The Truth Buried Deep Inside My Father’s Empty New Jersey Coffin
A sudden warmth grew in my jacket pocket.
I reached in and pulled out my father’s portable monitor.
The screen had turned itself back on.
The blue light illuminated the interior of the car.
A small map was displaying on the screen, showing a blinking red dot.
The dot was positioned exactly where we were on the highway.
“Mara,” I said, holding up the screen.
“What is that?” she asked, her eyes darting to the display.
“It’s a locator map,” I said. “It’s showing our coordinates.”
“How is it getting a signal?” Mara asked. “The satellite link should be passive.”
A text box popped up over the map.
It was another message from Caroline.
“You always did have your father’s eyes, Natalie,” the message read. “But you inherited my phone.”
I looked down at the casing of the monitor.
Near the base of the antenna, a tiny green light was blinking in a steady rhythm.
“The device,” I said. “It’s broadcasting.”
“Shut it down,” Mara said, her voice rising.
I pressed the power button, but the screen didn’t fade.
“It won’t turn off,” I said. “The software is locked.”