“Well, Tico and Suzanne took him home about ten minutes ago. I’m not sure what his parents will think when he shows up looking like the Mummy, but he should be all right. I stitched up Tico’s back, too, and thought I was done with my triage work.” She took a deep breath and looked like she was trying to maintain her composure. “Okay, now what happened to you?”

As I started to explain, Maggie bounded into the room wearing a crisp yellow King Vitaman T-shirt. I talked and talked, trying to include every relevant detail, though I’m sure if I’d been unfolding this story for my English Composition class, Ms. Shea would have written “Streamline!” in red ink across the first page.

Maggie’s mom just stared at me the whole time, then turned to Maggie, who nodded.

“So the power plant is all for Ishango,” she said.

“Right,” Maggie replied.

“Who’s the most powerful supercomputer in human history.”

“Right.”

“Who’s controlling an animal army.”

“Yes,” I chimed in.

“Who has plans of world domination.”

“Right,” Maggie said.

“Who is altering people’s physical makeups.”

“Right.”

“Whose chief minion appears to be a burnt-faced skeletal guy with a sword arm that keeps slashing and killing.”

“Correct.”

“And who wants to take human form in your boyfriend here.”

“He’s not my—”

I shot Maggie a look. She smiled.

“That is correct,” she said.

“And you’re not impaired by alcohol or any mind-altering drugs.”

“No.”

Dr. Gooding took a deep breath. “Okay, Jordan, let’s take a look at that arm.”

We went into the first exam room, and she arranged a light to look at it closely, then carefully unwrapped the sopping T-shirt.

“You might want to prepare yourself, Mom,” Maggie warned.

Dr. Gooding winced at her daughter. “I’m a doctor. I’m always prepared. I … oh, my God!”

“My bones are black,” I said wonderingly as we all got a good look at the wound.

“Told you,” Maggie said.

Maggie’s mom just stared. “Can you make a fist?” she finally asked.

I did. It hurt, but less than I expected.

“You’ve got a bigger issue than your bones,” she said.

“What?” Maggie asked.

“You’re not supposed to see bones here. They’re supposed to be covered up by muscles. Muscles and tendons—they make stuff work. You shouldn’t be able to move anything without muscles, but they’re not in here. Surrounding these black bones is some sort of … red goo. I can stitch you up, but I don’t know. We should get some X-rays.”

“No time, Mom. They’re after us, and I think we just killed a driver who was chasing us.”

“Oh, you failed to mention that little detail in your story,”

Dr. Gooding said. “Golly, that’s not too nice.”

“This is serious, Mom.”

“There’s nowhere to go, Maggie,” her mother returned. “If what you say is even remotely true, we need to see what we’re working with and then come up with a plan. And try to keep you out of jail, it sounds like.”