Sour Moon: Lazarus City, #2

By Melisa Peterson Lewis

The infected aren't as different as they once thought.

 

For weeks after settling into the hospital, Shelby watches orderlies plunge needles into the infected. Only, it's not working. The infected grow weaker, and many are convinced a cure is impossible. When a colleague suggests another approach, Shelby doesn't hesitate despite the consequences. As she's making headway, Jason returns with a tantalizing quest that pulls her back to the Rec Pier. Torn between missions, Shelby realizes the Lazarus virus isn't the only enemy to fear.

 

Danger closes in on all sides. Out of sight but nearby, Dean struggles with the doctor's deadly attempt to save sours and Marcus's continued threat. Trudging through the frigid streets of Baltimore with blood on his hands, he'll wield his hatchet into battle once more. Dean can't keep his loved ones safe forever.

 

The city burns, a common enemy emerges, and hope of escape drifts further away.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melisa Peterson Lewis
• Release date: Jul 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201736170

Melisa Peterson Lewis

Melisa Peterson Lewis would absolutely not survive a zombie apocalypse, but there's nowhere she'd rather ride it out than Baltimore, where the Lazarus City series was born. Currently, Melisa lives in suburbia with her spunky kids, barky dogs, and patient husband. When she's not working her day job as a technical recruiter, she is writing or digging around in her garden.

Book preview

one

Shelby

Dark shadows beneath

Hide monsters I cannot reach

Chomping with their teeth

Orderlies drag the infected woman into a glass-fronted patient room. They struggle with her, even though she wears a pillowcase over her head and restraints make her nearly immobile. She is pushed into a chair and the leather-and-cloth shackles around her ankles are chained to the floor. A third orderly steps up to provide several injections to her shoulder. She doesn’t flinch as the needle breaks her skin.

My job title is officially Clinical Trial Observer. It’s a miserable position that anyone could do.

The cloth covering her face is yanked away, and hisses escape her lips. It’s a familiar sound to me, but now it is in such a controlled environment, I don’t fear it as I once did. The woman stands when the orderlies leave her room, though her eyelids remain shut. Her head hangs low, and she waves her bound hands in front of her. When her eyes flash open, she screams so loudly I can only describe the sound as something conjured by death.

I hold my hands to my ears and look over at Yeji, who is observing someone in the room next to mine. Why is she screaming like that? I call over my shrill patient.

Yeji begins to shake. Her knees wobble and she points at the door. Turn out the lights! Hurry! Her red eyes brim with tears.

I hesitate because Yeji’s shaking cracks like a whip within me. She’s coming undone again.

A flash of movement inside the glass room in front of me catches my attention. The infected woman falls to her knees and rocks her head into the floor. She hits so hard, it would have knocked the average person unconscious. But she gets up and throws herself against the ground again.

Yeji screams behind me, Hit the lights, Shelby!

I run from my seat and fumble for the switch on my side of the glass, not daring to enter the room with the infected. Darkness takes over, but she keeps at it over and over again, until her bloodied head rests on the floor and her chest stills.

Dr. Warren runs to my post, her white-and-blonde hair coming undone from her tight bun. Her eyes widen as she stares at the dead woman.

An orderly pushes past us to slide open the glass door, and turns the infected woman over so she’s face-up. Her skull is sunken around her forehead and drenched in blood. The gruesome image forces bile into my throat and I turn away from the scene. Suddenly feeling violently ill, I throw up on the doctor’s shoes.

Unacceptable! she furiously shouts as she shakes the gooey mess from her black pumps.

I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. This isn’t my first day. It was a stupid move – I’m aware the infected are sensitive to light. I’ve wasted valuable drugs, not to mention the life of someone we are trying to save.

Dr. Warren continues to scowl at me. Miss. Bolger, she calls me, as if I have no first name. This is the worst treatment of a patient I have ever witnessed.

I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, I mumble, unsure of what to do next. This death could have been so easily avoided. I’ll make it up by working the evening shift, and I’ll be more careful.

She reaches down and pulls her shoe off by the heel. Report at six o’clock sharp for the meeting before your shift.

I will.

Yeji erupts in tears. Her hand covers her mouth, attempting to hold in her outburst. We all watch as two orderlies lift the body onto a gurney and wheel her past us. Before they can pass Yeji, she spins around and takes off down the hall.

