Chapter 1: Sneak me out, Gov'nor

Francis Sullivan stared up at the sky through the bars of the window in his cell at the Refuge. Stars were beginning to poke through the dusky blue expanse overhead as night approached. The stars were so vivid and so close that evening that he felt he could pluck one from the sky. He smiled a little, for the first time in days, at the thought, and he felt a strange sense of peace. At that moment, to ruin the serenity of it all, Snyder, the warden he held a bitter grudge against, strolled by, talking, laughing, having quite a pleasant time with the mayor. With a sneer, he pushed away from the window and paced back towards the hard cot in the corner. Sighing restlessly, he dropped onto the bed and crammed his hands through his tangled hair. 'I swears, I's gonna get out an' Snyder will be so sorry…'

Footsteps and the clanking of keys could be heard down the hall. Francis rose to his feet and approached the door.

"Eager to get out, eh Sullivan?" taunted the guard, stopping before the boy's cell.

"Jus' shut up an' open the door."

He gave a nasally chuckle, shaking the keys enticingly just out of Francis' reach. "You's forgettin' who's got the power, kid." And then he walked away, like he always did when the boy copped an attitude, to let the others out first.

Francis growled and slammed his palms against the bars in frustration. Angrily, he paced back and forth in front of the door, waiting for the guard to return. When the man finally did, he harassed the boy a while longer before finally letting him out. Furious, he stalked out of his cell, muttering a bitter damnation or two about him and his family, and only the fact that the guard was safely stationed behind the open door stopped him from connecting his fist to the man's face.

He stormed down the dark, rank hall, following the voices of the other boys who were in this juvenile prison, all on their way to dinner and a half-hour of recreation. He was herded into line for food, hastily yanked a tray from the stack on his right, and held it out for the cook to slap on to it the mush they incorrectly labeled food. Turning, he silently trudged to an empty table, slammed his tray down, and parked himself in a chair, shoveling the pasty meal down his throat and into his starving body as if the meal would be his last. It certainly would for a few days, he reckoned, as he tended to infuriate Snyder to the point of breaking more often than not, and punishment often included a day or two without eating.

"Hey, mind if I sit here?"

Francis looked up momentarily, to see a blond-haired boy sporting an eye patch pointing to the chair across from him. He shrugged, and motioned, rather uninvitingly, for him to sit. The subtlety flew right past the boy, and he sat and extended his hand pleasantly. Francis stared at it, but made no move to offer his own hand.

"I's James, but ever'one calls me Kid Blink. Blink for short."

"That's nice" was the bitter one's reply, without bothering with introductions.

Pursing his lips, Kid Blink pulled his hand back, and forked up a mouthful of the flavorless gruel on his plate. "You's that kid ever'one talks about, ain'cha? The one who gots Warden Snyder down his neck all the time? What's he got against ya?"

"Don't know, don't care. For all it's worth, Snyder can just go shove it up his-"

"Whatcha in for?" he asked quickly, sparing his ears from the harsh language he knew the other boy would spout.

Francis rolled his eyes. Apparently, this boy wasn't going to leave him alone unless he talked. "Stealin'," he replied simply. After a long pause, he grudgingly asked, "An' you?"

"Fightin'. It wasn't my fault, but try to tell the bulls that. I's just defendin' myself." He shrugged. "But they's lettin' me out in a couple of days. What about you?"

"I's gettin' out soon too," he replied cryptically.

After several minutes of silence, he looked at Francis and asked, "Hey, ya wanna join a card game? Me an' a couple of other fella's are gonna play some poker."

With a disinterested shrug, he agreed. Kid Blink grinned. "They's a great buncha guys. This fella, name's Racetrack, is playin' too… Biggest gambler ya ever seen. That's what he's in for, gamblin'. Funny as can be, though. He can tell a real humdinger of a story."

Francis suppressed an irritated sigh, tuning out on the boy's incessant rambling, as he ripped a piece of his biscuit off with his teeth and gnawed on the bit for a while. With dinner finally over, he stood, returned his tray to the cook, and followed the chipper Kid Blink to the recreation room.

"Heya Racetrack!" he called out towards the card table where six or seven other boys were seated. A black haired boy in the group looked up and grinned toothily.

"Blink, me boy! Who ya got there?" he asked curiously, rapidly shuffling the deck of cards between his hands.

"Gots another player!" He slapped Francis on the shoulder and motioned for him to sit down.

Racetrack grinned again. "Heya buddy. I's Race, the greatest gambler there is! Prepare to lose ya money, fellas!" he crowed, dealing out the cards.

Francis rolled his eyes, grabbing his cards and fanning them out before his eyes. He let his face go passive as he studied the hand. Nothing special. Inwardly, he sighed. It was then that he realized he was being talked to.

"Hey… Finally, got ya attention…" Race grinned. "So, whatcha name?"

His reply was a silent, steely expression.

