Mercia peeks around the staircase and gestures for Rachel to follow her. As quietly as they can, they cross the lobby and hide behind one of the swing-doors leading into the ward.
“Or we’ll huff,” another female says, giggling. “And we’ll puff-f-f-f.”
A third voice laughs hysterically. “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?”
“That’s not how the story goes,” the first voice whines.
Peering through the little window set inside the door, the girls watch on as three nurses loiter in front of the first room to the left.
Mercia grimaces. “They seem to have gone on an epic pharmaceutical raid. The junkies in Pine Hill would be impressed.”
One nurse looks their way and they duck down to avoid being seen.
“Wrong storrry. It’s the wrong storrry.” The second voice rolls her Rs and cackles.
Rachel glances through the window again and sees the three nurses in front of Mrs. Crenshaw’s hospital room, pounding on the door with their fists and feet. Mandy, the nurse Mrs. Crenshaw had admonished the morning after she’d been admitted, slides down the wall to sit on the floor, still laughing like a maniac. Scattered around her are pills of every color, in every shape and size.
“My question is, where is the rest of the staff?” Rachel whispers back to Mercia. “And who’s looking after the other patients?”
“I think all of the other victims were taken to the hospital in the city, because we don’t have enough doctors here,” Mercia says. “In the meantime, what do we do about them?”
“We need a distraction to get them away from the door,” Rachel whispers. She steals a glimpse at the three giggling nurses. Ziggy begins moving around in the bag, restless, ready to play along. “Not yet,” she says to the bag.
“And then what?” Mercia asks through gritted teeth.
“Let’s tackle one problem at a time.”
Mercia’s shoulders slump slightly, but she doesn’t press for more. Instead, she leans back around the corner and whispers something under her breath before snapping her fingers. Almost instantly the giggling nurses stop their laughing. Rachel sneaks a peek and sees the scattered multi-colored pills rise off the floor and levitate at eye-level.
“Ooh. Lookey-lookey,” Mandy says in a childlike voice. “Pretty little pills.”
The other two nurses are similarly enchanted by the phenomena, staring with wide eyes at the hovering medication. One nurse, the oldest of the three, reaches out to catch a nearby red pill, but it flies away. Her hand moves to cover her mouth, muffling another giggle. Mandy is next in line, opening her mouth to catch a pill in midair, but it moves down the hallway slowly, taunting the three nurses.
“Let’s catch them,” Mandy suggests, getting to her feet. “Let’s catch them all.” She spins in place and grabs at the pills, missing every time. She lets loose a belly laugh before moving farther down the hall. The other nurses, in a similarly captivated state, try their best to catch the pills as they move away from the door. The one with a scalpel slashes at the pills, but she’s unable to reach her target. “Come here,” Mandy sings and twirls.
“That’ll keep them busy for a while,” Mercia says.
“Thanks.” Rachel looks past Mercia to see if the coast is clear before making her way to the door. She knocks twice and says, “Dougal, it’s me. Open up.” Something large drags across the floor on the other side of the door. More objects seem to be moved before the door finally cracks open. “They’re gone. Relax.”
“Relax? I almost gotta scalpel through my eye,” he grumbles, opening the door wide enough for her to enter.
Rachel crinkles her nose in disgust; the sharp tang of urine emanates from Dougal’s damp shirt.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he says in a serious tone.
“What did I tell you?” Rachel says to Mercia, grinning.
“You’re twisted, Cleary.” The corner of Mercia’s lip lifts into a conspirator’s smile.
Rachel notices the dented metallic bedpan lying near the wall, the discarded chairs and metal cupboard standing behind Dougal. She shifts her attention to the tiny figure lying beneath the thin blanket. The only sign of her being alive is the movement of her chest, a rhythmic up and down as she inhales and exhales, softly snoring.
“Nan’s out cold ever since the sedative they gave her this mornin’,” Dougal explains. “I don’t know how we’re gonna get Nan out of here.”
“I can help with—” Mercia is interrupted by a mechanical chirruping sound. She fumbles with her cell phone, checks the screen, and frowns. “Sorry, it’s my mom,” she says, before answering with a cheerful, “Hi, Mom.”
Rachel and Dougal walk a few steps away, closer to Mrs. Crenshaw, giving Mercia some privacy.
“What?” Mercia says loud enough to earn Rachel and Dougal’s attention. She waves them over and pulls the cell phone from her ear, before placing the call on speaker.
“I said: your aunt just called to say Sheriff Carter is walking up and down Main Road in nothing more than his underwear and hat, calling out for some or other ‘gosh darn gunslinger’ so they can have a duel. Annabeth Garter is running around on all fours like an animal, biting people. Not to mention Johnny Markham hijacked the school bus and is acting like he’s a pirate on the open seas.” Ms. Holstein’s voice is clear, not a hint of humor in her words. “Hawthorne is now suddenly on lockdown, so there’s no telling when I’ll get home, but you need to get somewhere safe as soon as possible.”
“I’m nowhere near home—”
“Where are you?”
Mercia pauses, grimacing. “I’m with Rachel Cleary and her cousin.” When, after a few moments, her mother doesn’t respond, Mercia says, “Mom? Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” Ms. Holstein says, sounding none too happy. Mercia switches off the speaker and puts the phone back to her ear, the conversation continuing in whispers.
“So, the sheriff’s gone off the rails, too, eh? Like the nurses? Like everyone at school did?”
“Sounds that way,” Rachel
