12
Leaning against the wall, opposite the bar, I glance down at my phone. Still no reply from Wendy. The signal’s been cutting out, so the message probably got lost in the airwaves. The clock on the home screen reads: 17:43. The game would’ve finished by now. Even though it shouldn’t matter, I can’t help but wonder what the score might have been. Guess we’ll never know now.
We probably would’ve lost anyway.
No matter how messed up Jonny is right now, I know he’s right about Ted—we all do. He will turn soon, sooner or later—and then we’ll have a b****y Nec locked in with us.
Adriana is huddled up next to him on the sofa, holding his hand, slightly calmer than she was earlier. Ted’s eyes are half-open, clinging onto life, the colour of his cheeks drained to a creamy grey. It doesn’t look
