Fritz felt every molecule in his body freeze up.

  “Who is this?”

  “My name is Phin. Have you had any repeat customers over the years? I don’t mean landlords, or public workers. I mean someone who has come in regularly, always needing a different door key.”

  Fritz chose his words carefully. “I don’t give out information about my customers.”

  “Even if the customers are using your services to commit home invasion, assault, and battery? If that leads back to you, it would be bad for business. But help catch a criminal, that would be great press, wouldn’t it?”

  “I can’t help you.”

  Flesh hung up.

  This is bad. This is really bad.

  He immediately texted Blood.

  PHIN JUST CALLED ME. ASKING ABOUT KEYS. I THINK HE KNOWS.

  A reply came a moment later.

  it gets worse. i saw them walking around the hospital, shaking hands with staff.

  They’re looking for her scar.

  remember that dirty old man years ago, saw my face? i started wearing a mask because of him. then that fat woman saw my hand. i started wearing gloves. i kept safe. covered up my mistakes. but you had to take risks. you gave them the police reports.

  I’M THE ONE WHO KILLED KERTIS. I KEPT THIS UNDER WRAPS.

  u also broke into the police station and stole his files!

  ON US. THE FILES ON US.

  u should have left them alone. this is bad. really bad. they even took away my snack bar.

  Her level of denial was unbelievable. YOU ARE THE ONE THAT LED THEM TO YOUR SNACK BAR.

  i was seeing what they knew.

  SO WAS I! How could Blood be condemning me for doing the same things she did? It was ludicrous.

  they’re going to find us. because of u.

  YOU THINK I DID THIS?!? Rage coursed through Flesh. U KNOW WHAT THEY DID!!!

  u could have killed them without alerting them. now we’re fucked.

  Flesh took a few deep breaths, calming himself down before replying. U SAID IT YOURSELF. WE HAD TO SEE WHAT THEY KNEW.

  bullshit. u r getting off on this. thrill seeking. we should have done this my way. quiet and clean. u made a mess like u always make a mess.

  Maybe Blood is right. But at this point it was useless to try and point fingers or place blame.

  We’ve got to solve this problem.

  WE NEED TO MOVE UP THE TIMEFRAME.

  how? we should wait until tonight when they’re all asleep. that’s safest.

  WE CAN DO IT SOONER.

  maybe we should run. leave town. start fresh somewhere else.

  WE NEED TO KILL THEM! NOW!

  we? or me?

  Flesh didn’t need to even consider his response. It was automatic.

  FABFROD. FLESH & BLOOD FOREVER. RIDE OR DIE.

  He waited for the text response. It came as expected.

  fabfrod. let’s do this.

  JACK

  Harry opened up his box with all the enthusiasm of a kid at Xmas.

  We were back in our room, hooked up to our IV pain meds. Sam was playing on her phone with her wireless earbuds jammed in her head. Phin had been in surgery for an hour. When the overnight delivery arrived via a new nurse—who had no hand scars—McGlade grinned as wide as a zebra’s ass.

  “Here it is, Jackie. The solution to our fears. We’ve been unable to protect ourselves, helpless as newborn babies wearing baby seal life vests and floating in a shark tank.”

  “Your analogies are odd.”

  “But now we’re going to be able to fight back, like newborn babies with guns. Because we now have guns. A couple of true American patriots, enjoying our Second Amendment freedoms. Land of the free, home of the brave. God bless America for our lax gun laws.”

  “Not that lax,” I said. “You broke a whole bunch of state and federal laws shipping firearms to yourself.”

  “Get it right, Jackie. My maid broke the laws. Not me. And they probably wouldn’t arrest her. They’d just deport her back to Puerto Rico.”

  “Puerto Rico is a US territory, McGlade.”

  “I know. I just pretend to be ignorant, because it’s funny.”

  I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case, and that Harry was actually ignorant. But I kept it to myself. No need to antagonize the guy with the box of guns.

  “I got you a revolver, Jackie, because I know semi-autos are too modern for you.”

