gracie opened her arms, pulling him against her. Wyatt stopped fighting his reluctance, letting his exhausted body go limp. He felt five years old again. She smelled safe, like starched linens and cookies. Her familiar fragrance, the softness of her hands as they stroked his head, retook him to when he had the chicken pox. He leaned into her. It felt good, and for a minute, he wanted everything to change back to the way it was.
“Did you tell Sean?” Gracie asked, her hand combing back Wyatt’s dark hair from his brow. The reassuring heat of his mother’s body made him feel as though nothing had ever happened.
“No, I haven’t told anybody,” he said, needing to ask her, yet afraid. “I don’t want to tell him. He thinks Dad died on his last business trip, Mom.” He turned to look at her, his lips trembling, his chest tight with suppressed emotion. He stuttered for a minute, then said, “He was falling apart, his fingers were broken stubs, his voice …” Wyatt’s voice cracked, and hot tears made a trail from the sides of his closed eyes. He felt his mother pull him to her. He shook with sobs, the image of the pus-covered, green-tinged skin of his father filling his thoughts.
“In the end,” he heard his mother’s muffled voice, “he tried to save you.” Wyatt looked up at her. She continued, “Carter told me. After all that happened between us, I will always be grateful to your father. It’s erased every bad thought, every time I’ve hated him. He proved that being a father was more important than money or his career.” She paused. “Maybe Sean needs to know that Frank was there for you, after all.”
Wyatt picked at the bandage on his hand, feeling it tug against the healing cut he got when he broke a glass pane in the theme park. No stitches, but the skin still pulled and felt tender. He had decapitated a werewolf with a silver axe—he shook his head in disbelief.
There was so much to tell his mother, but all he could think about was his long-lost father. Should he ask? Did she know? Did his father sacrificing himself to save Wyatt and Carter erase the years of enmity between his parents? He felt shy, not ready to ask the questions that plagued him.
Gracie placed her warm, dry hands over his. “I know Carter did everything he could for you and your friends.”
“Yeah, Carter was there for us too,” Wyatt admitted grudgingly.
“Um-hum.” He could hear Gracie’s smile when she replied. “But that’s nothing new.”
“It was for me,” Wyatt admitted, almost under his breath.
“Are you hungry?” Gracie lifted his head. “Or would you rather just go to sleep?”
“I need to talk to you about something.”
“It will keep,” she assured him.
He wanted to tell her it wouldn’t, but his eyes drifted shut. His breath deepened until everything faded. He lay there for a minute that might have been an hour when he stiffened, alert, coming out of his stupor. He was flat on his back; a soft afghan covered him from the morning chill. His head moved from the comfort of the cushions, his lips taut with concern, consciously aware of the silence.
He sat up abruptly, looking out of the oversized windows of the screened-in porch.
“What is it?” Gracie asked. She had been sitting silently on the couch, watching him sleep.
“It’s so quiet,” he said as he stood to look out the window. It was not just quiet; there seemed to be a complete absence of sound. What had his neighbor Hank said? His television was out. He stood looking out the screen porch, searching the skies. Not even a bird chirped. Where had they gone?
“What time is it?” he asked. “I fell asleep?”
Gracie nodded. “For a bit. It’s almost on eight, why?”
“Where’s KNAB’s helicopter?” Wyatt glanced outside for the ever-present morning reporters that flew overhead in choppers. “It’s usually circling about now.”
Even if they were ordered to stay in, there were a host of other vehicles on the road: army, first responders, and the people who never listened.
“Everything was grounded,” his mother replied.
“Even the reporters?” his brother Sean asked from where he entered the room. “There were a bunch of news helicopters going back and forth until about an hour ago.” He was standing bleary-eyed in the doorway, yawning loudly. “The army finally locked up Monsterland last night. Man, they finished that place off.”
“I know that,” Wyatt said. “Did that cat keep you up?”
“What cat?” Sean laughed.
“The one that screamed all night.”
“Didn’t hear a thing,” Sean replied.
Wyatt made a wry face, then paused. “Wait a second. Listen.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Sean said.
“Yeah, I know. Not even a drone. Nothing’s moving out there.”
“The battle is over. The United States one, Vincent Konrad zero.” Sean threw himself onto the couch, his long legs sprawling across the cushions.
