It happened that night

The body.
The words snap in my mind like a whip.
I look at Daisy and Cassie in the back seat, still terrified, pale as if they'd seen a ghost. We unbuckle our seatbelts and get out of the car, instantly sober, running toward Sarah, who's been standing for a few minutes in front of the body lying face down in the middle of the road, keeping us from seeing his face.
(...)
Cassie kneels down and checks the pulse of the boy lying in front of us. We already know the truth, but we still hope his heart is beating. We hope there's still a chance.
But there isn't.
She turns the body over so we can see his face. And there he is: Dylan Hastings, eyes open, but no longer alive. Blood is smeared all over his body, and I stumble back the second I see it. His eyes, which earlier were full of laughter, now hold nothing but a deep, hollow emptiness. My stomach twists. I might throw up any second now.
Dylan Hastings is dead. And we're the ones responsible for it.