AN: First of all, I apologize for the shortness of the chapters. I realize it's probably annoying, but this way I can type short sections when I have time, rather than taking a million years to write a full chapter. I apologize also for the darkness and violence of the story thus far. I'll try to have some lighter stuff once these poor boys make it out of their tight spot.
Charlie Bird: Love you too. I'm happy you're fifteen, and I miss your squeaking like a baby turtle.
PsychoJo: Nice to see one of the old readers has found her way back! I'm hoping some more people who used to be fans of the story will come sniffing around again. In answer to your question, I think the boys are about twelve or thirteen, maybe fourteen, but I don't think either of them is really sure what their birthday is.
Alesca: Thanks, I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'll try to keep updating.
Ashgrl: Glad you like it. Yeah, it won't be a slash, although if I'm still writing this by Charlie's next birthday I may throw in a (labelled) alternate scene or something, just because I realize there's some subtext in the closeness of their relationship. I'm kinda curious now to try writing a mushy scene, just because my style of writing is so not-romantic...
Anyway, on with the story.
Not that way, they's right outside the exit, said Mike as they reached the main staircase and Jack and Spot turned to rush down to the courtyard. They'd bash you in fore you could spit.Where do we go, then? asked Spot. We just gonna sit here and wait for Snyder?Hell no, we'll take the fire escape.Wait, wait, said Jack. What about the others?Yeah, we can't just leave em to get squashed.
Mike looked at them both in disbelief. They's already squashed, Conlon. There's about fifty cops out there with horses and clubs and guns. Most of the boys is dead, bleedin', hidin' or beggin' for mercy. He laughed bitterly. What were you gonna do, take all the cops down with your slingshot? Big scary Spot Conlon and his goddamn slingshot?
Spot's face clouded over and twisted with rage. He lifted his fist and darted towards Mike. Jack caught him and held him back.
I ain't a coward, yelled Spot. I'd fight em til I was dead or they was.Big talk, Conlon. You're just a kid, same as the rest of us. All that talk about revolutionyou was just gettin' us stirred up to get crushed right back down again. Some leader you are!Take that back, Mike, you don't mean that, Jack pleaded as he tried to restrain the hissing Spot.
I mean it. He got us into this.
Spot struggled against Jack. I was tryin'... he said with gritted teeth. I was just... But he couldn't finish the sentence.
Yeah, well, tryin' ain't good enough, Conlon, Mike said. Grief and anger and frustration oozed from him. He had considered himself Jack's right hand man before Spot showed up, and his resentment had never been a secret. Now it was all coming out. Every beatin' we took today is your goddamn fault. He turned away and walked to the window that led to the fire escape. Now let's get outa here.
Jack held on a moment longer, thinking Spot might leap for Mike's throat if he let go. But Spot lowered his fists and shook Jack's hand off angrily. All right, let go. I wouldn't take him when his back was turned. But next time, you ain't holding me back no how.
In silence, they reached the fire escape, wrestled the window open, and climbed out.
The sight that met their eyes as they looked down at the courtyard was truly tragic. Most of the boys had been herded into the northwest corner and were being coralled there by seven mounted cops aiming guns into the crowd of huddled bodies. The boys were pale and shaking with defeat and fear and cold. Even from a distance, Jack could see the blood stains on heads and arms and legs.
But he avoided looking at the four or five crumpled bodies that lay scattered around the rest of the courtyard. He didn't want to know. Beside him, Spot made a strangled noise that was half a curse, half a sob.
They stood there for only a moment, but it was long enough for one of the cops roaming the courtyard to notice them. Hey! There's a few more up there!
Cries arose from the boys. It's Jack and Spot! Run, hurry, get out! Don't let em get you! And, most heartbreaking of all, help us!Shut up, boys, shouted one of the guards roughly, and fired a shot into the air. The boys quieted.
Meanwhile three guards had surrounded the base of the fire escape and were gazing up at Jack and Spot and Mike. Come down quiet-like and we won't hurt you, one of them called.
Like hell you won't, Mike yelled back.
Come down or we'll have to shoot.Since when does big cops try to kill little kids?Since little kids started getting so damned rowdy and dangerous. Now come down, said the cop who had spoken before, and at his signal the other two aimed their guns upward.
You can't take em down, can you? Jack whispered to Spot.
Spot shook his head. Naw, not with their helmets and vests.Okay then, said Jack. We just back up slow and try to get inside as fast as we can. I know a couple good hiding spots, we can wait
But he didn't get a chance to say what they would wait for, because from behind them came the sound of angry adult voices calling for Francis Sullivan's blood. Jack turned to see two of Snyder's aides, big muscle men who'd given the Refugees too many broken limbs to count, heading down the hall towards the fire escape. Both carried cocked pistols.
What're we gonna do? said Mike, and both Jack and Spot forgave him completely for the fear that made his voice crack like a little girl's, because neither of them had an answer.
