I shaded my eyes against the bright grey daylight. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked like every window in the red Impala was painted red to match the colour scheme. Then it abruptly occurred to me that it couldn’t be paint. Nobody painted their windows. It must be blood. I turned to Carter and didn’t know what to ask him. Carter kept rubbing his chin with his hand as if he didn’t know what to say to me, either. ‘Is there somebody in there?’ I asked, at last. ‘As far as we can make out, a whole family. Father, mother, two little kids.’ ‘Carter – what’s happened?’ ‘I don’t know. We’re going to
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