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It’s a fair point. But as my dad once again clicks his blinker, I realize we’ve got a brand-new problem. The exit and highway signs say I-75, but every local knows the thin stretch of road known as Alligator Alley.

“Why am I not surprised?” Timothy asks as we follow the exit and no other cars follow behind us. “Cal, I need to call for backup.”

“And where do you plan on hiding me?” I ask as the grass and trees on the side of the road give way to miles of muddy swampland.

Connecting Florida’s east and west coasts, the narrow and mostly abandoned lanes of Alligator Alley plow straight through the mosquito marshes known as the Everglades. To protect the land, the road has no gas stations, though it is lined with metal fences to keep the ample alligator population from getting hit by cars and . . . well . . . eating people.

“There’s no way you’re leaving me out here,” I tell Timothy.

He doesn’t argue. He’s too busy realizing that at barely five a.m., with the December sky as black as the road in front of us, there’s no one on Alligator Alley but us. It’s like driving full speed through a cave.

“Cal, I have to put the lights on.”

“Don’t!” I shout as he reaches for the switch. My dad’s truck is still a good half mile in front of us—two faint red dragon’s eyes staring back from the depths of the cave. But with no other cars to hide behind . . . “He’ll see us.”

“Then he’ll see us. But I can’t drive like this. I wouldn’t worry, though—we’re so far, he’ll never make us out.”

With a twist, Timothy flicks on the lights, and the gray road appears in front of us. I wait for the dragon’s eyes to glow brighter . . . for my dad to panic and hit the brakes . . . but he just keeps moving. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I pull out my cell phone to check the time. The bars for my signal fade from four . . . three . . . two . . . just a tiny X. No signal.

“If you want, we can turn back,” Timothy offers. “Have them call in the helicopters and—”

“No,” I insist. I lost my father once. Now that he’s back, I need to know why. “I’m fine,” I tell him.

“I didn’t ask that, Cal.”

“Just stay with him,” I add, squinting into the night and never losing sight of the dragon’s eyes.

For the next few miles, we chase him deeper down the desolate road, which I swear narrows with each mile marker. By the time we hit mile marker twenty-two, we’re so deep in the Everglades, the black sky presses down like a circus tent after they’ve yanked the main pole.

“This was stupid of us,” Timothy says. “What if this was the whole point: to lead us out where there’re no witnesses, no one to protect us, and only one way to get in or out?”

I’ve known Timothy a long time. He rarely lets a hair get out of place. But as he grips the steering wheel, I see a clump of them matted by sweat on his forehead. “Listen, Timothy, if this were an ambush—”

Out in the darkness, halfway between us and my dad, two other red dragon’s eyes pop open.

“Cal—”

“I see it.”

We both lean forward, tightening our squints. It’s another car. Parked on the side of the road from the looks of it.

Without a word, Timothy pumps the brakes and shuts the lights. I assume he’s trying to use the darkness to hide us—but in the distance, the new dragon’s eyes shake and rumble . . . then shrink away from us. This new car—it’s got no interest in us. It takes off, chasing my dad.

“Maybe that’s his buyer. Or his girlfriend.”

A burst of blue light explodes from the new car. I blink once, then again, making sure I see it right. Damn.

“Cops,” Timothy agrees. “State troopers, I bet. They love Alligator Alley as a speed trap.”

Sure enough, the new car zips forward, a blazing blue firefly zigzagging toward my dad’s truck. The dragon’s eyes on the eighteen-wheeler go bright red as my dad hits the brakes. But it’s not until they both slow down and pull off onto the shoulder of the road that we finally get our first good look.

“You sure that’s a cop car?” Timothy asks.

I lean forward in the passenger seat, my fingertips