"Come on, Han," Jed whined from his cot. "When can we get out of here?"
"Hush." Hannibal grumbled back. "You want to wake the whole building?" His brown eyes scanned the empty blackness of the bunkroom. More than twenty-three cots stuffed into a small, square room. There were hardly a few inches between each bed.
"But you promised we'd get out of here."
"I know what I promised." Hannibal snapped. "Listen," he began, a little softer, "we'll make a run for it tomorrow night. Okay?"
Jed squirmed in his squeaky cot. "Okay."
"We just need to make certain Henry knows the plan." He stifled a yawn. "I'm just about out of paper again. And I don't guess I know enough of that hand-speak to tell him that way." Hannibal heard a faint snore and glanced at his cousin. "Out like a light," he mused to himself. "Kid, you ought to teach me that trick one of these days."
The night ticked on, and Hannibal eventually fell into sleep, though not deeply. Worry tugged at his mind through the night and into the dawn. Hannibal was the oldest, and as oldest, he expected himself to look out for the younger boys. If this went sideways, they would all be in big trouble.
When sunlight finally trickled through the high, narrow windows of the bunkhouse, Hannibal found himself more tired than when the night began. He rubbed the sand from his eyes and sighed. "This is going to be a long day."
Those words had hardly left his mouth when the bunkhouse door opened creaked open. Hannibal stiffened on his cot, closing his eyes. When the door was open just enough, Mr. Barlow snaked into the room.
Mr. Barlow was a weaselly old man who seemed to always have something in his teeth. Most days, he was pleasant, smiling and laughing, but the boys knew better than to get on his bad side. There were times when his mood would turn like lightning, and he would become so angry, he seemed ready to choke. Hannibal had seen more than once someone step out of line, or be awake before dawn, or even just ask him a question that he deems "imprudent and thoughtless"; those boys never came back the same, if they came back at all. Most of the stories were baseless rumors, but Hannibal witnessed Kenneth Jones, a boy who was around three years younger than Jed, ask Mr. Barlow if he could get additional servings at supper-time if he did extra chores. Mr. Barlow grabbed Kenneth by the hair and pulled him out of line, spitting curses. He looked as if he was going to remove his belt to beat poor Kenneth, but Mr. Barlow's yellowed eyes caught sight of the staircase. Grasping the back of Kenneth's shirt, he lifted the boy and threw him down the stairs. Then he calmly turned to the line of boys and smiled. "Wait here. I'll be back in five minutes." Mr. Barlow gingerly stepped down the stairs. No boy dared look over the bannister to see, but they all heard crying as Kenneth was drug away. No one saw him after that. Most the boys say that he was put on a wagon and taken away to an even worse place, but when they think about it a little longer, they often go silent. Hannibal only knew one thing: Mr. Barlow was unpredictable.
"Wakey, wakey, boys." Mr. Barlow sang, gently tapping on the boys' feet as he passed their cots. "Time to wake up."
Hannibal sat up slowly. He glanced at his cousin. Jed's eyes were red and watery and he sat on his bunk with his head down.
"Alrighty, boys," Mr. Barlow cooed. "Get dressed. I want to see you all spic and span in five minutes." He slipped out of the room and closed the door.
The second he was gone, the room exploded in to a flurry of boys all trying to change their trousers, make the bed, wash their face, and all getting in each other's way. But getting ready for the day was farthest from Hannibal's mind. He crawled across his cot to face Jed. "What's wrong, Kid?"
Jed sniffed and turned away. "Nothing." He fiddled with the scratchy bedsheets.
"I know something's the matter." Hannibal laughed. "You got to tell me."
He shrugged, "I just had a bad dream. That's all."
Hannibal nodded. "Was it about your ma?"
A strange expression crossed Jed's face. He furrowed his brow and his eyes wandered, "Yeah, yeah, it was about Ma."
Hannibal thought about pressing the subject, but his bed was not going to make itself. Another sigh escaped his lips as he tucked the corners of the sheets under the thin mattress.