Dr. Warren purses her lips. Take care of that girl or she will need to find another job. Another job means finding another place to live. With the winter settling in around us, this isn’t in Yeji’s best interest.

My pace quickens in Yeji’s direction. Yeji, please slow down.

I didn’t ask you to take care of me, she calls over her shoulder before disappearing down a dimly lit hallway.

Yeji came to the hospital with me three months ago as Renee and Thomas’s vet tech. She’s a petite Asian woman in her mid-twenties. Delicate tattoos of flowers and waves cover her arms, and I’m not sure how she does it, but her short hair is a different color every other week. Today, it’s a strange shade of eggplant. She’s also a chronic cuticle biter to the point of fingernail loss. On our first day here, they assigned us as roommates, and we became observers for the clinical trials.

You know I can’t leave you alone when you’re like this. I try to catch her, but she’s getting further away.

I recall last night when, yet again, her paranoid whispers grew into shouting fits. I don’t know if she’ll make it, but I have to try. If I lose her, it will mean I’ve failed to keep my unit together, just like I failed Dean and Jessie, and then Scott and Lindsay all those months before.

Yeji! I call as she turns and disappears into the stairwell, offering me a clear message to leave her alone.

I make my way to where she disappeared. The stairwell has a dim glow from the windows, highlighting the swaths of drying blood on the pale wall. It looks as though Yeji dipped her fingernails into rusty paint and ran them along the wall. She must have picked off her bandages from this morning.

Outside, I find threatening gray skies. It might snow again, though there’s nothing on the ground now. We don’t get out much. I check my phone to see I have plenty of time to stop by the basement before my newly assigned six-hour shift this evening. I could use a break from reality. Yeji will find her way to our room. Though it may not be until tomorrow morning, she’ll get there.

The eeriness of the hospital still catches me. It’s quiet, dark, and frigid even with full electricity, which is a rarity for most areas of the city. A relatively robust staff of doctors, nurses, scientists, and other workers such as myself occupy less than a quarter of this enormous building. The rest is closed off with locked doors and metal grates.

I make my way down the flight of stairs that dips below the ground. Each step is darker than the last and I imagine shadowy pools of horror waiting to swallow me. The monsters never tell a soul I was here. My worn shoes clap on the steps, the sound echoing in the stillness. Yet down I go in search of a good time.

One flight to go before I’ll reach my team of misfits.

As I turn the corner, a glowing light flows into the hallway and laughter lets me know friends are nearby. I peer into the room to find people with plastic cups full of liquid cheer. The break room has become our speakeasy. Rob and Mike look up and wave me in.

Rob is a tall, slender man with a patchy, light brown beard. He’s become the weird brother I never knew I needed. In conversation, he may at any point start to beatbox or imitate a TV character. We always laugh together, which is precisely why I adore him.

Next to him is Mike, an older guy, perhaps in his sixties. He takes his jobs very seriously—both as an observer and as a moonshine maker. The clear liquid he’s concocted is smooth and fiery. His deep voice booms through a thick black beard speckled with gray. Several other staff members fill up the chairs and couches, conversing among themselves. We’re below ground level here, so even if it were night, we wouldn’t need to worry about the infected hearing us from the streets outside.

Mike welcomes me with a smile. Shelby. Your presence honors us, my dear lady. A funny yet warm welcome, given that I am here every day.

Rob scoots over to offer me a seat on the couch. Want a cup? Without waiting for my answer, he shakes his head. Do I have to ask? He pulls a cup from its sleeve and hands it to me. They are plastic urine test cups from a nurse’s station.

Oh, sure. It could help me forget about this day. I didn’t turn off the lights, so my subject ran her head into the floor until it killed her. I hold my cup over to Mike, who pours me more than expected.

Rob takes a sip of his drink and stares at me.

What? I ask. He has something on his mind.

Try not to be so hard on yourself. Someone on our shift let an infected strangle himself with the telephone cord left in the room. The observer didn’t notice how tight it’d gotten until he was on the ground.

I’m glad Yeji didn’t see that. She ran off again today. It’s never easy to see anyone hurt or worse, but over the last several weeks, I’ve witnessed other deaths among our test subjects.

Rob grimaces. Your roommate’s not doing so good, huh? That girl is going to get kicked out of here if she’s not careful. Rob thrusts his thumb toward the exit to make his point.

