I slide into the back. We pull off the bandannas and hats. As soon as we start moving, I say, “Call them an ambulance, Tarren.” “Not yet.” “When?” “When we get back to Poughkeepsie. We can’t have the fire engines and police cars see us coming from the house.” “People are dying back there,” I cry, surprised—though I guess I shouldn’t be—at how unhinged my voice sounds. “I’ll drive fast,” Gabe says, and he does. We crank over that dirt road. I’m balling my hands into tight fists while thoughts, feelings, and emotions slosh around in my brain making me sick. We hit a paved road. “Now. Do it now Tarren,” I say. He takes a heavy breath, but pulls an extra phone from the dashboard. “This clean?” he asks his brother. “Yeah.” Tarren dials 911, identifies himself as “Troy” and calmly explains that a deranged cult has set itself on fire, leaving behind a barn filled with captured innocents. Tarren describes in detail that the victims are starved and severely dehydrated, that they will need immediate calories, liquids and heat to restore their core temperature.
