"Hey, kid...you'se okay." Kneeling, Jack lifted Puley from the nest of blankets as Dutchy scooped them aside. The small body was drenched with sweat and shaking like a leaf. Beside them, Specs was excavating Fizzer from a similar heap.
He tried to hand Puley to Dutchy, but the kid was having none of it, burying his face into Jack's neck, fists clenched in Jack's shirt.
"Hey..." Jack lightened his tone. "You'se gettin' too big to carry, you know?"
"No!" Chipped nails dug into Jack's shoulders as Puley tightened his grip ferociously. Jack bit back a wince. Dutchy caught it anyway, and reached over to loosen the kid's fingers with what wasn't quite the ease of long practice, but was close enough.
There was a shout as Fizzer slipped from Specs' hold again, tumbling blindly into the backs of several of the older boys. One of them, nerves still on edge from the dragon's appearance, shoved back hard, sending the small boy stumbling into Mush.
"Knock it off, O'Dell," Specs snapped. "Kid's just scared."
"Yeah?" O'Dell growled, starting to rise. Stocky and brown-haired, he was one of the newer members of their group. One look at Fizzer's tear-stained face seemed to stay him, however, and Jack kept an eye on him as he subsided. "Watch where ya go next time, yeah?" he added, not unkindly.
Hefting Puley's weight a little higher on his shoulder, Jack stood and continued to make his way along the tunnel. They'd taken a quick headcount despite the fact that the attack had amounted to nothing more than a bad scare, but sometimes you just had to make the rounds. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mush leading Fizzer over to the wall, pointing to one of the several small pictures tacked to it, distracting the boy with a question.
Aside from these two, no one else seemed particularly distressed now that the immediate danger had passed, not even the other younger ones who'd been so frightened just minutes ago. Street rats and gutter trash they might be, but resilience was in their very core, and Jack was damned proud of them for it.
He stopped next to Bumlets, who was examining the back of Snitch's upper arm. "You all right?" Jack asked.
"Scratched it." Snitch's voice was a little rueful. Clean water, while not plentiful, was a least available; soap was harder to find. He twisted, trying to see the welt, but the angle was awkward.
"Ain't bad," Bumlets pronounced. "Hardly broke skin. I think you'll live."
"Thanks, doc."
"Forget the arm," Jack said breathlessly. "How's the shirt?"
Snitch leaned back. "Lookin' better'n yours, Cowboy."
"That's 'cos you'se still dreaming." Jack stepped away and sank down at his usual spot, letting Puley lean against him. David was more or less as he'd been when Jack had left: pressed up against the wall, the two blankets Jack had wrapped around him now hanging loosely about his shoulders. The shivering had ebbed but not disappeared, the aftermath of too much adrenaline and too much enforced stillness.
Someone had set a small tin cup of water in front of him. It was only half-full, but Jack suspected it was untouched. He picked it up and wedged it against the wall where it wouldn't tip.
"Hey." He tried to catch David's eye, but David was staring past him, gaze focused on something beyond the mere eight feet of the tunnel's width. Jack shifted to sit next to him, clearing the passageway. Reaching out, he took David's left forearm, chafing it with his palms, trying to chase away the last of the shivers and draw David back to the present.
A slight commotion and a barrage of curious questions heralded Snoddy's return from the other end of the tunnel. Jack looked up. "Well?"
"It wasn't nothing down here," Snoddy said, "so me and Chopper went to have a look upstairs. The fence just around the corner's banged up pretty good. He bumped the carriage, too."
"Bad?" Jack asked. The cast-iron fence that ran around the perimeter of the park was no particular concern of theirs, but their entrance grate and drinking-fountain sat just inside it, and the carriage that had been upended over the grate served as both shelter and concealment. It blocked the rain and wind, and hopefully the eyes of any roving bands out there that scoured the streets looking for an easy raid.
"Nah. But we got lucky. If he bashed in the fence just a few feet over, it woulda come down right on us." Snoddy hefted his double-barrelled Parker into a more comfortable position in the crook of his elbow. "One of the boards in the water-hole came down, but it ain't too bad. Once we clear out the sand, we'll be fine."
"What about the carriage?" Mush said.
"'S okay. Just bumped it. Moved it a coupla inches."
They'd gotten lucky on both counts, then. A twisted iron fence or a displaced vehicle could've trapped them all inside, sealing the grating better than any lock. And they simply couldn't afford to lose the water-hole.
"Is he gone?" Ten-Pin piped up. Jack released David's left arm, reached across and took up his right instead. At the movement, David finally seemed to to register his presence, half-turning to look at him. He slumped a little against Jack's shoulder, easing his arm from the older boy's grip. Jack let him go. On his other shoulder, Puley had become a heavy sleeping weight.
"He's gone, all right," Snoddy said. "Not a whiff of fire, neither. Racetrack smoked more'n this boy did."
"Twenty-three skidoo," Boots muttered in Ten-Pin's ear.