“Dexter?”

Dexter, still in the waiting room, looked up at the sound of his name, his heart rate accelerating.

A nurse was looking at him. How did she know his name?

It must have been Leah, he told himself. As paranoid as he felt, it was the only thing that made sense.

“I’m Dexter,” he called out, raising his hand.

The nurse nodded. She had dark circles under her reddened eyes, her hair was sticking up in places, matted in others, and her blue scrubs were spotted with blood. She held a coffee in one shaky hand, a clipboard in the other, dangling at her side like driftwood. “Your sister would like to see you.” She smiled, but it just made her look sadder.

He frowned. He didn’t have a sister.

Unless…

“Is she awake?”

The nurse sighed and shook her head. “In and out.”

“Will she be okay?”

The nurse chugged her coffee before answering. “She has it a lot better than many I’ve seen.” She crushed the cup and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. “Come on. You can cheer her up. I know I’d love to have my big brother with me right now.” Her eyes glistened and she quickly turned away.

Dexter leaped up and followed.

She led him through halls filled with impromptu medical beds, past emergency rooms stuffed beyond capacity, and finally to a dead-end hall with a window overlooking the parking lot.

There, lying on a pile of bedding on the floor, was Leah, eyes closed, covers up to her waist, IV coming from her arm, neck and torso covered in bandages.

He rushed over to her and collapsed to his knees at her side. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll give you two some time,” the nurse said. “But only a few minutes.”

Leah’s eyes fluttered and she squinted at him. “Dex?” Her voice was raspy and weak.

“Hey. I’m here.” He took her hand. It was warm now, and the emotions this fact filled him with were hard to work out.

She smiled.

He did too. But his vision was blurring. He wiped his eyes with his free hand, checked behind him. The nurse was already gone. “So I’m your brother now?”

She chuckled weakly, then grimaced. Her neck and chest had been stitched up, her torn shirt and bloody bra gone. But instead of a hospital gown, she only had gauze taped across her chest. He wondered if they’d run out of gowns.

“I tried to find you, but no one would tell me where you were or if you were okay.” He took a breath, tried to rein in his emotions.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m surprised she found me. She wasn’t the one I grilled for your location.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“I asked her to look for someone in a stupid duck shirt,” she said lightly.

He was wearing a Howard the Duck t-shirt, the antihero’s duck face large and prominent on its front, visible even through the bloodstains.

“Lucky I put it back on then.” He wanted to hug her, hold her. Instead, he said, “I’m so sorry I let this happen.”

She frowned. “I’m pretty sure I’m on a morphine drip, but the way I remember it, you weren’t the one who did this.” She looked down at the wound on her chest. “Hey, where’s my shirt?”

“It was… torn.”

She smiled. “I liked that shirt. But I’m sure you like me better like this.”

“I— What?”

She laughed at the horrified expression on his face. “I mean wearing nothing but bandages.”

His horrified expression didn’t diminish. “I hate that you’re hurt.”

“No, I mean because I’m not wearing a—” She sighed. “Never mind. And it’s not your fault.”

“But if I had gotten up, if I had run with you—”

“Hey.” She squeezed his hand. “I chose to stay. You didn’t make me. And besides, it looks like I saved you. You don’t have a scratch on you.”

He laughed; a choked, strangled thing. “Yeah. Not a scratch. Except for a cut from a cracked phone.”

“Good. I like being a hero.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be fine. I feel great.”

“That’s because you’re high on morphine.”

“I am not high. This is a hospital. They wouldn’t give me that much.”

“Those say otherwise.” He nodded at her wounds.

She looked down. She couldn’t see the one on her neck obviously, but the one on her chest was bad enough. With the bandages covering it, the wound itself wasn’t visible, but from the bloodstain and area covered, it was clear it hadn’t been just a scrape. “That does look big. Was it bad?”

He shrugged.

“That blood…” she motioned with her free hand at his shirt, “it mine?”

“Some of it.”

She seemed to sober a bit. “Did… did anyone die?”

He swallowed, clenching his jaw.

“Oh my god. Dexter I’m—” She took a breath. “Anyone we know? I know that sounds horrible but—”

“It’s not. And no, I don’t think so. I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone I knew.” He remembered the boy with the banana-yellow horns. Had he made it? It wasn’t as though it was easy to identify the remains. “Matt’s fine. I saw Zoe in the back of an ambulance, but she seemed okay enough.” He didn’t mention that Matt had been gathered by police and was who-knew-where now. He didn’t need to worry her. And he wasn’t going to risk being overheard.

“This is—” Leah began, but was interrupted.

“I’m sorry,” a voice said from behind Dexter, “I can’t give you any more time. She should rest anyway.”

Dexter turned to find the same nurse who had led him here. He nodded absently. “You have your phone?” he asked Leah quietly.

She let go of his hand and reached under the covers, then looked surprised.

“What?”

She pulled the covers down to show him. She was still wearing her shorts. That’s when he noticed the outline of her sneakers under the covers. They hadn’t even taken those off.

“Triage,” the nurse said. “Treat the obvious injuries. Do you have any we missed? Most have been… quite obvious. If clothing was intact, that meant no injury other than mild abrasions, a sprain, or the like. And that’s not life-threatening.”

Leah shrugged. “I think I’m okay. Not sure I’d feel it.” She looked at Dexter and patted her pocket. “Right here.”

He nodded. “I’ll check on you in a few hours then.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead, lingering there for long seconds.

He pulled away, and they looked into each other’s eyes. She took his hand in hers, intertwined her fingers among his. “Dex, I…” She licked her lips, and without realizing what he was doing, he leaned down again.

Their lips pressed together and his heart raced. Her grip on his hand tightened and he squeezed back. He never wanted to stop kissing her.

But when he realized she was crying, he did.

He pulled away, staring at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“What?” he asked, confused.

She shook her head. “You jerk. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me out since freshman year. I’m not complaining, that was nice. But it would have been nicer if it hadn’t taken an alien invasion.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well…” He trailed off, rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“Uh-oh,” Leah said, looking past him.

Grateful for the distraction, he turned to see what she was looking at. And was immediately no longer grateful.

The nurse was staring at them. Her mouth was open, one hand held in front of her like she’d frozen in the act of raising her finger in protest. She looked somewhere between confusion and horror, as though a barista had just spit in her coffee right in front of her while making it.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry,” Leah assured the woman, “we’re step-siblings.”