She’s my roommate. Don’t be a jerk. I elbow him gently in the ribs. If he knew how often I pace the halls trying to think of ways to help Yeji, maybe he’d be more supportive.

Rob nods and says, Yeah, yeah. You sleep at night with her in the room? If it were me, I’d sleep with a shank in my hand and one eye open.

Mike shakes his head. A shank? It’s a shiv, man. You make a shiv, and then you shank someone with it.

How would you know? Rob asks, though I’m not sure I want an answer. You ever shank someone, Mike?

To get his point across, Mike answers louder. No, man! I’ve never shanked someone. Who do you think I am? The two men laugh.

Rob continues, Shelby? You ever shank someone? My face grows warm from the mix of alcohol and the memory of the man I stabbed at the zoo. If I hadn’t done it, he would have killed us. Rob notices my hesitation.

Shit, Shelby. I didn’t mean anything by it. Are you okay? Ol’ Robby put his foot in his mouth? He rubs my shoulder, and the laughter dies.

Something like that. It’s fine. Let’s talk about anything other than Yeji or shanking someone. I take a sip. The burn of alcohol stings my tongue and rides down my throat nicely. I need to feel something other than sorrow.

The conversation steers to all things happening at the hospital. First, it’s the weird janitor who steals socks, then we guess if Renee will have a boy or a girl since she’s still on the fence about finding out, and we crack jokes about the uptight doctors. Time slips away, and I reflect on how much I have grown to accept the comforts of Johns Hopkins, even if my job haunts my dreams. I add it to the million other things that do the same.

The room is warm, and a sigh slips through my lips. I rub my face clumsily and realize I’m drinking too quickly. Guys? My shift is in three hours.

Rob and others snicker. He responds to my drunken statement. Psshhhh! You and me, and everyone else in here—know what I mean? His long arm reaches over and pushes my shoulder. My head rocks side to side, the room gently going with it.

No! What the hell are you talking about? I giggle at his stupidness. The alcohol is doing a good job of numbing the painful morning I had.

What I mean is, I also have to work in three hours, gurrrrrl. And I mean, I am also intoxicated. Rob burps and pretends it’s an accident by widening his eyes and looking around. Oops. Was that me? he asks in a girlish tone. He reaches over and claps Mike on the back, speaking like a news reporter. Well, Michael. This is a helluva good batch you got here today. On behalf of the staff here at the Medical Center, I’d like to say thank you, sir. Thank you very much. Rob’s personality is like skipping around the funnies in a Sunday paper.

Mike, with a wide grin, gives Rob a thumbs up. I’m up in three hours too, boys and girls. Misery loves company and whatnot.

I need to stop drinking. My thoughts trail to the recent interaction I had with Yeji. She’s not due to work tonight, but will she show in the morning? If she misses more shifts, I worry about what will happen. I stare at the teeth marks nibbled around the rim of my cup. Such a nasty habit.

I hold my cup up to Mike. Just the tiniest bit. Not even a shot. Just a little bitty nip. Please. I’m asking him to erase the guilt Yeji left behind. It was my fault she panicked and ran away, after all.

Mike takes on the role of disorderly uncle and gives me a look. He says, This one is for Yeji, and pours me a healthy shot.

Yeah, to Yeji. Wherever the hell she is right now. I grit my teeth. There is only so much I can do. I let the liquor warm me, hoping it will ease my anxiety. Instead, it makes my gut hot in a bad way. I haven’t eaten in a few hours. What I want is solitude and a power nap. I set my cup on the end table and lean forward.

Well, fellas. I’m going to nap this off, so Dr. Warren doesn’t fire me. I salute them. This will indeed show I am of sound mind.

Rob stands in front of me. Shelby, how about I walk you to your room? You don’t look very steady at the moment. My chin draws to the ceiling as I make eye contact with him.

You’re too tall. You know that? I wiggle a finger up at his face. No. I’m fine. It’s been a hard day. Yeji, work, stuff. Time to get ready for more. I swat at the air, showing he is in my way.

Shelby? Rob tries to get my attention.

I wave him off and smile, then head to the door on my noodley legs. Help isn’t what I’m looking for. It’s sleep I crave. I’m fine. See you in a few hours. I turn into the hallway, ready for my hospital bed and warm cotton sheets, but a person is standing in my way. My nose crunches slowly into a man’s chest. If sober, I could have prevented this. I murmur, "Ouch," into someone’s parka.

