"Cute sister," bellowed Conner, "where’s hot nurse?" His surviving arm, tattooed down its length with " FIRST IN, LAST OUT " in gang-style lettering, was pale around Macon’s neck. Macon himself was bare-chested, in wet shorts, hair matted from carrying Conner under the shower. He’d managed to get Conner mostly back into his Polartec. Now he carried him to his bed, put him down, helped him get his arm into the sole sleeve.