"Joe, run!"
Barry jolted upright in his hospital bed.
He reached to grab the person beside him, but the IV needle in the back of his hand twisted under the pull, and bright red blood welled up around it.
"Ow!"
Barry sucked in a sharp breath.
This wasn't the living room at Joe's House.
There was no overturned furniture, no green poisonous fog crawling along the floor, and no Kyle Nimbus with his face twisted like a rotten orange.
A white ceiling.
The pungent smell of disinfectant.
The Cardiac Monitor beeped steadily.
Barry froze.
In the next bed, Joe West was propped against a pillow, an IV attached to his left hand and a cup of warm water in his right. His face was still a little pale, but his eyes were perfectly clear.
He looked as though he were watching a patient who had just climbed over the wall of a psychiatric hospital.
"You're awake?" Joe asked.
Barry opened his mouth. "Joe, are you okay?"
"Not dead yet."
"Where's Kyle?"
"If you mean that bastard who releases poison gas..." Joe took a sip of water. "He's dead."
Barry stared.
The last images from the night before were still stuck in his mind.
Kyle had stood in the green poisonous fog, untouchable by bullets or fists. Barry and Joe had collapsed on the floor, and every breath felt as though someone had wrapped plastic bags around their lungs.
What happened after that?
Barry pressed his fingers to his temples.
All he could recall was a vague rush of wind.
And a very calm remark.
"You're blocking my view of the TV."
"Do you remember who saved us?" Joe watched him intently.
Barry looked up.
"What?"
"By the time Eddie and the rescue team arrived, Kyle was already dead. You and