We need to find a house.” Quin perched on the long counter, holding open a newspaper. One foot tapped against the decorated façade; the other served as a stand for the flimsy paper.
Drew sprawled over the floor, a short, brown-haired girl beside him. Matheus recognized her from the battle. She’d saved him from being shot, with her flashlight. She had one of those touchy-feely hippie names. Blossom or Skye or something like that. They had the comics spread open in front of them, sharing whispers and snickering. At Quin’s words, Drew glanced up, smile slipping away.
“Yes,” said Matheus, without turning. He stared at the back of Milo’s head, willing him to work faster. Four monitors had been set up, each running a different section of surveillance footage. Milo had gathered, or more likely, coerced some volunteers. They sat in front of the monitors, diligently taking notes on all possible candidates. Two days had passed since the battle, one since they’d laid Freddie to rest.