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Ray’s skin was ready to leap off his body. The worst burns were on his hands, but he had also singed one of his calves. Whoever had wrapped his wounds had done the job of a medical professional, but if he didn’t change the bandages every few days, he risked an infection.
Reggie told him they were keeping him stocked with antibiotics and had already administered some while he’d rested. Ray guessed they had given him something else. Each movement of his head and limbs seemed slower. He’d wanted to struggle when the guy built like a bourbon barrel lifted him from the bed to the wheelchair, but he couldn’t. He shoved a pair of used Sorels onto Ray’s feet without tying them. Neither of them helped him with the used polyester-down coat they threw into his lap before opening the door to the