  “Semi-autos have been around since the late 1800s.”

  “I got you something delicate and dainty. A small caliber.”

  Harry knew I’d won sharpshooting contests, so he must have been messing with me.

  Or maybe he really didn’t remember. The poor man. Because of that brain disorder he had.

  The one I couldn’t remember.

  Harry used his prosthetic hand to tear the entire corner off the box, and then spilled three guns and a lot of packing peanuts onto his lap. It appeared to be two Glock .45s and a nickel-plated .357, either a Smith & Wesson or a Colt.

  Harry pulled the magazine from one of the Glocks and frowned.

  Then he tried the other.

  Then he opened the cylinder on the revolver.

  Then he checked the box again.

  “She didn’t include bullets,” he stated.

  “Well that’s… unfortunate.”

  McGlade shook his head. “How do you not include bullets? What good is a gun without ammunition?”

  “Did you tell her to send ammo?”

  “Of course. I don’t remember. No, I didn’t. But that sort of thing is implied in the request. If you ask for a sundae, it has to have ice cream. If you ask for a gun, it has to have bullets. What am I supposed to do? Throw the gun at the bad guy?”

  “I’m going to take a nap. If the bad guy comes in, throw a sundae at them.”

  I closed my eyes for just a moment, and when I opened them again, Phin was in the room, in his bed.

  “You’re up, Mom. Dad had a hundred and sixteen stitches. They took skin from his back and put it on his arms.”

  “Phin?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You awake?”

  “Nope.”

  So much for that conversation.

  “I called eight different shops,” Harry said. “No one will deliver bullets to a hospital during a pandemic.”

  “Shocking.” It wasn’t at all shocking. I would have been shocked if someone did it.

  “So I’m having my maid overnight another package,” Harry continued. “She just sent them out.”

  “Did you make sure they’re the right caliber?”

  McGlade was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Shit.”

  “You need to be more specific when you talk to people, Uncle Harry.”

  “Do I, smartystinkpants? Well you need to go, uh, do that thing, um, with your fingers, on your thing that you talk on.”

  “Play a game on my cell?”

  “Yeah. That.”

  Sam went back to her phone and earbuds.

  “You’ll be up for a while, Harry?” I asked.

  “I will, mulling over all of my regrets. You want to get more rest?”

  “As long as there’s an adult awake to stand guard.”

  “Well, I can’t stand, because of the leg. But I’ll be awake. Go ahead and catch some Zs. I’ll make sure nothing happens to us.”

  I closed my eyes, thankful that I had friends I could trust.

  SAM

  When the nurse with the polka dot scrubs came in, I was so involved with my game I barely noticed.

  The Boss Mother Ducker was raiding my village, stealing my Honey Reserve. I tried a Licorice tornado attack, but I didn’t have enough Smile Juice, and her horde of Frosted Ducklings were laying Sugar Bombs in my Chocolate Farm.

  It wasn’t as much fun as playing Gunface Death Warrior 3, but it took my mind off things.

  The nurse went to Harry, then Mom, then Dad. When she got to me I looked up, and she motioned for me to take my earbuds out. I put them, and my phone, next to the bed.

  She seemed really serious. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Samantha, but you tested positive for SARS-CoV-2.”

  “I did? I have Covid?”

  She nodded. “Yes, you do.”

  “But I’m feeling better. I’m not even coughing anymore.”

  “That happens a lot with this virus. Patients seem to be improving, then they crash.”

  I looked at Mom, then Dad. They were both sleeping. So was Uncle Harry.

  “What happens now?” I asked, feeling anxious all over.

  “You’ll need to be put in quarantine.”

  “Without my parents?”

  “You’re a young woman, Samantha. You can spend a few days without your parents. You need to get out of bed and follow me. I’ll take you to the coronavirus ward.”

  I didn’t feel right about that. “I need to tell my mom and dad.”

  “They just had major surgeries. They need their rest. I’ll make sure they know where you are when they wake up.”

