Revived (Cat Patrick)

better on the main roads, and somehow I manage to get us to the supermarket in one piece. Mason and Cassie put on parent faces as we walk inside, and I bounce along after them, giddy from driving.
    The store is unusually busy and the lines are so long that I start to worry that I’ll be late for school. We split up to shop and manage to do it pretty quickly. Then, even though we’re pressed for time and it would be faster if Mason drove back to the house, I don’t pass up the opportunity to pilot the return trip, too.
    More confident this time, I have no trouble at all, not even with the sharp turn onto our street. But just when I blinker to pull into the driveway, Mason’s hand flies to my knee.
    “Stop,” he commands.
    “What?” I say, slamming on the brakes. I look at the street in front of me and behind. I’m afraid I’ve run over something or someone.
    “Shh,” he hisses.
    Confused, I look at Mason’s face. And that’s when I want to scream.
    Mason is a different person, one I’ve never seen before. Every muscle in his body is tense. His eyes are narrow, piercing. His jaw is clenched. And even though I didn’t see him grab it—didn’t know he had it on him—he’s holding his gun.
    “Back down the street,” Mason says. Suddenly, I can’t remember how to put the car in reverse. I fumble with a few things before Cassie pops up from the backseat and pulls the gearshift down to R. Slowly, I manage to creep backward a few dozen feet away from the house.
    “I’ll go,” Cassie says to Mason. “You stay with her.”
    “No, I’ll do it,” Mason says. “Drive away. Check in ten.”
    Cassie nods once.
    In seconds, Mason is inside the house, I’m ducked down in the back, and Cassie is driving a little too fast for residential streets. Only when I peek out the window at the house as we’re speeding away do I realize what freaked Mason out in the first place.
    The front door is wide open.

thirty-seven
    “Are we moving here?”
    “No, it’s just a safe house,” Mason says.
    I’m standing in a dirty living room in Hayes, Texas, frowning at my surroundings in disbelief. I feel like I was teleported here when, really, it took thirteen hours by car. And still, I know nothing. Mason and Cassie were engrossed in their too-quiet conversation or calls from other Disciples the whole way. And with no one to talk to, the weight of too many nights with too little sleep got to me. The only scenery I saw was the backs of my closed eyelids.
    “Why would God tell us to come here ?” I ask, feeling the need to cough because of the thick layer of dust in the house.
    “He didn’t,” Mason admits. I spin around. Cassie glances up from her tiny computer, then looks down again.
    “Mason, what are we doing here?” I ask, starting to get anxious.
    “We’re retreating into the shadows,” Mason says. “We’re not sure what happened today—who broke in and why they did it—so we’re taking a step back for a while. We’re going to watch and wait.”
    “But… didn’t that directive come from God?”
    “No, it came from me,” Mason says, standing tall. “God is acting out of character lately. We don’t know who broke in. It could have been him.”
    “WHAT?” I ask. “You think God broke in to our house?”
    “It’s possible,” Mason says. “But it’s just as possible that someone completely unassociated with the program did it. That’s why we’re stepping back.”
    “And watching,” I say.
    “Yes.”
    It reminds me of the approach God recommended for Nora. Even if Mason doesn’t, I know how well that worked out.
    “So, how are we watching?” I ask.
    “Several ways,” Mason says as he removes his computer from its case. “James and David are flying to Omaha as we speak to do a sweep for bugging devices and to conduct a more thorough check for missing items. As you know, I was in a bit of a rush.”
    “Speaking of which, where’s my book bag?” I ask. “You got it, right?”
    My notes on Case 22 are in my backpack, tucked inside my math textbook.
    “I’m sorry, Daisy—I only packed your clothes and your computer. I didn’t get your schoolwork.”
    I shake my head at him. “Will you ask someone to send it overnight?”
    “You want a government agent to FedEx your backpack?” Mason asks, a smirk on his face.
    “Yes,” I say flatly.
    “Maybe,” he replies. “We’ll see if one of them can get it out.”
    Instead of making a snide remark, I change the subject. “How