Just ten minutes ago I stood in one of the Sand Run parking lots, leaning against my shoulder against the decrepit bathroom wall as I listened to the police officers.

“We have maps and whistles for each of you. Now,” started one particularly intimidating officer, dangling the whistle pinched between his fingers in front of our faces, “what you’re going to do is clip this on to your backpacks or a belt loop. Make sure you know where it is. And if you find anything, you’re going to blow it until one of us comes to get you,” he gestures to the five other officers.

“Yes, and I want you to look at your maps for a second here,” a female officer said, unfolding a map and holding it up so that we could see. “I know you’re all smart boys, now we need you to show us. We marked a different spot for each of you to go to on the map. Get to that point and keep your eye out for anything, then walk back and do the same.” She puts the map down. “We really appreciate your help with this.”

Now the lieutenant chimes in, stepping out from behind one of the cop cars to add, “And make sure that if you find something, do not touch it. Leave it where it is and just stand by until one of us gets there,” he pauses for a moment and his eyes glaze over. He refrains from saying anything further and the burly officer next to him gives him a pat on the back, shaking his head sadly.