Dicky’s stomach grumbled, his ankle ached, and his head pounded…but somehow, someway, he still stood. Standing itself seemed to be an act of defiance that out here was damn near priceless. With Darryl and Iris, he had established a routine. Hole up and playhouse with the homies. History didn’t repeat itself, but it echoed. Night one he had spent it tending to Iris after June had thrown her down, night seven he had done the same to June herself after the favor was returned. Iris was gone. June clung to life in a delirium that made it impossible for Dick and Darryl to walk away but equally impossible for Dicky to be optimistic. Still, she remained, alive and kicking after a day and night of struggle and with little medical relief.
Richard was a boy scout; he had helped out as an office assistant at his family’s pediatric practice. He wasn’t a doctor. Even Doogie Howser could only do so much on a frozen hellscape island in the midst of a death game and Doogie Dickie was not. Neither was Darryl it turned out.
[ Big Dick Buster and Darryl Smith Jr Continued From: Shawn's Marvelous Medicine ]
They had turned the infirmary into another small-time fortress with priority being on ad-hoc defense and a quick escape if need-be. But it hadn’t been necessary. Darryl stood outside and on guard with the gun. June remained in bed, Dick at her side.
The announcement came and went.
Dicky could only sit by in silence, a forlorn look on a freckled face.
“No way,” defeat dripped on his tongue. News he had dreaded but never seriously expected. “Of-fuckin’-course.”
He had wasted so many days. Seven goddamn days. He had waited for such a long time. A whole friggin' week.
“She fuckin’ died.”
