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“FIGHT!” The other screams, causing a surge of bodies to flock toward the back doors.
JP and I push through the crowd, shoving people out of our way as we rush toward the backyard where Rico’s curses can be heard.
“You disgusting piece of shit!”
Pushing through the final line of bodies off to the side of the property, JP and I stumble into the circle where we find Rico kicking the shit out of some kid. He’s older, and I don’t recognize him, but one scan of the passed-out chick in the lounger with the undone fly and it’s not hard to figure out what’s happening here.
I’m suddenly less concerned with stopping this ass-whooping and instead shift my efforts to preventing anyone else from getting involved. This motherfucker earned himself every single punch.
JP rushes to the girl where she lays unconscious. “Nick!”
I hurry over, pulling up her left lid with my thumb. “Shit.” Pressing my fingers to her neck, I curse again when I find her pulse much weaker than it should be. “She’s OD’ing. Call 911. Tell them we have an eighteen-year-old female, nonresponsive, possible sexual assault. Tell them she’s overdosing from opioids.”
I scoop her from the chair, cradling her to my chest as I sprint back to the house.
“How do you know opioids?” JP pulls his phone from his pocket, keeping pace beside me.
“Pinpoint pupils, shallow breathing, slowed heartrate. And if I was a betting man, I’d say vomit’s about to make an appearance.” We breach the back door, and I shoulder through the crowd, heading straight for the dining room. “JP, table!”
He sprints ahead of me, phone cradled between his cheek and shoulder as he swipes the entire contents of the large dining table onto the floor. I carefully set her down, rolling her to her side just as she begins to puke up the contents of her stomach.
“It’s okay.” I brush back her hair while monitoring to make sure she doesn’t choke. “You’re gonna be okay. Hang in there for me.”
JP rattles off information to the emergency dispatcher, along with the address of the party. Chaos erupts as people realize cops are on the way. The group that had gathered around the table to gawk suddenly shove at one another in a break for the exits. Fucking parasites.
Minutes later the EMTs arrive, and I’m backing away to give them space just as Rico enters the kitchen. His fists are still clenched, sporting a set of split knuckles on his right hand. Rico looks past me, his expression softening when he spots the paramedics loading the girl up onto a stretcher.
“She gonna be okay?”
“I don’t know.” I clap him on the shoulder, watching as they wheel her toward the front door. “We can follow up, though. Okay?”
He nods, his body still taut with tension. Leaning in, I lower my voice so only he can hear. “Cops will be here any second. Maybe you should take off.”
“No,” he refuses. “That fucker’s unconscious outside. I’ll hang to give a statement. They wanna take me to the station? Fine by me. My father would be more upset if he found out someone assaulted a girl, and I did nothing.”
“Either of you recognize him?”
“Nah,” JP responds as Rico shakes his head. “But it’s getting worse, dude. This is like the third overdose we’ve had since summer. And that’s just the ones we know about from our school. Where the fuck is it all coming from?”
“It’s not just here. Turn on the news. The whole country is seeing an uptick in this shit. Just goes to show you, some things even we aren’t immune to.” I’ve been keeping tabs on this for over a year now in our area, and as far as I can tell it’s not coming from a single supplier. Queen City and its surrounding towns sit relatively close to I-95, which runs all the way from Florida to Maine. It’s one of the largest corridors for drug trafficking in the nation, allowing any junkie who wants to make a buck pedaling this garbage easy access to all kinds of product, no matter how shit quality it is.
Hydetown—best known for its abundance of poverty-stricken trailer parks—is by far suffering the worst of it. It’s no secret people are dropping like flies over there, but you won’t find anyone up in arms over it. No one in their ivory towers give a shit as long as it stays on that side of the tracks. I once heard one of our teachers refer to it as “the trash taking itself out.” It’s fucking anarchy.
There’s whispers though of some kid making moves to organize it all. Bishop, I think his name is? Honestly, depending on his intentions, it would probably be for the best. Having someone in charge establishes a chain of command. A chain of command forms a hierarchy, and hierarchies at least maintain some form of order.
If things keep going the way they are here, we’re not far off from needing the same.
The sound of sirens can be heard in the distance, and I pull out my phone to inform my dad he should probably wake up our lawyer. I’m just about to unlock it when my screen lights up with an incoming call.
Daph.
I swipe up, knowing that any call coming from a fifteen-year-old at 1 a.m. can’t be anything good.
“What’s up, little demon?”
“Nicky?” she sniffles, and the sound of her voice breaking on the other end sends a violent tremor throughout my body. Rico senses my panic, his concerned eyes locking with mine.
“Go. We got this.”
