Cindy Wood and Anthony Wilcox were driving through Alabama in a Corvette, heading toward the twins' old home, where they were known to stay before everything happened.
"Hey, uh Cindy?" Wilcox asked.
"Where'd you want me to hide the body, exactly?"
"The river? A dumpster?"
"Oh, uh, good. Just making sure."
"Anthony. Where is it."
"It's, uh, in the trunk."
"Hey, it wouldn't have mattered if you hadn't killed her in the first place!"
"Hey, why are the cops . . . "
"Did we just run a red light?"
"I don't know!" Wood shouted as she sped up. The police siren got louder.
A car pulled out in front of them and she braked hard, trying to swerve around them, but the car flipped and rolled. Wilcox was thrown out of his seat and Wood hit an airbag.
"We can't let them see us," Wood mumbled as she opened the door to the crumpled car. "Anthony?" She looked at Wilcox, who was halfway through the windshield. Dead, because he didn't like seat belts.
Wood put duct tape on his mouth and shot him in the head, then stumbled into the nearby woods before the police reached the wreck.