Benny was barely fifty, but he looked eighty.
“He’s alive,” Charlie said, and glanced at Quinn. There was an unsaid “for now” that passed between them.
He handed the blanket to Charlie and she spread it nearby. Benny weighed next to nothing when Quinn lifted him onto the blanket. He watched Charlie wrap it around the frail, used-up, barely dressed form, and then picked the bundle up.
They got Benny into the car and Quinn made a U-turn next to the closest dog.
“Where to?” he asked.
“His place.”
No hospitals for Benny. Quinn understood. Benny would just walk out when he woke up. He was alive for now, and whatever shit was in his system had clearly protected him from the worst.
Once they were on Main Street again and headed for yet another trailer park, Charlie looked at him.
“Did you know that Aaron is in town?”
Quinn nearly swerved off the road. “W-what?”