“I know. They should have lifted all the orders already.” Wyatt searched the streets, his green eyes looking in the direction of the small airport to the east of his town. What did his jerky neighbor say about the television? He ran from Hank so fast, he hadn’t quite listened to what he was nattering on about.
“What planet are you on? Monsterland is finished. They don’t have to stay here anymore. The threat is over,” Sean told him as he spied the soda can. “You got Whisp? Any left in here?” He grabbed the can, chugging the last of the drink.
“Sean!” Gracie wailed. Both boys went on as if she hadn’t spoken.
Wyatt made a noise, his teeth biting his bottom lip. “Okay. Where are they now?”
Sean shrugged then gestured to the television. “Check the news?”
Gracie picked up the remote, turning on the television that hung over the door, the secondhand set they bought when the old hospital closed. It was one of those old clunkers, bulky, like a square box. Wyatt was mildly ashamed to have his friends see they didn’t own a flatscreen.
Gracie clicked the remote. Static filled the room; the screen was covered with snow. She pressed the remote repeatedly, her fingers turning white from the effort.
Wyatt snorted and said, “Mom, pressing it harder isn’t going to make it work.”
“What a time for the TV to die,” she said.
Wyatt snatched the remote, clicking the channels. “It’s not the television.” He looked at his mother and brother. “There’s no reception. Sean, go check the set in our room.”
Sean left the enclosed porch just as Carter stepped into it.
“What’s going on?” his stepfather asked, adjusting his arm in a white sling against his broad chest. He raked his dark hair with his other hand.
“Carter, you’re supposed to be in bed,” Gracie said, her face worried.
“Too much to do.” Carter waved away her concern, but Wyatt noticed his stepfather seemed relieved to find a seat on the couch. Their eyes met over his mother’s head.
“What’s going on?” Carter repeated.
“Well to start with, they’re drinking soda. You know how I feel about soda.”
Wyatt turned to watch how Carter was going to handle this one. Smirking, Wyatt picked up the empty can, crushing it in his fist.
“I think there are more important things to worry about other than what they’re drinking, Gracie,” Carter said.
Sean returned, a big grin on his face. Wyatt watched his stepfather, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. So, it was the boys against the girl, he grinned. He could live with that.
“I don’t know why the reception should be out. I’m sure everything is under control,” Gracie said, changing the subject, knowing she lost a round.
Carter leaned forward and nodded, waiting for Wyatt to elaborate. Wyatt’s chest puffed out just a bit. Carter seemed to be talking to him with a different attitude. Wyatt felt older.
“Television in our room is out too,” Sean announced.
“Cell phones are dead,” Wyatt added.
“They’re not dead. You haven’t recharged them.” Sean pulled his phone from his back pocket.
“I charge it every night, dumbass,” Wyatt shot back.
“Boys,” Carter rumbled wearily. He retrieved his cell phone from his shirt pocket, confirmed it too was not working. “When did that happen?”
“Not sure. Hank said his internet has been acting up.”
“Hank’s a moron,” Sean added, as if that summed up everything you needed to know about Hank.
“While that may be true,” Wyatt answered, “his personality traits have nothing to do with television reception.”
“What do you think is going on?” Gracie asked.
Carter rose to his feet. “I don’t know, but it can’t be good.” He looked at Wyatt. “Have you seen anything come out from Washington?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “Owens is president. They destroyed Monsterland.”
Carter shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.” He looked up. “Owens was in cahoots with Vincent.”
“President Owens and Vincent Konrad?” Wyatt asked.
“Wyatt, this is bigger than you think,” Carter said. “I don’t even know who to call. Sean, get my shoes.”
“Wait … you’re not thinking of going to town!” Gracie’s voice was shrill. “You can’t drive with one working arm.”
“I have to see what’s happening, Gracie. It’s been over three weeks. Wyatt.” He turned to his stepson. “Feel like giving me a lift?” He rose slowly to go back into the house.
“In your car, the police cruiser?”
“Has to be. Yours is still in the parking garage at Monsterland. The keys are on my night table.”
“I’ll get them.” Wyatt turned to leave the room when he saw Carter move toward the kitchen.
“Carter, where are you going? The car’s that way.” Wyatt pointed out the screen door.
“My gun,” he muttered. “Can’t leave without my gun.”