At first, he thought it was a trick of the light.
Then the figure moved.
A boy staggered into the glow of the floodlights outside the gate. His steps were uneven, his shoulders trembling as though each movement required the last bit of strength left in his body. Blood had dried across his forehead and down the side of his face, turning the collar of his shirt a dark, stiff red. In his arms he carried something small — too small to be a bag, too still to be someone walking beside him.
Stone leaned closer to the screen.
It was a little girl.
She hung in the boy’s arms like a rag doll, her head resting against his shoulder while her bare legs swayed weakly with each step he took.
Stone grabbed the radio sitting on the counter.
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