“Lusty, I must say, you’re my favorite person here.” We smile at each other, and he pats my shoulder.
When I turn around, Grace holds onto the wall and stumbles out of the sewer. Her skin has a chalky undertone as she turns and throws up on her own shoes. My stomach drops. I put a hand on the back of her neck and give her a squeeze as she finishes. When she comes up, her eyes are watering, and she purses her lips to keep from crying. But there’s no time to rest. And even if there was, she motions us forward, not wanting to make us wait on her account.
Bill leads us toward the hospital, the tall, dark outline of it just a few blocks away. I notice there are no stars, just a velvet blanket of navy blue laid over us and the large moon glowing white as it hangs suspended above.
Mosquitoes and flies crawl all over us. I instinctively whack and shoo them away from my face.
We get through one block, discreetly staying in alleyways packed with broken furniture, trash, bodies, and countless other obstacles. But the next block is a street. Already, my heart beats in my ears, and my legs feel numb beneath my knees. The Sinners have to be hungry, and here we are, running around, with food packed onto our backs. God save us. If I were them, I’d want to hunt me down too.
Cole taps my shoulder, letting me know he’s behind me, and I move ahead. I keep my head on a swivel and scan in patterns. I check rooftops, houses, and especially dark doorways and windows. All of my senses work together, keeping me tense and alert.
I hear screaming and pause, flicking my eyes in the direction of the noise. Two Sinners fight each other in the street as a small crowd surrounds them. Children are pushed to the back of the crowd, an attempt to shield them from whoever’s making the grunting and moaning noises.
Bill stops and points to a doorway. I follow him inside. He peers through the single window in front with a frown on his face.
“We can’t move until they’re done,” he says.
A hand rests on my arm. I turn, and it’s Grace. She nods her head left. I follow her gaze as the street noise grows louder.
“They’re fighting over food,” she says in a low voice.
Bill shakes his head. “It’s heartbreaking,” he says.
“But there are children,” she says. Her mouth’s set, and her hands rest on her hips.
“Grace, we can’t help them right now,” Bill says. Before he can finish, Grace opens the door and stoops in the entryway.
“Pssst,” she says.
“What are you doing?” Bruno asks.
“Psst,” she says again. A young boy glances in her direction. His filthy face and sad eyes fill my heart with compassion. I know exactly what she’s doing, and it makes me love her more.
“Come here,” she says.
“Grace, you can’t. You’re risking exposure,” Bill says. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he grunts, exhaling a frustrated sigh.
The young, dark-haired boy wanders over. He wears a t-shirt that’s too small for him by about three sizes, tattered jeans, and no shoes. At first, he seems afraid. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts in awe as he takes in the sight of our group and all our equipment.
Grace gives me a beckoning look. With trembling hands, I unzip part of her backpack and pull out a protein bar.
He jumps back, hands flying in front of his dirtied face.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” I say. He slowly drops his hands.
He reaches out. I notice the dirt under his fingernails and the creases of his small hands as I place the bar in his palm, giving him a tentative smile. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. The boy rips open the wrapper and shoves the entire bar into his mouth, eyes warily scanning us.
The crowd begins breaking up. I hear Bill’s impatient foot tapping beside me as the boy swallows his last bite and licks his lips.
“Do you have any more? My sister’s starving too,” he says in a quiet voice.
“Yes,” I say, before Bill can answer. I give him two more bars and then zip Grace’s sack back up.
“Dahlia,” he whispers. A little girl standing in the street alone, staring at the group of Sinners, raises her head, trying to locate him. “Dahlia, come here.”
“Now this is just great,” Bill mumbles. But I don’t pay him any mind when I see her.
A head of bouncy, scraggly curls frame an almost luminescent complexion with large, almond-shaped eyes and full lashes. She reminds me of a china doll. The boy waves her over quietly.
At first, she seems frozen. Her eyes move nervously between the dispersing crowd of Sinners and us.
“Hurry up,” the boy says. I see the hesitance in her eyes as she slowly steps toward us. She twists her fingers around in front of her. When she gets to the doorway, the boy pulls her inside. “Look, they have food!” He holds out the protein bar, and her eyes light up.
“And we can eat it?”
“Yes,” her brother says.