Well, well. Look who we have here, a deep voice says. I keep my head low to avert the obstacle, but when I sidestep, a hand takes hold of my wrist.

Let go, I whisper.

Shelby? Have you been drinking? He laughs, and I jerk my hand away with too much momentum, causing me to stumble backward.

Leave me alone, Jeronimo. I’m not in the mood. My monotone voice comes out colder than I planned.

Come on, now. There is no reason to be like that after all we’ve been through. He places his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him. His strong jawline, long dark hair, and richly tan skin make him easily attractive. As a lead runner at the Rec Pier, Jeronimo remains directly under Jason. The difference between the two men is that Jeronimo is an asshole, and Jason is... someone I think about in ways I tell myself I shouldn’t.

Jeronimo shuffles us back to the wall to rest me against it. The support is helpful, but being pinned between him and the wall smothers my senses. I try to focus on his dark, twitchy eyes and perfectly straight teeth. Unsure of what to say next, I remember I kissed that face once. It was a mistake. He caught me at a weak moment.

You’re not God’s gift to women. You know that, right? I say, trying to erase the smug look from his face.

Are you sure about that? He pulls at the braid that’s fallen over my shoulder. My brown hair is full of split ends from a lack of attention.

Rob steps into the hall. Everything okay out here?

Jeronimo drops his hand and steps back. No problem, he says with a grin.

Rob, you were going to walk me to my room? Let’s go. I walk over to Rob, linking my arm with his. He gives Jeronimo a curious glance before we continue down the hall to the stairs.

Once Jeronimo is out of sight, I loosen my grip on Rob.

What was that all about? Rob and I have been open with each other. I know about his missing wife, Judy, and he knows about Dean. Our shared emptiness bonds us.

Since I left last fall, I have seen no one from the Rec Pier except Jeronimo and occasionally Angela. I remember when Jeronimo helped me break into the house I thought Dean was living in. The space was tidy, but showed signs of being recently abandoned. When I got upset, Jeronimo calmed my hysteria by wrapping me in his arms. He told me he understood. I thought he understood how much I wanted to connect with the past and forget it at the same time. I saw a side of Jeronimo that was kind. Then he kissed me. He found a chance to get me alone and prey on my vulnerability. We’ve been prickly ever since.

Rob and I are close friends, but he doesn’t need to know this story. Jeronimo helped me reconnect with Renee, and he thinks I owe him because of it.

The same guy who brought Yeji in here, right?

That’s him. Yeji wasn’t so bad when we met in October. Our conversation moves away from Jeronimo, but back onto someone else I don’t want to talk about.

Rob scowls as we dive deeper into the issue. "Yeji has to get help if she’s going to get better. And by help, I mean a professional, not her roommate." He’s right. I’m completely in over my head. For once, someone seems more fragile than me. I’ve always wanted to lift others up, which is ironically not how most people see someone in human resources. My old day job cheers me on: She can be great if you help her!

I hear what you’re saying. Once at my room, I poke my head in to see if Yeji has found her way back. The room is untouched since I left, promising me a peaceful rest.

Why do you feel responsible for her? It’s going to get you in trouble with Dr. Warren. Rob’s concern is touching.

I exhale and rub my arms to sober up. If they let her go, she’d be on the street by herself. I’ve been there. The memories of sleeping on top of buses and in car trunks cause me to shiver.

I’ve been there too. I know it’s not easy, Rob says.

Not easy? She would die, Rob. You and I both know I can’t let that happen. My conscience holds on to so many bad memories already. I refuse to give up on this young woman who lived in horse stalls at Pimlico until she escaped with Renee.

Rob spins and shoots his fingers like pretend guns. Just be careful with her, okay? I hear we get partners tonight. No more one-on-one zombie-sitting. I hope you catch a partner as cool as me. Get some rest and, um, lock your door. Some weirdos are lurking around these hallways. He winks.

The doors don’t lock from the inside. I laugh. He knows our bedrooms are standard hospital rooms with no way of keeping intruders out. I’ll see you later, Rob, and thank you for walking me home. He shrugs with a grin and walks off.

