“The girls can have the bed,” Gazzy said. “Iggy and I can sleep on the floor.”
“Excuse me, sexist piglet?” I said, raising my eyebrows. “How about the two smallest people share the bed ’cause they’ll fit. That would be you and Angel.”
“Yeah,” said Nudge, with narrowed eyes. “Like, I’m too much of a cream puff to sleep on the floor?”
Gazzy got his stubborn face on, so I walked across the room before he could start arguing. Fang’s hospital room was a double, but the other bed was empty. The two smaller kids would sleep in it, and the rest of us would make do.
“Of course, the prince gets his own bed all to himself,” I said to Fang.
“That’s right,” Fang said hazily. “The prince has a gaping side wound.”
He still looked like death, extremely pale and groggy. He couldn’t eat, so he had an IV drip. Iggy had given him another pint of bird-kid blood, and that had helped.
“Well, they sewed you up,” I said. “You’re pretty gape-free at this point.”
“When do I get out of here?”
“They say a week.”
“So, like, tomorrow?” he said.
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“So, Fnick, can I change the channel?” Iggy asked. “There’s a game on.”
“Make yourself at home, Figgy,” Fang said.
We crashed early and hard, given what we’d been through in the last twenty-four hours. By nine o’clock I was listening to the flock sleeping all around me. The agent guys had come up with some, like, yoga mats for us, and they weren’t bad. Especially if you’ve logged time on rocky cave floors and concrete ledges in subway tunnels.
Now it was quiet, and I was trying to shut my brain down. Voice? Any last-minute remarks you want to get off your chest before I crash?
You chose to stay with Fang.
No duh, I replied silently. What Gazzy had said, back on the beach . . . the little twerp was right. I shouldn’t split us up again, even when it seemed safer to do it. We did best when we were all together. The whole family together.
Family is extremely important, said the Voice. Didn’t you tell me that once?
Yep, I thought. That’s why we’re going to find our parents as soon as we get out of here.
I took a deep breath, trying to relax. I was completely exhausted, but my brain was racing. Every time I closed my eyes, all sorts of images flashed through my mind—like buildings exploding, a mushroom cloud, ducks caught in oil slicks, mountains of trash, nuclear power plants. Waking nightmares.
So I sat up, eyes open, but it wasn’t much better. I had started feeling bad earlier but hadn’t told anyone. I had a headache, not a grenade-type headache, where my brain felt like it was being splattered against the inside of my skull, but just a regular headache. Fortunately the grenade-type headaches were much fewer and farther between than they had been. My theory was that they were my brain getting used to sharing office space with my rude and uninvited guest: my Voice. At any rate, I was incredibly glad they were on leave of absence lately.
This wasn’t like that. I was hot; my skin was burning. I felt like adrenaline was pouring into my system, making me so jumpy I couldn’t stand it.
Were the Erasers tracking the chip in my arm that I’d seen in that X-ray at Dr. Martinez’s office so many days ago? How did they keep finding us? The eternal question.
I glanced at Total, sleeping on the bed with Angel and Gazzy. He was on his back, paws in the air. Was he chipped? Were they tracking him now?
Ugh. I felt so hot and twitchy and sick. I wanted to lie down in snow, eat snow, rub it over my skin. I fantasized about throwing open the window and taking off into the cool night air. I imagined flying back to Dr. Martinez and her daughter, Ella, the only human friends I’d known. Dr. Martinez would know what to do. My heart was pounding so fast it felt like a staccato drumroll in my chest.
I stood up and picked my way quietly over sleeping bodies to the small sink in one wall. I turned on the cold water and let it run over my hands. Leaning down, I splashed my face again and again. It felt good, and I wished I could stand under an icy shower. Please don’t let me get sick, I prayed. I can’t get sick. I can’t get Fang sick.
I don’t know how long I hung over the sink, letting water trickle over my neck. Finally I thought maybe I could try to sleep again, and I straightened up to dry my face.
And almost screamed.
I whirled around, but the room was quiet. I whipped back to stare in the mirror again, and it was still there: the Eraser.