𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄 | ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴄᴏɴʟᴏɴ

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

     "JACK!"

     Frenchie sat behind Crutchy on the bronze horse, holding his waist to keep him balanced. Race sat in front, supposedly driving. Keith rose stood beside them, trying his best to ignore Mush Meyers singing his horrible French songs. Aside from that, everyone stood peacefully watching the winter sky as if nothing happened.

"Jack—Jack, I thought you—I thought," Frenchie stammered. "Didn't you get more time in the refuge? I thought—"

"It's okay," Jack said. "I got away, but I've gotta keep hiding."

"How did you—the bulls—"

"I got out with Roosevelt," Jack said. "I snuck under his carriage when he was leaving and—"

"Jack you have no idea how much I've missed you!" Frenchie hugged him as tight as she could, almost ripping the air from his lungs.

Jack laughed. "Shut up, French. I missed you too."

And he did—more than Frenchie would ever know. She would think about how she needed to feed the other boys, but all Jack could think about was his sister; how she had probably replaced him and gotten back in her usual swing of things.

Thankfully, Crutchy didn't mention Frenchie collapsing on the ground and bawling her eyes out, otherwise Jack might have rethought coming back.

And sure, Frenchie was impressed. Getting out of the refuge with nothing but your brains? And on the back of Teddy Roosevelt's carriage? Not bad.

When Racetrack told him about the other kid the that got sent to the refuge, the one in the purple shirt who spoke German, Jack just stared off into the sky.

"He's not alone like I was," he said. "There are others like him."

"Jack," Frenchie said, "you were never alone. You've got us."

***

"I-I know...but something Switchblade said I was having a dream..." Snotface told them what he'd seen, and what the papers had said.

"Another banner?" Jack asked. "What does that even mean?"

Snotface shook his head. "I have no clue. It just keeps coming back."

"I'm just glad you're back, Jack," Switchblade said hopefully. "I know all too well how the refuge is."

Jack cleared his throat. "About that...we need to help those kids."

"Where would we even begin, Jack?" Frenchie said with a sigh. "You just got back. Don't go getting into trouble again."

Jack looked at Snotface from the back. "Come on, Snot. Youse usually support me with stuff like this."

Jack told them about the horrible conditions at the refuge. "I don't know if there's an exact way to help," he said, "but we have to try."

"I know how rough it is there," Snotface slipped his arms from around Switchblade's waist. Frenchie could sense his tension without even looking at him. "But the best thing we can do right now is wait."

Still standing right with them, Frenchie said, "There isn't much we can do. Nothing that I can think of, at least." Everybody looked away in thought, but Frenchie added: "We would have to expose them from the inside."

"But we don't have anyone on the inside," Crutchy said.

Racetrack shrugged, wobbling on the horse. "Well, then we'll have to get someone."

Switchblade looked away.

"What's wrong?" Crutchy asked.

"I just...Why do they do this to us? Why does the world hate people like us so much?"

"I don't know," Jack said.

"I mean..." Switchblade's voice quavered. "I knew the world was cruel, but why did it have to be cruel to so many people?"

Frenchie got the feeling there was a lot more bothering him, but she decided not to press him. He'd had a rough morning.

Racetrack scratched his head. "Well, I dunno about you boys—"

"And girl," Frenchie corrected.

"Whatever. But I'm hungry."

"So is everyone," Jack said. "You're not special, Race."

"I'm going to take a wild guess," Frenchie said. "You want to go to Jacobi's?"

"I could go for some Jacobi's," Crutchy agreed. "Maybe even be a big spender and get a seltzer."

"Well if Crutchy says so..." Jack said, "then we must go."

"Why do we only ever do what he wants?" Racetrack grumbled. "He ain't the most special one here."

They walked west, and Frenchie became lost in her thoughts--all of them bad. She wasn't sure how much time passed before the her mind dove through a break in the clouds, and above them, glittering in the winter sun, was a city at the edge of a massive lake.

A crescent of skyscrapers lined the shore. Behind them, stretching out to the western horizon, was a vast grid of snow-covered neighborhoods and roads.

"Manhattan," Jack said.

"One problem down," Switchblade said. "We got here alive. Now, how do we keep doing that?"

Frenchie saw a flash of movement below them. At first she thought it was a small bird, but it was too small, too dark and fast. The thing spiraled toward the skyscrapers, weaving and changing shape—and, just for a moment it became the smoky figure of a horse.

"How about we just live in the moment," Frenchie suggested, "and see where it goes?"