“You okay, Holmesy?” “Yeah.” “Can you say anything other than yeah?” “Yeah,” I said, and smiled a little.
We sat for a while, and then stood up together without speaking and waded through the knee-deep water until we got to the river’s edge.
Why didn’t it bother me to slosh through the filthy water of the White River when hours earlier I’d found it intolerable to hear my stomach rumble?
I wish I knew. A chain-link fence held in the boulders that formed the floodwall, and I climbed it, then reached down to help Daisy.
We crawled up the riverbank and found ourselves in a forest of sycamore and maple trees.
In the distance, I could see the manicured lawns of Pickett’s golf course,
and beyond that the glass-and- steel Pickett mansion, which had been designed by some famous architect.
We wandered around for a while as I tried to get my bearings, and then I heard Daisy whisper, “Holmesy.”
I picked my way through the woods toward her. She’d found the night-vision camera, mounted to a tree, about four feet off the ground.
It was a black circle, maybe an inch in diameter—the kind of thing you’d never notice in a forest unless you knew to look for it.
I opened up my phone and connected to the night-vision camera, which wasn’t password protected.
In seconds, photos started downloading to my phone. I deleted the first two, which the camera had taken of us,
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