The next shot was also wild, as anything from a Glock would be, but the guard was sprinting to the site and had two reloads jiggling on his belt.

“Can you move?” John said.

Sunny shook the restraint off her arm. “I can now.”

“Get in the truck!” John cried.

Sunny nimbly scampered up the loose soil and into the Ram, carefully buckling herself in. John almost laughed at the sight of someone risen worried about that-did she think she’d die, again?-but he was too busy scrabbling up after her.

There was no gun in the truck; John did not own one. His rap sheet caused too many questions. But he wasn’t entirely defenseless.

Chucking the shovel in his bed toolbox, John drew his Orion flare gun, chambered a bright red round, and fired it at the guard. It lanced across the distance between them, hit the man in the chest with a resounding oof, and sent him sprawling.

John tossed the weapon into his bed and got into the driver’s seat, slamming the accelerator as hard as he could.

“Where are we going?” Sunny said.

“I’m taking you home, to your mom,” John said. “I owe her a lot.”

The Ram cleared the cemetary, delivering a glancing blow to the Cougar Security car as it did so.

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Sunny said.

“Look, I’m sure your mom has a plan,” John said. “Lots of risen around going about like everything was normal. It’ll be okay.”

“No, I mean…that was her grave next to mine. We both died at the same time.”

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