Free Care Factor Zero by Margaret Clark Page A

hard. There was silence.
    ‘Stay away from Comma,’ said Lynx, looking at Larceny.
    ‘Oh, man. Don’t you start!’
    She looked at Frantik for support. He was leaning against the wall with a weird expression on his face. His jacket was saturated, and water dripped from it in a pool round his feet. He put his hand to his throat.
    ‘You okay, man?’
    He didn’t look too good. His face was chalk-white and beaded with sweat. He tried to speak but his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. Larceny frowned. Something wasn’t right.
    ‘Look at him, Lynx.’
    Lynx stared at Frantik.
    ‘What’s wrong, mate?’
    Frantik mumbled something. Suddenly, Larceny jumped to her feet. She went up close to Frantik and peered at him.
    ‘Have you just scored?’ she asked.
    ‘He did,’ said Lynx. ‘I turned my back and he was gone. Then he came back looking spacey.’
    ‘Did you score from your regular dealer?’ said Larceny.
    Frantik shook his head and mumbled something.
    ‘You’ve got a bad whack,’ said Larceny. ‘And you’re having something called an anaphylactic reaction. Your throat’s swelling up. We have to get you to a hospital. Some people die in minutes when they get one.’
    Frantik looked worried, shaking his head from side to side and making guttural grunts.
    ‘No choice, man. You’ll die if we don’t. Come on.’
    She looked at Lynx.
    ‘Got any money? We haven’t got time for an ambulance. We’ll have to get a taxi.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Lynx, searching his pockets. ‘I’ve got about fifteen bucks.’
    ‘That’ll do it.’
    Frantik was sagging against the wall, gasping. Together Larceny and Lynx half carried, half dragged him between them down the stairs and into the street. Outside the rain lashed down, and the gutters were overflowing. It was a dirty night to be out. Larceny shivered. She hadn’t put on her running shoes and her feet felt like they were lumps of ice.
    ‘Where the hell’s a cab? There’s never one when you need it,’ she said angrily, as the rain plastered her hair flat to her head.
    Finally a taxi slowed, then stopped. Lynx yanked the door open and they pulled Frantik in beside them, falling onto the rear seat in an untidy heap.
    ‘The Alfred,’ said Larceny to the driver. ‘Quick.’
    He was young and cool. He didn’t ask questions. He whipped along the streets, tearing through the rain-swept night. Luckily he got all the green lights. In what must have been record time he screamed to a halt outside Emergency.
    ‘Thanks, mate.’ Lynx paid the driver and they dragged Frantik inside. Larceny raced up to Admissions.
    ‘He’s had a bad whack,’ she gasped.
    The woman behind the desk looked blank.
    ‘Bad drugs,’ Lynx interjected as he supportedFrantik who was clutching at his throat and wheezing for breath. His eyes, the pupils dilated, looked agonised.
    ‘Has he been here before?’ asked the woman.
    ‘How the hell would I know?’ snapped Larceny. ‘Get a doctor. Fast.’
    ‘Name?’
    ‘Look, lady, he can’t breathe ,’ grated Larceny. ‘Do something!’
    She peered over the counter at Frantik, decided it was an emergency, and called a doctor.
    ‘Maybe he needs Narcan,’ said the young intern who came cruising out to look at Frantik.
    ‘And maybe he needs the antidote to whatever’s been pumped into his veins,’ snapped Larceny. ‘It’s not a heroin OD; it’s a bad hit. Adulterated speed. You know, amphetamines.’
    Then another doctor arrived. He was older and seemed to understand what was going on with Frantik. Things got moving at last. Frantik was wheeled away into a cubicle. Just as well, as he was choking and turning blue.
    ‘Let’s get outa here,’ said Larceny. ‘Hospitals give me the creeps.’
    ‘Wait a minute — shouldn’t we hang about? Frantikmight need us,’ Lynx argued.
    ‘What for?’
    Larceny was striding for the door, her long red hair whipping round her shoulders. Lynx hesitated, then followed her out into the street.
    ‘How