The Marked One

age and glare. Everybody in the picture was smiling. That boy looked like the wind had nearly erased him. “What are you thinking?” Nia asked. “I don’t know,” Mara said. “But my dad knew somebody from the accident thirty years ago.” She never got to explain, because Dale’s radio suddenly hissed to life. In the static, a voice kept repeating in a low rush: “Marked. Time-marked. Don’t let them near the lake.” Then the radio filled with a sound that was half breath, half laughter. Dale killed the transmission at once, looking worse than before. “That thing started doing it last night on its own,” he muttered. “I thought it was old wiring.”