Yeji needs someone to keep an eye on her, and there is no one else who can do this. We don’t have counselors lined up to help with this traumatic situation. I’ve wanted to find Yeji’s family on the outside, but she won’t tell me who they are. She has no cell phone, and I can’t find any presence of her online. It’s as if she’s a phantom.

For now, the bed is all I want. I throw myself on top of the sheets, fully clothed, and try to push Yeji from my thoughts. In a few months, Baltimore will have its first anniversary marking the rise of the wall. We don’t make the news as much as we used to. It seems people care less since there hasn’t been significant progress. There are no updates of a release, and of course, no cure. I wonder how long this can go on. These thoughts make my eyes hurt. I squeeze them shut, feeling the effects of alcohol toy with my equilibrium. With luck, sleep overcomes the spins.

two

Shelby

Fear buried inside

Others witness our demise

We’ve nowhere to hide

Shelby? Wake up! The weight of Renee sitting on the bed causes me to roll toward her. Facing her, I see her dark, bushy brows furrow in discontent. Her image is like looking into a mirror if I were seven months pregnant, a few years older, and pissed off. She keeps her brown hair tied into a long braid, just like mine, and her skin is pale from the lack of sunshine.

"Augh, Mom. Is it time for school already? Let me sleep a little longer." The thought of our mom strikes me painfully. I miss her, even if her parenting style was questionable at times. Mom would get so tired of us fighting, she would say, Go ahead, fight to the death, girls! The memory of her words hits me with the same blunt force as when I was a child. Fighting was not the answer, and death was not an option.

Shelby Michelle Bolger! Get up!

Or what? You’ll tell on me? I joke. Her darting brown eyes tell me I do not amuse her.

Oh my god, are you drunk? Shelby! You have a serious job here. People rely on you! I glance at the clock hanging on the wall near the door. The black minute hand ticks closer to the hour, meaning I’ll be late for work if I don’t get moving. I stuff my face into the pillow and let out a long groan. My mouth is dry and pasty from the drinks a few hours ago.

Shelby, I have something to tell you. Can you please look at me? Her voice wavers, and I realize it’s serious.

Well, sister. I’m all ears, but I’m short on time. I picked up another shift tonight to cover for someone. I hide the true reason out of embarrassment.

The bed readjusts when she gets off, and Renee puts two hands on my shoulder and hip, then bounces me up and down. Get up! What is the matter with you?

Okay. I’m up! What is it? I sit upright, and a wave of nausea hits me. When I focus on Renee, a sharp pain pinches between my temples.

I swing my legs over the bed and catch sight of a man in the doorway. Oh! Hi, Thomas. I didn’t know you were there. Good thing I’m fully dressed.

Thomas, Renee’s future husband, laughs with a snort as awkward as ever. He’s a thin guy of average build with short blond hair, and he’s about as exciting as a plate of mashed potatoes. How did Renee end up with such a nerd? Now that she’s pregnant, she’s stuck with him, which means I’m stuck with him.

Renee pulls up a chair to sit in front of me. We aren’t supposed to talk about this, but I need to update you on the trial. This is confidential, do you understand? You cannot tell anyone. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. Renee is aware of my anxiety, and the information that I crave to help keep it at bay. Being in the dark makes me feel out of control, even destructive. Every decision I make is carefully weighed with what I’ve learned. The more knowledge I have, the more likely I will make a good decision and be confident following through.

Okay. Confidentially, there has been a breakthrough with the Lazarus virus, she says.

Renee and Thomas are veterinarians. Due to the medical resume pool in Baltimore being at an all-time low, they have positions relatively high up. From the moment we arrived, they were separated from lower-level contributors like me and have been sworn to secrecy regarding the clinical trial. Even their living quarters are on a different floor. They have been careful about not spilling confidential information, but I’m able to get a few things out of them from time to time. Thomas doesn’t understand how to speak like a normal person though, so half of the time, it’s difficult to decipher what he’s saying.

Thomas interrupts, The virus is simply amazing, Shelby. Not only is vasoconstriction creating epidermis pallor, but vasculitis can lead to severe neuropathy. Oh, and mydriasis! My god, no wonder they don’t come out during the day.

I glance at Renee, bewildered. What is he talking about?

She dumbs it down for me. Vasoconstriction is when your blood vessels tighten, causing the skin to go pale.

So, this is why they all seem so washed of color? I confirm.

