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Hunter shook his head. “Nothing. Nothing, man, I didn’t do anything.”
Zil dropped to his knees and touched Harry’s neck. “It’s hot. His skin is hot.”
Hunter backed away. “I didn’t do anything, man.”
“You freak! You murdering freak! You killed him.”
“He’s not dead, he’s breathing,” Hunter protested. “I didn’t mean to…He jumped between us—”
“It was me you were trying to kill,” Zil yelled.
“You were going to hit me with that poker!”
“What did you do, man? Did you turn on your magic microwave hands and fry his brains?”
Hunter was looking at his own palms, appalled, not wanting it to be true, needing for it not to be true. He hadn’t meant…Harry had been his friend…
/> “Oh, my God, you murdering mutant freak!”
“I’ll get Lana. She’ll save him,” Hunter said. “He’ll be okay. He’ll be fine.”
But as he watched, a massive blister was forming on the back of Harry’s neck, right at the base of his skull. The blister was six inches across, as big as an orange, a hairy sac full of liquid.
Hunter ran from the room. His former friend’s shouted accusations followed him: “Murdering freak! Murdering freak!”
Sam was asleep in the extra bedroom at Astrid’s house. He heard the sound of someone vomiting in the adjoining bathroom.
He was beyond weary, but nevertheless he dragged himself up out of bed, grabbed a T-shirt, and tapped at the bathroom door. “Hey,” he said.
“What?” Mary’s voice, shaky.
“You okay?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“Sounded like you were ralphing. Are you sick?”
“No. No, I’m fine.”
He could have sworn he heard a sob in her voice, a catch. “You sure?”
Her voice steadied. “Yeah, I’m fine, Sam. Go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you.”
Sam thought that was a good suggestion. He climbed back into bed and arranged the pillows the way he liked them. He stared at the clock. Midnight. He closed his eyes. But he knew that sleep wasn’t coming back anytime soon. Instead there came a rushing freight train loaded with worries and fragments of worries. And his old friend, hunger. It was hard to fall asleep when your stomach was twisting into knots.
He heard the toilet flush and the bathroom light went off.
What if Mary was sick? Who could he get to take over running the day care? Astrid had to deal with Little Pete, so it couldn’t be her. He started running down the list of people he could trust to behave in a mature fashion and cope.
The only kids he could think of to take over for Mary would probably just do the job so they could get into the day care’s oatmeal supplies.
He’d been dreaming, he realized. Junior Mints. He’d been dreaming about…
…Junior Mints.
That was it, the thing nagging at the edge of his consciousness. Junior Mints.
“I’m going nuts from hunger, that’s what it is, I’m slowly but surely going nuts.”