He held up his hands defensively. "Jus' askin'. Don't hafta tell me nothin'. Nobody tells me nothin' anyway." The other card players laughed at that, as he grinned, and it was apparent that the comment was a sort of inside joke.

After peering at Francis for a second, another gambler, who had introduced himself as Danny, commented, "Hey, 'e looks like a cowboy, don'cha think? Whad'ya think? We call ya Cowboy?"

He shrugged. "Whatever."

The game began. It was kept light: jokes tossed back and forth, relentless teasing when the self-proclaimed greatest gambler lost to Kid Blink, tons of laughs and even a bit of gossip, though none would ever admit to it. Even Francis, though reluctant to admit it, was enjoying himself.

"Hey, boys, didja hear that the gov'nor's comin' for a visit t'morrow night?" Race inquired on their second round of the poker game, with a pen dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He tossed a couple of spare coins into the jackpot pile.

"Our good friend Teddy Roosevelt himself, eh?" Danny cracked, raising the stakes with his own coins. The boys laughed at that.

"Yeah," he continued, "well, I heard ol' man Snyder talkin' 'bout it wit' the mayor. S'posed to be a big deal. I'll betcha a quarter we's gonna get a 'behave or we's gonna soak ya' lecture."

Kid Blink laughed. "Can't stop bettin', even now, can ya?"

He shrugged amiably. "Hey, it's somethin' t' do, eh?"

Francis listened to them silently and after some persistent thought on the subject, his brain began formulating an idea. It was crazy. It was dangerous. It was exactly what he needed to do.

A few minutes later, the guards came in to round up the boys and roughly herd them back to their cells.

"Hey, Cowboy, we'll do this again, t'morrow night!" Kid Blink shouted over his shoulder as he departed.

Francis just smirked, and ambled back to his cell.

* * *

Whistling softly to himself, Francis thumbed the pilfered file in his pocket as he stared out the window once again. He knew he would have to thank Swipes one day for it. Gone was the forlorn, dull expression in his eyes, instead, replaced by a gleam of hope. He was in such a light mood, that even Snyder was baffled by his good behavior, and very little ever baffled the Warden.

Leaving one ear tuned for footsteps down the hall, he pulled the file from his pocket and began to work on the screws holding the window in. Dusk was approaching quickly, and it wouldn't be long before Governor Roosevelt arrived. He stopped whistling as his concentration delved into the work of removing the screws. Out came one, and then another. His eyes flickered towards the entrance and, with bitter swearing under his breath, he hastily pried another screw loose as the governor's carriage rattled through the gates. There was no telling how long the politician would remain at the Refuge.

The familiar sound of approaching footsteps and rattling keys reached his ears. It was time to eat, his growling stomach told him. Leaping onto his hard cot, he threw his blanket up over his shoulders and closed his eyes, feigning sleep.

"Hey Sullivan, ya in there?" the guard yelled. "Wake up, rat, it's time to eat!" He hollered a few more insulting phrases that Francis was barely able to refrain from lashing out at, before finally assuming the boy was sleeping hard and moving on.

Taking deep, calming breaths, he stayed in bed a few minutes longer, before finally jumping to his feet and rushing to the window again. He breathed a sigh of relief to see the governor's carriage still in place. Quickly, he coaxed the remaining screws from the wall, and quietly pulled the frame of bars from the wall. He pulled his bed over to the wall, climbed onto it, and hoisted himself through the window, first one leg, then the other, and finally the rest of his body, as he pulled the window back in place.

The frigid air hit him like a shock, and his heart pounded violently in his chest, so loud that he was almost certain that one of the guards would hear. He stiffened and pressed himself further against the wall as he heard the familiar voice of Warden Snyder fill the courtyard, along with another man's. Sliding low to the ground, he peered out from behind the bush to see the warden and the governor himself, walking towards the carriage. Francis slipped into the extended shadow of the building, and scurried to the back of Roosevelt's carriage. He climbed onto the back as quietly as possible and pressed his body against the black backing, breathing heavily. 'Sneak me out, Gov'nor.'

"Come visit us any time, Governor Roosevelt" came Snyder's sticky-sweet tones of brown nosing.

Roosevelt laughed heartily, climbing into the carriage. It shifted from the weight, almost throwing Francis off. Frantically, he clung to the window and prayed he would keep balance until the carriage had left the Refuge.

There was the familiar sound of the snapping reins as the driver yelled at the horse "Giddap!" and the carriage violently jolted into motion.

He closed his eyes tightly, pressing himself as deeply as he could into the coach's slight back shadow, silently begging for Snyder to somehow miss seeing him. By some miraculous stroke of luck, Snyder disappeared into the refuge just as the coach exposed its full backside- Francis included- to the man. Moments later, he was out of the Refuge, and once beneath the shadow of a small bridge spanning the street, he leapt off, racing down an empty street, yelling in delirious ecstasy, "I's free! I's free!"

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