  “Don’t we need to take a second test?” I asked. “To confirm it?”

  She appeared to consider it. “Well, we can take a blood serum test. Would you like to do that before we transfer you?”

  “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  “Okay.” She took an alcohol pad out of her front pocket, and opened it up and rubbed my arm. “You should look away. It’s a big needle.”

  I didn’t like needles of any size, but big ones were the worst. I turned and looked out the window. But I saw our reflection in the glass, and watched the nurse take out a syringe and a small glass bottle.

  For the blood sample?

  But it didn’t make sense. She stuck the needle into the bottle before taking my blood.

  She was filling up the needle with something.

  Warning bells went off in my head.

  This nurse isn’t taking a blood sample! She’s going to inject me!

  I turned and opened my mouth to yell for Mom, but the nurse pressed her hand over my mouth, and she was really, really strong. I began to kick my legs and then I felt her stick me in the arm and then everything began to spin and that was all I could remember.

  HARRY

  I was dreaming about having sex with the entire cast of Gilligan’s Island and was pleasantly surprised by the Skipper’s flexibility, when some keen instinct made me spring awake.

  There was a nurse in the room. I was sure I’d seen her before, but I couldn’t remember her name.

  Par for the course for me.

  Phin and Jack were asleep, and the nurse was behind Sam’s bed, pushing it out of the room on its wheels.

  Sam, strangely, was also sleeping. Even though it was midafternoon.

  Even doped up as I was and likely not seeing things clearly, something about this seemed wrong.

  “Hey,” I whispered. My voice sounded weird.

  The nurse turned, and I noticed a few things at once.

  First, she didn’t have a name badge on. Weird.

  Second, she had latex gloves on. Weird.

  Third, she was taking a syringe out of her scrubs pocket. Weird.

  Fourth, she seemed to be all blurry and bendy. Weird.

  What the hell was her name?

  I wondered if I’d taken a picture of her, but there had been a few members of the staff I’d missed.

  “Mr. McGlade. You’re awake.”

  “Where are you… taking… where are you taking… Sam?”

  It was hard to talk, but I felt myself grin. Whatever opiate I was on kicked like a mule.

  “We got Samantha’s Covid-19 test back. She tested positive. We have to isolate her.”

  “You… can’t… uh… can’t…” Why was it so hard to speak? “You can’t… without… parents…”

  My eyelids fluttered, and I heard myself snoring, which woke me up again.

  When I opened my eyes, the nurse was standing over my bed. She had a full syringe and had disconnected my IV line.

  “You have quite the constitution, Mr. McGlade. The first dose should have stopped your heart.” She grinned in a scary way. “This time I’ll give you enough to kill an elephant.”

  That voice. The soft monotone.

  I recognized that voice through my drug haze.

  “Blood,” I wheezed.

  “I prefer that name. The Destiny Drac is so… small town.”

  “Jack…” I tried to yell, but only managed a soft squeak.

  “I gave her a lethal overdose. Her husband, too. You’ll all be counted as coronavirus deaths. We’re still in the middle of a pandemic. The hospital is overwhelmed. Bureaucratic mistakes are bound to happen, and very easy to make.”

  I lifted my hand, tried to swat her away, but my motor skills were problematic.

  She stuck the syringe needle into my catheter.

  My breathing slowed to a sputter. I couldn’t fill my lungs. Everything was getting dark.

  “Why?” I asked, though it came out more like, “Whaaaaaa…”

  “I have a disease. My insides are drying up. I need Samantha.”

  “She… a… lil grrrrl…”

  “Samantha is going to help me. Her blood will nourish me. Nourish us.”

  I reached to the other side of my bed. For the stainless steel bedpan.

  It was too big and heavy to lift.

  But the stuff in the bedpan wasn’t. That was soft and light and squishy.

  Nurse Blood began to depress the syringe plunger, focused on giving me an intentional OD.

  I had other ideas.

  I smeared her arm with gooey brown, and she recoiled, taking the needle with her.

