Deadman's Switch & Sunder the Hollow Ones by Saul Tanpepper Page A

and the blade was coming down on my neck, moving fast and yet somehow taking forever. Maybe it’s true about time slowing down right when you’re about to die.
    I remember looking over and seeing a figure in OBSERVATION 1 approaching the mirrored glass, and just before the ice-cold blade sliced into me I saw his face.
    Everything changed in that instant. Suddenly, everything became clear.
    Micah lifts a shaky hand from the bed, grunting. I hurry over, ready to help him with the cup of apple juice on the table next to him, but, instead, he rubs his palm on his cheek. It makes a dry, raspy sound.
    â€œTime for a shave,” I say, trying to mask the shaking in my voice. I step closer and smile. I’m genuinely happy to see him sitting up, yet alarmed by how gaunt he’s become. “It’s good to see you back. I mean, you are back, aren’t you?”
    He looks around at the room, at his arms, at me. I can see he’s trying to remember, to piece together the bits and fragments of his shattered memory. I can see it in his body language, how he’s fighting the voice inside his head that’s insisting he’s really at home and that he’s late for school.
    â€œI’m in the hospital,” he croaks. “How long was I out?”
    I check the time on my Link. It’s late afternoon on Saturday, exactly a week since we first attempted to break into LI. Five days since the bombs nearly killed us. It seems almost incomprehensible that only yesterday we escaped from here— nearly escaped—and now we’re back. This place just doesn’t seem to want to let us go.
    â€œYou’ve been asleep for a few hours. But you’ve been out of it for a few days. Are you feeling any better?”
    â€œFeel like shit, actually. I could use a hot shower and some hot spicy chicken from Golden Dragon.”
    I give him a wry grin. Yeah, he’s back. Maybe not all the way—that may never happen—but enough that I can see his old self peeking through. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him. “Good luck with that,” I say.
    â€œI’ll settle for the spicy chicken, then.”
    â€œTell you what. How about a Red Bull and some twelve-year-old beef jerky? But I have to warn you, it’s really tough and tasteless.”
    He doesn’t seem to catch the reference or guess that it means we’re not home.
    â€œIs that the Red Bull or the beef jerky that’s tough and tasteless?”
    â€œBoth.”
    He chuckles lightly. It’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh in days. It’s also, by far, the most he’s said since waking up. “Well, when you put it that way, Jess, I’ll take a double order of both.”
    â€œJust imagine that it’s Golden Dragon.”
    â€œNo one’s imagination is that good.”
    He raises his arm again and studies it. The skin’s sallow. He flexes his fingers, winces. The hand falls back to the bed and smoothes the surface of the sheet.
    â€œWhat the hell is this?” His fingers pinch the tubing for his catheter underneath. He lifts the sheet, frowning. “What the hell?”
    I know exactly how he feels. I’d woken up three days after the explosion, horrified to find a catheter inside of me. But I hadn’t had the benefit of a syringe to deflate the balloon that kept the unholy thing in place. I’d had to use my teeth to bite through it and suck out the water.
    The thought passes through my head that if it was Reggie in Micah’s place, he’d make some crude joke about sucking on his tube. In the past it would’ve disgusted me. Right now, I’d be happy to hear it.
    â€œIt’s so you don’t pee yourself.”
    He gives it an experimental tug. “It’s…stuck. Tell the nurse to take it the fuck out. I don’t need this shit inside of me!”
    â€œOkay, okay. Calm down.”
    â€œJust get the god damn