She nods and continues, Vasculitis is an inflammation of the veins that prevents the nervous system from operating properly. It’s the primary reason we see such rage and destruction from the infected. He also mentioned mydriasis, which is when the eyes are forced to dilate, making them sensitive to light. She gives Thomas a stern look to keep him quiet. He shakes his head in annoyance, showing he’d rather continue his textbook-style lecture just to hear himself talk.

Well, this is good news. You’re breaking the virus down, right? Does that mean we’re closer to a cure? I ask. Hope bleeds into my voice. Everyone’s eager to find a cure, not only for those of us trapped in here, but for the infected as well. Once we cure them, we can take down the walls so everyone will be free.

Renee continues, That’s what I wanted to talk about. We have a vaccine and it has been working in mice in the lab. Typically, it would take months to go through each phase of a clinical trial, maybe even years, but we are short on time and resources. So, the FDA has granted us emergency use of the vaccine for human trials.

I try to hide my confusion as things become fuzzy. I reach for my bottle of water and guzzle it. The cool water revives the sleepy hangover I’m trying to push away. You are going to inject this into healthy people, but what about the infected? I ask.

Thomas steps over and puts his hand on my shoulder. Shelby, she’s trying to tell you there is no cure. A vaccine will save humanity from the infection spreading further. However, a cure is impossible. Like HSV, it’s not curable. We can suppress it with antivirals, but not get rid of it. The tenderness in his voice aggravates me.

HSV? I don’t want to sound unintelligent, but I can’t risk misunderstanding.

Herpes virus, Thomas says.

The infected have something like herpes? My groggy, sluggish thinking is interfering with processing what the hell he’s saying. I shouldn’t drink this much, but there’s nothing to do in this place. It’s the same every day. Wake, eat what little food we have, watch the infected get injection after injection, sleep. I need an outlet—a connection to my old identity.

Thomas removes his hand from my shoulder and wrinkles his nose at my question. No. I’m comparing the Lazarus virus to the effects of HSV because there is no cure. The only way to treat infected individuals would be to suppress the virus. This pedantry combined with hair-trigger agitation is why I hate having conversations with Thomas.

Renee sees my frustration and leans in. I’m telling you this because you want to find Dean. A cure is impossible. Do you understand what I’m saying? Tears form in her eyes as if she anticipates I’ll cry with her.

But she’s only looking at the negative side, as always. Egghead just said it could be suppressed, though. That’s almost as good as a cure.

Renee carefully continues, Not really. We would have no way of controlling relapses, and the public can’t risk anyone becoming infected. Even with a vaccine, which we are still testing, an outbreak outside these walls could be catastrophic. She gets this look when she wants me to take her seriously: soft and direct.

I think about Dean every day. The wound is healing, but the memories are still painful. If he is alive, I want to find him. The conversation sits heavily on my already disoriented mind, and I gag as hot bile makes its way up my throat. I run for the trashcan and vomit for the second time today. At least this time I didn’t throw up on my boss’s shoes. I should probably have padded my stomach with food rather than guzzling Mike’s alcohol.

Renee is next to me in a second, even with her additional weight throwing her off balance. She reaches for my hair and holds it out of the way. I heave again as she rubs my back.

It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, she whispers to me.

I wipe my mouth with my shirt’s collar. No, it won’t be. I drop to my bottom and draw my knees in. Renee gets up and returns with toilet paper for my face. I wave her away. I need to save it. It’s our last roll.

There is a knock at the door. A tall, thin man stands outside the narrow window. Renee senses I’m expecting someone and helps me stand.

Come in, I holler.

Rob walks in smiling, unaware of the situation. Yo, lady friend. You ready to roll out?

If I could ignore what I’ve just learned, I would. Leaving the infected stranded without a cure while everyone else gets a vaccine feels like a bomb wrapped in pretty paper. Here is a solution, but it won’t help those already infected. Of course, there’s no hope for the woman who killed herself this morning.

I shake it off and force a tired smile. Yep! Ready. Let me grab my nutrition bar, also known as dinner. I duck into the bathroom to change my vomit-streaked shirt, but the reflection in the mirror suggests I should do more. Quickly, I take out my braid, pass a brush through my tangles, then pull my hair back again. I run a toothbrush over my teeth and rinse with water. Then I drink from the faucet and