THE EASTERN SEABOARD, UNITED STATES
Two days later
No matter how hard he tried, Ammon couldn't sleep worth a damn. Sam's forced exile was killing him. He had begged and cussed and shouted, but Sam had remained quiet and refused to even speak to him about it.
The bell rang as the front door opened and Ammon stopped pacing in the storage room and headed towards the front with a singular purpose. He was going to tell Sam to go to hell and then march his ass across town and beg Beth to let him in.
It wasn't Sam. Ammon stopped in his tracks. It was her friend Ricky, leaning against the door jamb, holding his elbow, his face a patchwork of bruises, his lip bleeding.
Ricky began to sag against the door frame and Ammon rushed forward. Ricky flinched back, but Ammon just reached to support him, holding onto him around his waist. The way the kid was grasping his arm, Ammon was pretty sure it was broken. Ricky didn't make a sound or indicate he was in pain as Ammon led him over to the chair behind the counter and Ammon had to give him that. He had broken his collarbone in the ring once and had cussed up a storm the entire drive to the hospital because it had hurt like a bitch.
Ricky sat down, exhaling in relief. Ammon rocked back on his heels, waiting for some kind of explanation.
After a quiet moment, Ricky began laughing, the sound escaping him full of bitterness. "Assholes." He leaned back against the chair, his face pinched from the pain.
"I have something that will help. Just a moment."
Ricky nodded and closed his eyes. Ammon returned with a roll of self-adhering wrap, a sling, a couple of painkillers, and a bottle of water. Ricky swallowed the pills and gulped down the rest of the water in the bottle before Ammon could take it away or something.
"Who did this to you?"
"Does it matter?" Ricky swore under his breath as he accidentally brushed his elbow against the arm of the chair.
"I guess not." Ammon frowned. "You're a mess. Why don't you try to take a shower and then we'll get your arm wrapped up and all set?"
Ricky shook his head, grinning in disbelief. "Shit, Beth said that you were nice, but I didn't actually believe her."
"Beth?" Ammon's voice came out a bit higher than he would have liked. "Have you seen her lately?"
"Nah." Ricky sighed, trying to stand back up. "Hijo de perra! (Spanish: son of a bitch!)—" He growled under his breath, grimacing. It hadn't hurt much at first, but now his arm was really throbbing. "I stopped by The Hole, but no one answered. Really weird. Even if Sam's not there, Beth always lets me in."
"What?" Ammon's heart sunk somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.
"I yelled through the door for a good five minutes, then waited and tried again. Nothing."
"Maybe they were asleep?" Ammon whispered, though somehow, he didn't believe it.
"I don't know, man. Maybe."
Ammon swallowed back the sickening, foreboding feeling that was creeping over him and led Ricky towards his bathroom. "There's clean towels." He nodded towards a cabinet. "Stay put. I'm going to run over there and see…." His voice trailed off. He couldn't finish the thought.
Ricky nodded.
"You stupid enough to steal anything, kid?"
Ricky chuffed out a laugh. "Yeah. Probably. But I won't do it."
"Okay. Rest when you're finished and I'll be back soon. I'll lock up on my way out, so no one will bother you."
Outside, Ammon's steps increased in speed the closer he got to The Hole, until he was sprinting down the streets, barreling around the corners.
He should have done something sooner. Why had he waited?
He knew no one would answer. But he pounded on the door until the side of his fist was bruised anyway. Despair gripped him, and he finally stopped. When the wall of silence was too much to bear, Ammon gripped the door handle, rested his forehead against the cold metal of the door, and closed his eyes.
The next day
Ammon wasted a few hours trying to break in through the front door. It was an industrial beast, and even with a credit card, a screwdriver, and a lock pick, all the usual suspects, the door didn't budge. Indiana Jones couldn't break through this thing.
"Ya Ibn el Sharmouta! (Arabic: Son of a bitch!)"
But, he had the advantage of having been inside. He knew which window was blocked by an old card table instead of something sturdier, so he gave the door one last look of disgust and jogged around the old auto shop, to the side. The exterior walls were old brick, but there was very little room to get a handhold. Ammon tried scaling it a few times, and after making no real progress, he leaned his back against the old facade for a minute, closed his eyes, and cursed every damnable hair on Sam's head.
A nearby shifting of gravel brought Ammon out of his funk and he opened his eyes to find Ricky standing a short distance away.
"Ho, Ammon." Ricky took a few steps closer. "They're still not back yet?"
"Ho, Ricky." He shook his head.
"Bustin' into the place, huh?" Ricky grinned.
"Trying. Locked up tighter than Fort Knox."
Ricky squinted and looked around, thinking. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you're more brawn than brains."
Ammon could only laugh. He liked Ricky. Took a lot of guts to talk to him like that. "You're pretty reckless for someone who's supposed to be so smart."
Ricky grinned. "Story of my pathetic life. Okay. What have we got to work with?"
Ammon gazed around as well, hoping something would come to him. There was a huge dumpster at the end of the alley, but it was too heavy even for him to move.
"The lumberyard isn't too far from here. Do you have nails or anything you can use to build a ladder?"
"You're a gorram genius."
"So I've heard." Ricky grinned and fell in step beside Ammon as he headed back to The Hive.
"And a smart ass."
"So I've heard." Ricky's grin widened and Ammon cracked a smile.
Ammon brought the needed tools to the lumberyard to build the ladder. Ricky couldn't help, but he carried on a one-sided conversation that kept Ammon's thoughts from turning too dark, and that was something.
The finished project would not win any prizes for craftsmanship, but it was sturdy and didn't buckle under his weight, and that was all that mattered.
Ammon hauled the make-shift ladder back to The Hole. Ricky helped to keep it steady with his one good arm and Ammon clambered up with the hammer. "Watch out," he called, and then smashed the window. Ricky cursed, but while he got showered with broken shards, nothing stuck. Ammon swung the hammer harder once the window was cleared out and beat the hell out of the card table until it gave away.
Ammon cleared the remaining shards from the window pane with the hammer and swung his legs over onto the ledge and through, dropping down.
Ammon unlocked the front door and let Ricky in. They were quiet at first as they looked around.
"They didn't take anything with them. That's a good sign."
Ammon didn't answer. The lead weight in his stomach was heavier than ever. Sam was unpredictable and volatile and he was terrified he'd never see Beth or Toot again.
Out of the fear and the helplessness, he wasn't sure which was worse.
Approaching the shelves, Ammon reached for Little Women, his heart in his throat. He flipped through the pages, not looking for anything in particular, just needing to feel connected to Beth in some way. He opened the dog-eared and worn paperback to the beginning, and the handwriting on the inside cover caught his eye. He sucked in a breath and sank to the floor, his back to the crates.
I'll come back, I promise. I'm sorry I don't know when.
Please, stay safe.
Gripping the book in his hands, Ammon read the message over and over. He stared at the words until they blurred before his eyes. His throat was burning.
He cried like a baby.
Ricky looked the other way, pretending not to notice.
"Gorram" is stolen, without apology or remorse, from Firefly. :)
"Ho" is referencing a battle school slang greeting from Ender's Game and Ender's Shadow by Orson Scott Card, the latter of which first gave me the idea to have cities overrun by gangs of kids.
