The Allen was quaking now, and Alan cooed to it.
“It’s hurt,” Mimi said.
“A long time ago,” Andreas said.
“No, now. It’s bleeding.”
She was right. A small bead of blood had formed beneath it. He extended his hand farther. Its bandy scurry was pathetic.
Holding his breath, Alan lifted the Allen gently, cradling it in his palms. It squirmed and thrashed weakly. “Shh,” he said again. His hands were instantly made slippery and sticky with its blood. “Shh.” Something sharp pricked at his hand.
Now that he had it up close, he could see where the blood was coming from: A broken-off sewing needle, shoved rudely through its distended abdomen.
“Cover up,” Bradley said, “I’m coming up.” They heard his lopsided tread on the steps.
Mimi pulled the blanket up around her chin. “Okay,” she said.
Bert opened the door quickly. He wore nothing but the oversized jeans that Alan had given him, his scrawny chest and mutilated feet bare.