I turned to the next person and stopped. He was one of the few people with actual bandages on his wounds, and he stood near his family. Even with the gauze pads strapped to his face, I recognized him from earlier. Or, to be specific, I recognized the little boy R.J., and I knew this man as his father, patriarch of the rat infested house from early in the day.
Ooh! Hello!
Now, the patriarch was rather critical of Skitter even as she helped out. Maybe he’ll be the first to go down into the scapegoat territory I’ve been talking about? On another hand, he might’ve had some time to think and properly appreciate what Skitter did for his family. But then again, talking in Skitter’s favor might be R.J.’s role, going against his father’s cynicism with youthful optimism.
“There’s a blinded man in the brick building over there,” I told him, facing him squarely. “Go help him.”
“Why?” he challenged me, his voice gruff, his gaze hard. “I’m hurt. If I go, I’m going to miss my turn with the ambulances.”
I get it, but you’re also one of the few people who’ve actually gotten some sort of treatment. If you looked particularly wounded, Skitter wouldn’t send you, even if she wanted to test your willingness to obey. Bottom line, the blinded man needs more help than you do right now.
Asshole. There wasn’t even a shred of gratitude for what I’d done to help him and his family, and he didn’t even seem to need his turn at the ambulance that badly either. I had to resist the urge to hit him or set my bugs on him.
You did promise him a fistfight if he wanted one. It’s technically still “after the countdown”.
Or maybe it’s now before the countdown, since the countdown was a count-up and thus went backwards?
That’s how time works, right?
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