Going Bovine

Going Bovine Page 41

His hand flies up. “Oh, hell to the no.”

“Gonzo—”

“No, no, no, and no with a side of no.”

Gonzo plops down on his bed and makes a big show of opening his video game manual, turning pages way too quickly to read them.

“I told her you were too chickenshit to go.” It’s a low blow, but I’m pissed that Gonzo is such a chickenshit and that Dulcie set the bar so high right away.

“I’m not a chickenshit,” Gonzo says, sounding hurt. “I’m not an unnecessary risk taker.”

“Gonzo,” I say, playing my final card. “She said this dark energy Dr. X brought back is bringing about the end of the world. You. Me. This. Everything will be gone if we don’t find him.”

He sits up and dangles his legs over the side of the bed, swinging them so that his heels bang softly against the metal railings like a chime. “Everything everything?”

“Yeah,” I say softly. “Dulcie said you’re part of this, too. That you’d find your purpose on this trip, and that’s why we were put in the same room together. No accidents. Everything’s connected. In a random sort of way.”

Gonzo’s eyebrows crease into furry caterpillars of concentration. “So, like, when’s this big mission supposed to go down?”

“Tonight. Right now.”

Gonzo stares at me. “Dude, this is insane! You know, we probably need shots wherever we’re going. I’ve only got one roll of my special toilet paper—”

“We can get more. Gonzo, this is my only chance to stay alive, okay?”

“I don’t know, man. I gotta talk it over with my mom.” He reaches for his cell and I pull it away.

“No. Sorry. If we go, we can’t tell anyone. They’ll try to stop us. It has to be a secret.”

“Dude, my mom will freak.” Gonzo’s breathing gets shallow and wheezy. He grabs for his ever-present inhaler, his version of a blankie, and puffs away.

“Gonzo, if Dulcie’s right, in two weeks, your mom will be dead.” I toss his cell at him. “Do what you want. But I’m going to find Dr. X. And I’m leaving tonight.”

I throw my backpack on the bed. All I’ve got are a few pairs of clean underwear and the clothes I came in with. My jeans feel strange against my legs; they wake my skin up. I grab the puke-yellow bin with its array of helpful products—toothbrush, toothpaste, scratchy tissues, mouthwash, comb, and lotion—and dump the contents inside, tossing the bin back on the bedside table.

Gonzo’s got his chubby hands on his hips like a weary camp counselor. “Dude, you are insane.”

“Yeah. Documented.”

“All right,” he says with a sigh. “Give me a minute to get dressed. I’m going with your bovine ass.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Which Treats of Our Daring Escape from St. Jude’s and Our Talk with a Stinky Dude in a Tinfoil Hat

Nurses are a little like cops—they’re never around when you need them. But when you want to avoid them, they are everywhere.

“How are we gonna get past the nurses’ station?” Gonzo asks, panicked, as we open the door a crack and peek into the long corridor that leads from our room, past the nurses to the bank of elevators around the corner.

He has a point. This would be an ideal time for somebody around here to flatline like they always do on TV shows, all the bells and whistles going off and creating a big, noisy distraction. But this isn’t a TV show; it’s an actual hospital with sick people doing what sick people do best, which is largely to lie around with a minimum of fanfare.

“This is a bad idea. Let’s blow it off,” Gonz says.

“Don’t chicken out on me.”

“I’m not! It’s just, I mean, come on, dude. This is so not possible.”

My eyes scan the corridor for something useful. Glory’s standing at the nurses’ station, gossiping with two other women sitting behind computer screens. She’s wearing her mauve scrubs today. I know the angel pins ring her neck. Someone says something amusing, and Glory laughs. “Oh Lord, help me, girl,” she says in that accent that sounds like music. Off to our right is a red Exit sign that I know has to lead to stairs.

“Come on,” I say, pulling Gonzo out behind me. “Don’t look up. Just keep moving.”

The bright lights of the corridor wash over us in waves. A maid comes by with her disinfecting cart. A doctor strides past, trailing residents like a kite’s tail. Visitors wander carrying overly festive flowers and balloons. The gifts are a lie meant to disguise the fear and worry hiding in their eyes.