I twisted my hips, inch by inch, feeling for my pockets, but the blazer they had dressed me in was empty and the space was too tight to bend an elbow.

Then, arching my back against a cramp that nearly took my breath, I slid a hand down along my hip, and my fingers found something hard and flat wedged beneath my lower back, biting into my skin.

I dug my nails into the fabric and dragged it free.

It was a phone.

With slick, shaking fingers I found the button on its side and pressed.

The screen flared to life, and its cold blue light showed me, all at once, the full horror of where we were: the three of us packed shoulder to shoulder in a single wide casket, the boys’ faces pale as paper, their eyes huge.