41
ROMI
“Worst Thanksgiving Eve ever,” Brooke croaked from her hospital bed.
I couldn’t argue with that. Even the Thanksgiving Eve I’d spent at Maple Mountain had been better than this, and I’d been angry at everything and everyone back then. Now? Now I was just furious at whoever had put us all here at the medical centre.
Brooke had a mild concussion and a whole bunch of cuts and bruises. One jagged tear on her thigh had needed stitches, and her car was on its way to the great junkyard in the sky, but she’d recover.
Blue had come off the worst. She was out of surgery now, at least. Her humerus had been pinned back together, and the doctor said she was lucky the shot hadn’t done more damage. The final insult had come when they removed what was left of the bullet and found it so deform
