Johnny's POV

I felt scared and alone. I was ignored by most of the other prisoners. But I could see the hostility in their eyes as I passed them by. These stripes I'm wearing seem to mock me. I shouldn't be here, but I am.

I could have avoided all this. I could hid from the police. But I got so worried about Pony that I forgot about all that. It didn't matter now.

I asked for a piece of paper and an envelope from the guard, and he came back later with it for me. I sat down and began to write a letter to Pony and the rest of the gang.

Dear Pony,

I hope you are feeling well. Don't sweat it about how you might not be able to walk again. It's okay. You'll be fine. Just remember to stay gold, like in that poem.

This jail is awful. No one is nice to me. Most people ignore me completely. I feel so alone. The jail cell is small and I get scared a lot. But I'm doing okay. They treat me well. The other prisoners leave me alone. They just glare at me a lot. It bothers me, but I'll make it.

I don't want to worry you, though. I'm doing okay. I'll be all right.

I sure miss you guys. I wish I could have at least said goodbye properly. Tell the gang I say hi, especially Dallas. Don't let him blame himself for it.

Your buddy,

Johnny

I put down the pen and paper and reread it. I hope he didn't worry too much about me. I'm sure he doesn't need anymore to worry about.

Pony's POV

I couldn't believe it had been three weeks since I had ran away from home with Johnny. I hated knowing Johnny was behind bars. It would kill him. Or at least change him forever.

I was sitting on my bed, when suddenly I felt a wave of nausea pass over me. I started to move to my wheel chair, thinking I may throw up, when the moment passed. It had been happening a lot lately, and more often than not, I had to throw up. Today seemed worse than usual. I didn't think much of it. I figured it had something to do with the medications I was taking.

But today was different. I felt feverish. My mind was completely unfocused. And I keep getting the chills.

I moved to my wheel chair. It was getting easier now since I had been lifting weights. I hated having to rely only on my upper body strength when I was known for the strength of my legs.

I wheeled into the bathroom and closed the door.

Just to be on the safe side, I leaned down and started to strip away some of the bandages on my leg.

I barely got a layer stripped off. It was too unbearable. A stomach-churning stench came from the wounds. I quickly put it back.

Now I was getting worried.

Darry's POV

I could see that something was bothering Pony. He seemed completely out of it today, but I figured he was just a little off. Maybe it was delayed shock. I don't know. But something was up and that was for sure.

Later that night, as the three of us were sitting in the living room, I knew something was terribly wrong. Pony was wrapped in blankets. He must have a fever.

I started to get the thermometer when Pony suddenly spoke up.

"Will you make that dog shut up? He keeps barking." He mumbled, barely audible.

Soda and I looked at each other, and a moment of panic broke out. There were no dogs barking.

I went over and placed a hand on his head and neck. He was burning up! It was almost burning to the touch.

"We gotta get him to the emergency room." I said, bending down and picking Pony up.

Soda didn't even bother getting his wheel chair, and I didn't care. I'd carry him anyway.

I placed him on the seat and we headed to the hospital.

"I'm so c-c-c-cold." Pony stammered through chattering teeth.

"It's okay, baby." Soda said.

"I can't...I...I wanna..." He started muttering. I never did catch a full sentence.

We pulled up to the hospital and we saw Pony's doctor coming out, wearing street clothes.

"Doctor! You got to help him!" I yelled and he came over quickly. He placed a hand on Pony's forehead.

"Damn, he's burning up. Get him in here. He might have an infection." The doctor said, leading the way to a room.

I laid Pony down on an operating table while the doctor put some scrubs on.

He rushed back to Pony's side and began to unwrap his right leg. He breathed a sigh of relief.

Then he bandaged it again quickly and then moved to the other leg. When he began to strip pieces away, we all gasped. The stench was horrible.

"Damn it." He said, then rushed out the room and a team of nurses and interns came rushing in.

"His leg's infected. We have to get him into surgery immediately. The infection's spreading. We're going to have to take his leg."

My knees began to buckle. I reached out to the bedside.

"What?" I asked.

"I can't explain now, but if I don't take his leg now he'll die within the day." He said.

"But you can't! You can't take his leg!" Soda pleaded.

"It's either that or he'll die. I need your okay on this." He said, looking to me.

"Do it." I said quietly. Those two words would change the fate of my brother forever. But it had to be done. Would he forgive me?

The doctors pushed Pony away on a bed and into surgery quicker than I could blink.

"What just happened?" Soda said, confused.

"I don't know." I said.

Silently, we made out way to the waiting room.

Soda's POV

I couldn't believe what was happening. Pony's leg was going to be cut off?

Hours later, or so it seemed, the doctor came back out. He still had his scrubs on, and I noticed the blood on them. It was Pony's blood. Blood from his leg...

"He did just fine with the surgery. Luckily, since the burns were only below his knee, we only amputated that area of his leg. He should heal nicely. The fever will more than likely stay for a few days, but we have him on some antibiotics for that. You should probably hold off on telling him about his legs until the fever is gone, due to his delirium. You can go see him now." He said.

We got up to head to his room. But before we could, the doctor turned and said, "I'm so sorry, boys."

We walked into Pony's room, and upon seeing him, I gasped, turned away, and began to cry. Darry had a similar reaction.

Darry took me in his arms and held me as I cried. I clutched to him. Pony would need more comforting than I would.

We finally parted and walked over to Pony's bed side. He was pale from the loss of blood, but his cheeks were still red from fever.

I grabbed hold of his hand and brought it to my face.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." I said over and over again. He shouldn't have to be going through this. But he was, and it was far from being fair.

We stayed the night at the hospital. I called in sick to work, and Darry called to ask if he could come in later. Both worked out.

That morning, Pony woke up and looked at us feverishly.

"What happened?" He asked, looking between the two of us, knowing something was wrong.

How could we tell him?