Blood on the Wall

Chapter 4: In Which a Lot of Stuff Happens

No one moved for a few seconds, until Jack asked, with panic in his voice, "Quick, is anyone not here?"

Ike answered, "Lots of the little kids have gone to bed, no idea."

"Then we need to go see." Jack gestured to Specs, the resident doctor of the newsies, and Buttons, who could help if there was any stitching-up needed. "You two, come with me. The rest of you, get everyone into one room and don't let no one leave. Let's go!"

Jack, Specs, and Buttons ran down the stairs to the street, grabbing bandages on the way and not bothering to be quiet. When they burst out the door, the cold winter air did nothing to help with their anxiety.

"Which way?" Buttons asked.

"I dunno." Jack looked around the empty street, trying to remember which way the scream had come from.

"Are you sure it's a newsie who screamed?" Specs ran a hand through his curly hair, also glancing around.

"Doesn't matter," Jack answered. "It was a little kid's scream. And they're still alive, or at least they was."

"Jack?" Buttons sounded scared. "What if we find... a dead body?"

Jack put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Then we find a body. But we need to check. The kid might still be alive."

"Let's try the alleys." Specs started toward the nearest alley, the others following.

The first alley was empty.

So was the second.

And the third.

But then they tried the fourth one.

Buttons glanced in first.

"Empty," he said.

"Wait." Jack pointed something in a corner.

It looked like nothing more than a pile of rags, which Buttons had mistaken it for. But when Jack looked closer, he realized the lump was distinctly child shaped.

Jack ran forward. It was a kid. A boy with brown hair and wearing a threadbare shirt, lying in a puddle of blood. A bullet lodged halfway in his right forearm. Eyes closed. Breathing, but just barely.

"No," Jack whispered, barely audible.

"What? Who is it?" Specs asked.

Jack turned to his friends, his face white.

"It's Howie."

Jack hadn't slept for thirty-six hours. He couldn't, not when any second Howie could wake up.

Or die.

Jack shook his head, banishing that thought.

He'll be fine. Specs patched him up nice, and he's gonna be just fine.

Howie mumbled something in his sleep and Jack turned to look at him. The boy's right arm was tightly bandaged and soaked with blood. Jack brushed some hair out of Howie's eyes and sighed.

The door to the sick room opened and there stood Crutchie, holding fresh bandages.

"Hey, Jack." Crutchie sat down in a chair next to Howie's bed and asked, "How is he?"

Jack shrugged. "Alive."

"He looks so young, doesn't he?"

"Yeah. He does. He is." Jack muttered angrily, "Much too young to be shot."