My watch clicks past five minutes and I’m antsy.
I look at the guy passed out on the mattress. He’s really out. Hasn’t moved since we got here. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
Minute six ticks by and I want back in that room.
I tilt my watch to Conner and his eyes dart to the exits. To all the corners in sight. There’s that guy passed out on the mattress, a couch, and an unlit fireplace. There’s only one window and the floor is covered in trash. Cigarette Guy has the only advantage—a metal object, his chair. The lamp in the corner is too far away.
Conner starts to pace, gauging our next move.
“You got somewhere to be? Settle down,” Cigarette Guy says, getting out of his chair to block the hallway. He stubs both his cigarettes out on the door frame where the wood is covered in burns.
“It’s been ten,” I say, and he scratches his beard.
“So wait longer.”
“You said ten. Josie said ten.” I kick a fast-food box on the floor and his back goes straight.
“Well, maybe ten means twenty.” He pulls a blade from his pocket and Conner stops in his tracks.
I catch Conner’s eye. His fists are clenched and I know he doesn’t want to rush this guy. But he nods, letting me know he will if he must.
“You know,” I say, stepping away from Conner and crushing another fast-food box with my foot, “in my book, ten is ten.”
“Yeah, well, your book don’t—”
I run.
I rush him like he’s the ball. His eyes flash wide and he tries to swipe that knife. But I’m fast. Low. Under him before he has a chance. I slide tackle him, smashing into his feet and crashing him to the ground.
Something clangs on the floorboards. The blade maybe. I don’t have time to look. His legs tangle with mine and—
Crack!
Pain splinters up my shin. I grunt, scrambling away from his kicking leg.
There’s a scream.
Conner’s pounced. The two scrabble, scratching arms and legs, when—bam! Cigarette Guy connects with Conner’s jaw. Only, Conner wrestles and Conner’s mean, punching him back as fast as he came.
I look for the knife. Cigarette Guy’s hands are empty. They’re balled into angry fists that pound at Conner.
I see it. Just out of reach to their left.
Adrenaline surges and I scramble on my elbows and knee. I try to put weight on the injured leg, but pain shears up the bone. I knock the blade away just as Cigarette Guy sees it. It shoots across the floor, sliding under the mattress.
I check the passed-out guy. He hasn’t moved. And fuck, it looks like he’s dead, but I don’t have time to check. Nails dig into my ankles. I twist, kicking Cigarette Guy’s hands, and it distracts him long enough for Conner to get the upper hand.
Conner pins him, digging a knee into his back. He yanks the man’s arm behind him, twisting the wrist like one of those martial-arts badasses. He leaves the fucker’s free hand flapping against the floor like a dying fish.
I recheck the mattress. No movement.
Cigarette Guy whimpers and Conner nods that he’s got this. My chest pounds and I gasp for air, realizing I’ve forgotten to breathe.
“Go,” Conner says in a raspy voice, nodding to the hall. I cough back the pain and limp toward the shadows. This visit is over.
I bust through the door and the back room smells like puke. For a second I don’t want to see what’s inside, but I have to get my sister. Then a second smell hits me, like burned metal or glass, and there’s a candle in the corner that cuts through the dark.
I see a bed with Josie on it. Not wearing her sweater. Not wearing her hat. And there’s a man on top of her.
He’s—
I ram my shoulder into him, pushing him onto the floor and pounding him till he’s broken. He doesn’t put up a fight, and when I look at his face, I see he’s already half-gone with whatever’s stripping his eyes dead. Meth or fucking dope.
I turn to see who else is in the room. Find Tina. A dark-haired woman is in the corner sitting on the floor, her head rolled back against the wall.
“You told me you were going to help her!” I bark, but the woman doesn’t look at me, her eyes glassy and glued to the ceiling. She doesn’t care that I pounded the shit out of that guy. She doesn’t care what he was doing to Josie.
My sister’s on the bed—not moving. She lies limp, a pipe in her hand, her head bent in my direction.
“Josie!” But she doesn’t react. Her eyes are vacant, looking right through me. Like she’s dead. “Jesus, fuck!” I climb on the bed and shake her. “Josie! Goddamn it! Josie!” She doesn’t respond, her body heavy as lead. “No, no, no!”
She isn’t breathing. I blow air into her mouth then press on her chest. Rhythmic beats. Like they teach at school, to get air in the lungs. Air in the lungs.
“Josie! Goddamn it!”
Her chest lurches, sick bursting up her throat, and I turn her head to the light as bile drips from her mouth. “Josie?” I shake her, but she doesn’t respond. “Oh, God, please!”
Her chest jerks again and her mouth foams with slime. I grab her sweater and pull it down over her, scooping her into my arms.
“Hold on, Josie, hold on. Conner!” I yell so he knows we’re coming. She moans, but her body is deadweight against me. Pain stabs my shin as I run down the hall.
Conner curses at the sight of us. “Is she—?”
“We have to get to a hospital. Now!”
I’m out the door. There’s a thwack! behind me. It’s probably Conner, punching out Cigarette Guy. I don’t care. I drag myself down the steps, and Josie feels too heavy for someone so small.
I get us into the backseat and lift her head so she doesn’t choke on her spit. Sour bubbles from her mouth and I can’t take this—
The vomit in her hair. Her body limp in my arms. The fact that—Jesus, fuck!—she looks exactly like Mom.
Conner busts out of the house and slams into the driver’s seat.
Drool oozes from Josie’s lip.
“Drive,” I say, which he already knows to do, but I yell at him anyway, because I need to yell at someone, anyone, to keep this from being real. “Please, Conner!” I pound on the back of his seat. “Drive! Faster! Now!”