Miranda says slowly, “So you think that all the doctors and hospitals and drug companies know there’s a better way to treat cancer but they’re not telling anyone because they want to make money?” Some, maybe, but all of them? She doesn’t believe that.

Grace shrugs. “Most of them probably just believe whatever they’re told, the same as the rest of us.”

Cole has been nodding. “All those companies that make drugs and chemicals—they want to keep us in the dark. Fighter jets are dumping chemtrails into the atmosphere. The Zika virus came from a government lab. Chicken is full of hormones. And the government covers it all up. My brothers were in the army. What you read in the papers or see on the news—half of it’s wrong or flat made up.”

“Exactly!” Grace bobs her head.

Are Grace and Cole right? Miranda doesn’t want to believe it, but what about drugs like Oxy? The companies that make it must know how many people are using it the way she is, which isn’t exactly for physical pain. Except now that it’s completely out of her system, she really is in pain. Her joints ache fiercely, like someone is holding the ends of her bones and twisting them.

“That’s why I want to try something natural,” Grace says. “But the judge said I wasn’t mature enough to make that decision. Even though my parents researched it.”

“Wait a second.” Javier looks at her. “Is this what you want or what your parents want?”

“It’s what I want, of course,” Grace says. “Do you think I want to lose my hair? Or not to be able to have kids?”

“That would still be better than dying,” Amina says stubbornly.

“That’s not the choice. Don’t you see that? They tried to make it out that I didn’t understand, but they’re the ones who don’t. The hospital went to a judge. And he ordered me to have surgery to put in this port, and then this week they were going to force me to do chemo. So my mom and me, we left Seattle. Dyed our hair, gave ourselves different names, withdrew a bunch of cash, and started driving. And now she’s dead.” Grace takes a deep, shuddering breath. “And I don’t know what to do.” She puts her hands over her face and starts to sob. “I just don’t know what to do.”

4:48 p.m.

SKINNER: Oh my God!

DISPATCH: Ron? What’s happening?

SKINNER: No, no, no!

DISPATCH: Ron, take a deep breath and tell me what’s going on.

SKINNER: Those male hostages they’ve got all lined up—they just shot one in the back of the head!

DISPATCH: Security guard reports at least one of the hostages has been shot.

UNIT 68: What’s the ETA on SWAT? Or the Crisis Negotiation Team?