Fingers went to my neck and wrist. Once the blood rushed back to my brain, I felt like singing.
“Uh, sorry,” I moaned, raising my head again as I looked over at Michael, then around the room again, sniffing the air. “I blacked out for a second. Back now. Is that KFC I smell?”
I threw off the second blanket and lurched to my feet, clinging momentarily to the edge of the bed. I stood, and looked over at Murphy, who was standing in the doorway. There was a red and white striped cardboard bucket sitting open and slightly crumpled near her left work boot. One hand was shaking, and dangerously close to her gun.
“Karrin. I don’t know what happened to me, but I... oof!”
Something spicy and delicious hit me square in the face, right on the cusp between the bridge of my nose and my Third Eye.
Michael reached out to catch my arm, throwing a short frown at Murphy as I staggered back and fell against the bed.
I gasped at my sudden lack of air, then held up the chicken leg, waving it feebly.
“Gee, Murph,” I panted, holding my chest and grinning as she came closer, the chicken forgotten- except maybe by me. “Don’t leave it out there, it’ll get wet! It’s still raining!” I poked a trembling finger at the lonely bucket of golden breaded goodness, my mouth hanging open as my eyes unfocused on Murphy and stared past her to the returning rainstorm on the horizon outside.