Light blinded Dawson. He jerked awake to find sunlight streaming through the blinds of his hospital-room window.
Sunlight. No laser beams or fireworks.
His dad sat up in the chair beside the bed and rubbed at the stubble on his face and the sleep in his eyes. Dawson wondered how long his father had been there. Had he seen the creature? Dawson frantically searched around the room.
“You’re in North Platte,” his father said, thinking he must not recognize his surroundings. “At the hospital. You got banged up pretty good but you’re gonna be okay.”
His dad looked tired. But he always looked tired. He worked ten-hour shifts at the meat-processing plant. Sometimes he pulled a double shift when one of the other security guards called in sick. He even worked part-time on his days off, couriering packages. He didn’t used to put in this many hours when he was a state patrolman. But he left that job years ago. Dawson didn’t know the details and he didn’t really care. It happened right about the time his mom left them. In fact he’d barely noticed that one day his dad was getting ready for work and holstering a Taser instead of a Smith and Wesson.
They didn’t even have dinner together anymore, let alone talk to each other. Except for when his dad felt it was necessary to tell Dawson how disappointed he was in him. Dawson figured this would be one of those times, especially if his dad had spent the night sleeping in that vinyl chair.
“What happened?” Dawson asked, hoping to preempt the lecture.
“You don’t remember?”
He stared at his father trying to decide whether he would even believe him. A creature with red eyes shooting electrical sparks out of its arms? His father mistook the confused look to be a loss of memory.
“The doctor said you might have short-term amnesia. You got an electric shock from something. He’s thinking it was strong enough to throw you into a barbed-wire fence. You ended up with it wrapped all around your body. You don’t remember anything?”
Dawson didn’t respond. His father was standing now. Not a tall man but from the bed Dawson felt as if the man towered over him. Then his dad did something totally unexpected. He put his hand on Dawson’s shoulder and for a brief moment Dawson thought he saw sadness in his eyes.
“You’re really lucky, kid. A couple of your friends are dead.”
It didn’t register. How could any of them be dead? They were just screwing around. Having some fun. Who was dead? Dawson didn’t get a chance to ask.
“Hey, Mr. H,” a voice called from the doorway and suddenly Dawson’s dad was smiling. The sadness was gone and so was his hand from Dawson’s shoulder.
“Johnny. How’s that throwing arm?”
“Sore, but I guess I can’t complain.”
Dawson thought Johnny B looked better than after a football game. What he couldn’t believe was how excited his dad looked, as if a celebrity had walked in, but then Johnny B was the closest thing there was to one in town.
“Is it okay for me to talk to Dawson?”
“Sure. I need to get home and change for work. I’ll leave you boys. Dawson, I’ll be back tonight as soon as I get off, okay?”
Johnny waited for Dawson’s dad to leave and even then, took a place beside the bed where he could watch the door.
“What did you tell him?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“What did you tell your dad happened last night?”
“Nothing. I didn’t tell him anything.”
“Did you tell him about the camera?”
“No.”
“What about the Sally-D?”
“Of course not.”
“You know we could be in a whole shitload of trouble if they found out where we got it.”
“I didn’t tell him.”
“They’d drop me from the team. All those scholarship offers will be gone if I end up not playing.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“I’ll never go anywhere.” And then under his breath, “That’d make Amanda happy.”
Dawson had never seen Johnny like this—more scared than angry.
“None of it was my idea,” he said. “I go down, everybody goes down.”
“My dad said somebody died.”
Johnny stared straight ahead, somewhere over Dawson’s head. Then suddenly he gripped Dawson’s bandaged arm, digging his fingers into the wounds. Dawson wanted to scream from the pain. He saw fresh blood staining the wrap. He tried to jerk his arm away but Johnny tightened his grip, leaned down until his face was inches from Dawson’s, his breath hot and sour.
“Just keep your mouth shut.”
CHAPTER 20
WASHINGTON, D.C.