Shadowed

VIII. Welles Park

My body shakes from the cold, and white clouds form in front of me each time I breathe out. The last time I saw it, my sweatshirt was wrapped around Maya's leg, soaked through with blood. I have a feeling it wouldn't be of too much use to me now, stained red and smelling like death, but I'm still wishing for it every time a frigid gust of wind rushes through the city.

I haven't run into any Hunters yet—all of the alleys I've crept down thus far have been strangely devoid of anyone. Normally I can at least expect to see other street kids in the dark passageways.

It is cold out, though, I note. If this were any other day, I'd probably be wrapped in a threadbare blanket behind a park bench, shivering in my best attempt to keep warm. I'd guess that most of the people who normally populate these alleys are doing just that, or, if they're lucky, they've snuck into a corner store, huddling in front of a rattling heater until the owner notices and forces them back outside.

I dart around a corner, pressing myself against the wall underneath an awning. It casts a shadow just big enough to obscure me if someone happened to pass by.

Abby told me I could find her in Welles Park—the long abandoned playground that's many street people's sanctuary. I have no idea where she is right now. But I have to get to her quickly, and she said that if I ever needed her, that's where she stays. It's a start. I'm trying not to think about what I'm going to do if she's not there.

I make a few more turns, sprinting across a quiet side street, and spot the back gate of the park ahead. It's surrounded by a crumbling brick wall, with chunks torn out of one side and ivy growing wildly over it. A single flickering lightbulb hangs from a pole, spitting rings of yellow light onto the dusty ground before whispering out again.

A young girl with swinging cornrows strides past the park, clutching her mother's arm, her bright smile contradicting the eerie street and the dark, gloomy day. Noticing me watching from the alley, the woman pulls her daughter closer to her side and walks faster, worry knitting her brows.

I wait for them to pass, a twinge of shame fluttering through me. I know I'm not particularly threatening. It's something about the stick-thin frame, my wild black hair, the indigo circles under my hollow, empty eyes.

I can't dwell on it, though. I've been the dregs of the world long enough to be quite used to it at this point. It doesn't torment me at night, like it did once.

As soon as they turn the corner, the sidewalk is deserted, so I dash towards the gate. I pull it open, and it makes a hideous creaking noise. Snagging my finger on a sharp piece of peeling paint, I slam it shut behind me, breathing a sigh of relief.

Normal people would never dream of venturing in here, but the walled-in park is one of the safest places in the city for someone like me. It's nearly sealed to the outside world, save for the hole ripped out of the bricks in the corner. And it's usually full of street kids, most of whom will always look out for someone who needed it. I've never slept here, but I can see what the appeal would be.

I turn in circles, glancing under the rusted play structure and along the wall. There's a blond-haired guy leaned up against the back of a slide, but Abby's nowhere to be seen.

"Shit," I mutter, running my hands through my hair frantically. I was only running on this shred of a plan, the blind hope that maybe I'd find her here. 

Now, I have no idea what to do. I need Abby to keep a lookout for James and Angella, because I'm being hunted just as much as they are. She's the only person in the whole city who'd understand how crucial my situation is.

What am I going to do if they're found? Will they, offhand, mention something about the kid who brought them food? What if I'm found? What the hell do they have in store for me, the ageless? Who are they? How did they manage to track down where I am after decades of hiding?