Disclaimer: see previous eight chapters…

Chapter 9:

Jack couldn't breathe through the heavy smoke. All around him, his family was falling to the floor, gasping and choking for air. His own throat burned, his eyes could barely stay open.

Blink in front of him struggled to pour the bucket of water on the fire that now engulfed the entire front wall, and the windows.

"Its no use," gasped Specs behind him, clutching his neck.

"Keep going!" Jack yelled, his voice hoarse.

They kept going, passing the bucket from hand to shaking hand, gasping, struggling, and begging for air. Jack felt his knees start to give way beneath him, his vision started to blur.

Then, as he fell forward, nearly crushing Blink, the door burst open, and a line of shadowy figures filtered in. Jack closed his eyes, and gave in to the figure above him that grabbed his feet and started to pull.

Loud shouts woke him from his deep sleep later that day, and as he sat up, his throat still on fire, and his eyes watery, he saw all around him, his boys, sprawled across the sidewalk, in the middle of the street, everywhere.

"Welcome back," said a voice he recognized immediately. Jack turned his neck and noticed Spot, perched atop a large crate, staring down at him. "Lucky for you, we were in the neighborhood."

"Spot, what happened?"

"You forgot already?"

"No, I mean—" Jack turned all the way around to stare at the remains of their lodging house. "Kloppman is he--?"

"That old man's got a lot of spirit. Some officers took him down to the hospital this morning, along with a couple of your guys."

"Which ones?"

"Easy Jacky boy. They're all in good shape considerin'…things."

"Which ones, Spot?"

"Racetrack is there, a blond kid with glasses—"

"Dutchy…who else?"

"Uh…Boots. Crutchy. Mush. They're all alive though. You're lucky you didn't lose any."

"Spot," Jack dropped his head back onto the hard ground, coughing as he did so. "Skittery sold us out. I never thought…I thought I knew my boys…"

Spot gave him what Jack could only deem a sympathetic look, and then stood up. "You're boys are alright, Jack." Then Spot left, began mingling with the police and firemen and other adults milling around, fixing wounds, giving the boys water.

Jack looked back and stared at the burnt façade of his home. He felt like a failure. He was their leader and he'd been careless. He'd trusted Skittery too much, and he hated Skittery for turning him into a liar. Even more he hated himself for being a failure.

…

Snoddy felt uncomfortable sleeping in a jail cell, even if he wasn't in trouble. Exhausted snores drifted around the room, some boys coughed. Snoddy lay on his lumpy cot, unsettled and not at all tired.

He heard footsteps, sat up slightly to find the source, and in the minimal light pouring through the jail's tiny windows, he saw Jack walking toward the front door.

"Out to have a smoke," Snoddy concluded, Pulling himself from his bed and creeping quietly toward the jail's entrance.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" Jack asked, his back to Snoddy. His head was bent over a match.

"I should ask you the same thing," Snoddy said, coming to stand beside Jack who offered him a cigarette.

Snoddy waved it away.

"Suit yourself," Jack said, tucking the offering back into his pocket, and taking a big puff of his own. "There a reason you're out here, Snod?"

"Couldn't sleep."

Jack laughed bitterly. "I know the feelin'. Its always weird tryin' ta sleep in a bed that ain't yours."

"I bet Skittery had no problem."

"You know, Snod. It's funny. Sometimes you think you know a person and then they just turn out so…different."

"Maybe he's been this way all along, he just never had a chance to show us."

"I can't imagine how you must feel, Snoddy. I mean, you and Skittery, you're like brothers almost."

"He ain't my brother."

"I never said he was. He almost was."

They sat in silence, leaning against the jailhouse walls, watching the patterns created by Jack's cigarette.

Then something moved in the shadows.

"Did you see somethin'?" Jack asked, leaning forward.

"Somethin'."

They waited, holding their breaths and staring intently at the dark areas created by the buildings surrounding them.

"What is that?" Jack asked, stepping forward as whatever it was moved forward.

"Not 'what' Jack. Who?" Snoddy jumped off of the porch and hurried toward the figure which was trying desperately to stand up.

Jack followed.

Snoddy was already kneeling by him, listening to his gasping words when Jack skidded to a halt.

It was Skittery, plain as day, but his face was so bloody and bruised, he didn't look much like himself. Jack knelt down on the other side, looking up at Snoddy as he did so.

"I'm sorry…" Skittery said. His voice was hoarse. "I couldn't get here in time and they found out, they found out!" He started to ramble, his eyes looking straight ahead.

"Shh," Snoddy said, grasping Skittery's bloody hand tightly in his own. "It's alright, Skittery. You're home now." With his other hand, Snoddy gently stroked Skittery's hair, while Jack watched, uncertain of what to say or do.

"I wonder how he knew where we were," Jack said.

Snoddy shrugged. "Maybe Spot told him."

"Spot would never have let him come here alone. Not in this shape."

"Maybe he ran into a bull."

"You ain't thinkin'!" Jack said. He stood up and began to pace. "The bull would o' escorted him back hisself. You know that."

"Maybe he overheard Jacob and the others—"

"That's just what I was thinkin', Snoddy. And if he knows we're here, he'll be comin' for us."

"I don't think he's going to attack a jail, Jack. He ain't that stupid."

"You're right…but if he knows we're here, then he's got a guy watchin' us."

…

Skittery's eyes fluttered open and he shut them again immediately as they were met with bright sunlight. He groaned, realizing as he tried to stretch, that his entire body felt as though it had shattered into a million pieces and then was lit on fire.

There was a rustling sound and then a face appeared over his own. "He's awake!" Someone yelled.

The pounding of feet on the floor sounded like thunder in his ears and he cringed.

"Skitts! You alive?"

"If he weren't, he'd be dead, idiot." There was the sound of flesh on flesh then and Skittery knew a fist fight had just broken out. Then Jack's commanding voice ordered them to stop and his own face came into Skittery's view.

"Sleep well?" he asked, his face emotionless.

Skittery struggled to pull himself into a sitting position and it was from his new viewpoint that he become conscious of where exactly he was.

Where they all were. He recognized the heavy black bars, the bleak stone walls, the lumpy mattress. "Why are we here?"

"You tell us," demanded Racetrack. He stared at Skittery, his arms folded over his chest.

"Like I would know."

"You should."

"Enough Race," Jack said gently. He turned back to Skittery. "That pal o' yours done the lodgin' house in. Burnt to a crisp."

"Honest Jack. I meant to tell you…I didn't know…"

Jack placed a hand on Skittery's chest. "Easy, Skittery. Look…we may not all be willin' to trust ya so quickly at the moment, I mean…what are we supposed to believe, huh?"

Skittery lowered his eyes.

"But," said Racetrack. "You can stay with us if you need to. Obviously, they don't want you on their side no more…"

"So, ah…rest up."

Jack turned away leaving Mush and Specs to pounce onto Skittery's bed excitedly, relaying the events of the past week to their injured friend.

"Where is everybody?" Skittery asked in one of the rare moments that Mush and Specs were silent.

"Out sellin'," explained Mush as though it were the most obvious answer. "Where else would they be?"

Skittery, momentarily forgetting his pain, jumped out of bed and grabbed Jack by the arm. "You can't let them go out there! You have to get them back."

"What are you talkin' about?" Jack asked.

"Loffstetter and his guys. They're gunnin' for us, Jack."