chapter sixteen

We staggered away from the town square, finally taking shelter inside an old deli. It’s torn open from the inside, a vending machine lies smashed on the ground, and everything smells like soda syrup and ham.

Neon is moving slow—like each step hurts. His tail is coiled up, pressed back.

“Hey, Neon, you okay—” I start to ask, but then he looks at me, eyes wet, and suddenly collapses to the ground. A heavy thud.

“Neon!” I cry, and rush over—surprising myself by how worried I am. I run my hand over his curled tail. Neon winces and tries to wriggle away, like me at the doctor, trying to avoid a flu shot.

I manage to pull the tail aside—and I see glowing green liquid. It’s blood. There are long cuts atop his wing-stubs. That skin is soft, unlike the rest of his shiny hide. The falling streetlight must have sliced them open.

It’s not the first time I’ve needed a makeshift bandage during the Monster Apocalypse. . . .

The first week I was stuck alone at Parker Middle School, I sliced my leg bad. Worst part, it wasn’t even an injury from something cool and heroic, like dodging a zombie horde. I was trying to butt-surf stairwell banisters near the art room. But the metal snagged my jeans, tore them open, and sent me sprawling.

I made it to the nurse’s office—only to discover that Nurse Carol was now Zombie Nurse Carol. She was stomping around the office like some sort of video game mini-boss. But, I was in luck!

I found an unwrapped Fruit by the Foot in the waiting area.

It made for the perfect bandage, until I woke up at two a.m. in desperate need of a snack. . . .

I learned a valuable lesson: don’t use yummy snacks as medical supplies.

“Fear not! I will find something to apply to his wounds!” Johnny Steve says. He gives Neon a gentle little scratch behind his ears, then races off.

I look back at Neon and wonder, again, if I’m just absolutely nutso for trying to help a Winged Wretch. I mean, this entire thing could be a trick to lure me to the Wretches.

Or worse—to lure me to Thrull.

No! I won’t believe that!

I saved Neon.

And he saved me. I’d be at the bottom of that flooded town square—permanently—if it wasn’t for Neon.

Sure, Neon is destructive. And rough. And stronger than he realizes. But after what we’ve been through, I just can’t believe that he’s evil like the other Wretches.

Before long I hear Johnny Steve. “I found medical supplies!” he says, hobbling around the corner. “Come see!”

“WOO-HOO!” Globlet exclaims. “Medical supply party! C’mon, June!”

Neon manages to get to his feet while Johnny Steve eagerly races ahead.

Two streets over, we find Johnny Steve. I’ve never seen someone so proud—and so wrong. . . .

“Johnny Steve,” I say with a sigh. “You found an ice cream truck.”

But I’d rather not have to keep looking for supplies, so I take what I can from the truck.

I wrap a bunch of paper napkins around Neon’s wounded wing stubs, then seal them in place by melting sprinkles like a wax adhesive.

“Don’t eat it,” I tell Neon. “No matter how delicious it looks. Trust me, I know from experience.”

Neon fiddles with his tail, but doesn’t so much as lick the sprinkles. He’s got more willpower than I do, that’s for sure.

Johnny Steve and Globlet climb into the truck. Johnny Steve is saying something about wanting his very own Mr. Shivers mascot head and Globlet’s going on about some “Choco Taco hoedown.”

Then it’s just me and Neon.

“Hey,” I say, looking at him. “Uh, thank you for saving me back there.”

Neon lowers his head modestly, and I see the nubs where his wings should be.

I think about the vision he accidentally showed me when we were underwater. Neon used to be able to fly. Neon used to have wings.

Someone, or something, took them. It’s like a punch to the gut. I reach out to touch the wound, but he pulls back.

He just looks at me for an impossibly long time, then hangs his head.

And I think, whatever happened—it had to be pretty awful. . . .