“No,” I muttered, staring down at the camp. “I think I can do this.”
Kanin released my arm but then pressed a small package into my hands, wrapped in greasy paper. “When you are finished, leave this where your prey will find it.”
I frowned, lifting a corner of the paper, finding a pair of shoes inside, fairly new and sturdy. “What’s this?”
“An exchange,” Kanin replied and turned away as I continued to stare at him. “For the harm our actions will bring them tonight.”
I blinked. “Why bother? They won’t even know we were here.”
“I’ll know.”
“But—”
“Don’t question it, Allison,” Kanin said, sounding weary. “Just go.”
“All right.” I shrugged. “If you say so.” Tucking the package under one arm, I started toward my sleeping prey.
I was maybe halfway to the cluster of lean-tos, the scent of blood and sweat and human grime getting stronger each time I breathed in, when I caught movement from the other side of the room. I ducked behind a corroded metal beam as two ragged figures slowly picked their way toward the camp, murmuring back and forth. With a start, I recognized one of the boys, Kyle, the leader of our rival gang. Snippets of their conversation drifted to me over the rubble pile, talk of food and patrols and how they were going to have to scavenge in other territories soon. It filled me with an odd sense of déjà vu, hearing pieces of my old life played back to me.
When they reached the camp, however, one of them gave a shout and lunged forward, reaching into a box and dragging something out by the ankle. The figure pulled out of his shelter gave a feeble cry and tried crawling back into the box but was yanked into the open by the other two.
“You again! Dammit, kid! I told you, this is my box! Find your own!”
“Look at that,” said the other boy, peering into the box, scowling, “he went through your food bag, too, Kyle.”
“Son of a bitch.” Kyle loomed over the cringing boy, still sprawled out at his feet, and gave him a vicious kick to the ribs. “You miserable little shit!” Another blow, and the cringing boy cried out, curling into a fetal position. “I swear, pull another stunt like that, and I won’t just throw you out, I’ll kill you. You got that?” One last solid kick, eliciting another cry of pain, and the larger boy shoved him aside with his foot. “Go crawl away and die already,” he muttered and ducked into his shelter, pulling the curtain shut.
In the wake of the outburst, the rest of the camp was stirring, faces squinting out of their shelters with bleary, confused frowns. I remained motionless behind the beam, but after gauging what had happened, the rest of the camp lost interest and vanished back into their individual homes. I heard disgruntled murmurs and complaints, most of them directed at the boy lying on the ground, but no one went forward to help him. I shook my head, pitying the boy but not blaming the others for being angry. In a gang like this, you pulled your own weight and contributed to the rest of the community or you were considered dead weight. Stealing, sneaking around and using other people’s things was the quickest way to getting a beating or worse, being shunned and exiled from the gang. I had been a loner in my old gang, but I had always pulled my own weight. And I’d never stolen from the others.
Then the boy stood up, brushing at his clothes, and I nearly fell over in shock.
“Stick,” I whispered, unable to believe my eyes. He blinked, gazing around the camp, sniffling, and I blinked hard to make sure it was really him. It was. Thin, ragged and dirty, but alive. “You got out. You made it back, after all.”
I started toward him, unthinking, but something clamped my arm in a viselike grip and pulled me back, into the shadows.
“Ow! Dammit, Kanin,” I said in a snarling whisper. “What are you doing? Let go!” I tried yanking back, but he was much too strong.
“We’re leaving,” he said in an icy voice, continuing to pull me away. “Now. Let’s go.”
Planting my feet didn’t work. Neither did jerking my arm back; his fingers just tightened painfully on my arm. With a hiss, I gave up and let him drag me through the room and out another window. Only when we were several yards from the warehouse did he finally stop and let me go.
“What is wrong with you?” I snarled, biting the words off through my fangs, which had sprouted again. “I’m getting a little tired of being dragged, cut, hit, yanked and ordered around whenever you please. I’m not a damn pet.”
“You knew that boy, didn’t you?”
I curled a lip defiantly. “What if I did?”
“You were going to show yourself to him, weren’t you?”