  “You’re an ugly, disgusting man,” she declared, wiping her arm on my blanket.

  I made a show of licking my sticky fingers.

  The gift brownie from the candy striper tasted as sweet as ever.

  The nurse gagged, then got behind Sam’s bed and pushed her out into the hallway. My world going full-tilt blurry, my lungs no longer working, I managed to lean over the side of the bed and reach into the nightstand drawer for my valuables.

  My clothes were in there, along with my personal effects.

  Wallet. Comb. Condoms. THC edibles and other drugs. A butt plug shaped like Darth Vader’s helmet.

  Just the essentials. Including my Narcan spray.

  Naloxone. And opioid antagonist.

  I never left home without it.

  I grabbed the bottle, and as everything faded to death I managed to stick the nozzle up my nose and give it a squirt.

  Lucidity came in a rush.

  So did the pain.

  Since the Narcan binded with and neutralized the drugs in my system, my broken leg felt like it had suddenly caught on fire. I ground my jaws together, reaching for the call button to contact the nurse.

  The cord had been taken away.

  I tried to yell for help, but all that came out was a cough.

  I looked at Jack and couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not.

  My pain was about to get worse. Way worse.

  I swung my lower body over the side of the bed, then tried to stand on my good leg. My balance was wanky, and I managed to take two big hops, agony beating the shit out of me, and I managed to half-fall/half-dive onto Jack’s bed.

  Tears smearing my vision, I stuck the naloxone up her nose and squeezed.

  She didn’t react—

  —then my BFF jackknifed, sitting up, gasping for air.

  But I had more pain to come. I got my foot under me again, hopping toward Phin, my other BFF, but he was further away and I couldn’t stay upright and I fell forward, the percutaneous pins in my leg banging against the floor.

  The sensation was indescribable. Like an hors d’oeuvres tray of nerve endings getting their toothpicks played xylophone-style.

  Maybe Jackie was right. Maybe my analogies were odd.

  I tried to scream, but my lung capacity still wasn’t back to normal, so all that came out was a long hiss.

  I pulled myself across the tile, crawling across a hellish painscape of unbearable agony, making it to Phin’s bed, getting my good leg under me, holding on to the side rail just long enough to give him a squirt up the nostril, then collapsing onto my back and sobbing in a very manly, macho way.

  Jack laid back down.

  Phin turned onto his side, but he didn’t wake up.

  They needed more than Narcan.

  Dragging my cactus leg behind me, catching my protruding metal pins on every tiny imperfection and crack in the floor, I got back to my nightstand, and my drug stash.

  Dopamine was your body’s feel-good drug. Chocolate raised your dopamine levels 1.5 times. Sex, 2 times. Cocaine, alcohol, and weed, 2.5 times.

  But there was one drug that gave you such a rush that the government hated it more than any other.

  Hello sweet, sweet methamphetamine. Giving a 10x dopamine boost.

  I’d traveled to Colorado with the vial of meth hidden in my Darth Vader butt plug, because as a rule TSA didn’t like to handle the butt plugs too much.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t have a syringe.

  Fortunately, this was a hospital. On the wall was a plastic biohazard box, filled with syringes. I crawled toward it, barely able to breathe between the opiate overdose and the wracking sobs of neverending pain, and reached up, busting the sharps hazmat container open, used needles spilling out.

  I found one that didn’t look too dirty, and filled it with meth.

  Jack got the first dose, and her eyes popped open like morning window shades.

  Phin got the second dose, and he sat up, shaking his head like a wet dog.

  And the third dose?

  I didn’t have a third dose.

  I’d selflessly saved my BFFs rather than myself.

  I dropped the syringe, then slumped to the floor.

  My sobbing stopped, which was good.

  It was because my lungs weren’t working right, which was bad.

  Sayonara, Harry. You had a pretty good run.

  I closed my eyes.

  But even with them closed, I saw a bright light.

  Always one to hop on a cliché, I floated towards the light. Through a hallway of clouds.