Dawn was playing quietly with some plastic cups and saucers she’d found while exploring their hideout. They were tucked away in a box with other junk from the old days. She jumped at the chance to have a tea party, but had quickly grown bored with it. Mr. Jay always encouraged her to play because he said that the happiest people he knew were young at heart. And, he would add, somebody had to remember how to be a real kid, in case real kids ever returned and needed to know. So, her mind was bouncing from childish notion to adult idea-and getting excited about Nurserywood and real tea parties when she heard something rattle and click in the hall outside.
She blew out the candle that sputtered on the table, and hurried to her cubbyhole, slid the door into place and flipped the slat to lock it. She sat in the dark, terror clutching at her heart as the doorknob to the hallway rattled and then roughly turned. The squeaking of old hinges followed. Then there were little creaks and knocking noises-as something entered, and whispery sounds like dry leaves rattling in the wind. Her breath was coming in rapid little bites and big gulps and she started to feel a little dizzy. Calm down. The grownup voice in her head warned. Slow your breathing. One. Two. Three…
She had pulled her quilt over her and was just doing what the voice had suggested, when the door to her cubbyhole started rattling and banging against the wall. Oh, Mr. Jay! Panic flashed through Dawn. The fine hair on her arms stood on end. The door rattled and banged again and then fell into a silent and quiet state that was far more terrifying.
“Hey kid,” a youthful voice said finally-it was childlike but had a raspy edge of weariness. “Kid. Come on out. We won’t hurt you, and we don’t have time for this.”
Dawn’s breath caught in her throat. Her heart thumped in her ears.
“Come on,” the whisper continued after a few silent seconds. “We ain’t got time for chitty chats or pitty pats or patty cakes!”
Dawn was startled when a quiet chorus of whispered laughter followed-that ran louder until a shushing sound silenced it.
“We ain’t got time,” the voice insisted, followed by much mechanical clicking and rattling that sounded like machinery. “We’re here to help you.” There was more whispering, and the hushing sound. “Kid. We’re just like you so don’t be worried. We know you’re spooked, but you don’t have to fill your diaper.”
“Diaper!” Dawn blurted, before clapping a hand over her mouth. She heard giggling outside and then harsh whispered words.
“Enough!” the voice hissed as the door to the cubbyhole shook briefly and was still. “Look out at least if you can.” Then the voice went quiet. “Here, give a sec…”
Dawn cautiously approached the door. With small fingers she slid the little wooden flap aside that hid her peephole. There was only darkness. Dim gray lines showed the edges of the boarded up windows-but the gloom was heavy and trended to black shadows. Suddenly, a match flared blindingly. It swooped up through the air, illuminating a hand, a set of rough clothes on a small body, the shoulders bulky, the arms and legs knobby with padding. The match’s orange yellow light traveled upward until it hovered in front of a small face-a forever child, a girl with freckles and curly hair and big round eyes. She was perhaps pre-Change nine but still about Dawn’s height and weight. The flame suddenly flared as the girl lit a cigarette. She pulled it out of her mouth with her free hand and then smiled.
“There! You see? I’m a kid too!” And then: “Shit!” the girl cried out as the match burned down to her fingers and she threw it to the ground where it went out. There was giggling and then a string of angry curses as the girl scolded. There was a sudden multitude of wooden scratching sounds, this time echoing all about the hideout as six new flames sparked to life and traveled up to reveal as many other forever children.
There were an equal number of boys and girls. Their ages ranged from six to something near eleven or twelve the biggest: one broad shouldered boy in handmade armor and padding wearing a wide metal hat. Across from him to the right of the girl with curly hair was a little boy, the smallest. He was wearing a brass helmet like some kind of museum piece-its fluted edges curled down over his narrow shoulders and swept up over his covered forehead. A welded grid of flat metal straps like a basket hid his face. His left hand looked monstrous like some lethal flower. Its five sharp petals were shiny knife blades almost as long as the boy’s arm. The small fist that held them was covered with a padded hockey glove and well bound up with heavy layers of duct tape and wire.
All the other kids held cutting weapons too, and from straps and belts hung guns of various sizes and shapes.
“Come on, we have to go,” the girl with the curly hair insisted. She blew a stream of smoke into the darkness overhead. “Toffers and Sheps are coming.” The girl read Dawn’s unspoken question. “Truant Officers and Shepherds-their dog-things have picked up your scent.”
Dawn’s hands reached out of their own accord and pulled the latch free to unlock her door. She pushed it aside and stepped out.
The kids’ eyes went wide and round and swept over her form.
“She’s got no weapons,” a tall girl in helmet and pigtails said.
“She’s dressed like a kid,” said the big boy with the wide steel hat. “A real fucking Squeaker!”
Dawn found the scrutiny unnerving. Her hands self-consciously smoothed the material of her little jumpsuit as she searched for something to say. A few wooden matches suddenly flickered to the floor as new ones were struck to life. A second later, the remaining matches were doused and replaced.
“My name is Dawn,” she said finally. Her voice sounded soft and childlike compared to these rough characters.
“I’m Liz,” the curly haired girl growled, flicking her cigarette to the ground. “We got to get you out of here.” She looked nervously at the door. They’d closed it after entering. “The Toffers are coming and they got Sheps, meaning they’ll get right on you. Last we saw them-they weren’t none of them wearing their people skins.”
Dawn shook her head. She didn’t know what a Toffer was or a Shep, and she sure wasn’t going to just leave Mr. Jay because some girl told her too, no matter how rough and tumble she looked.
“I can’t leave,” she said, finally. “I’m waiting for Mr. Jay.” Then an idea struck her. “Maybe he can help you.”
“ Maybe he can help you!” the other kids parroted, making their voices sound silly and childish. A chorus of quiet giggling followed.
“Shut up!” Liz hissed angrily. “The Creature said she was different…”
But she fell silent as something went through the group. Some kind of shared sense traveled over their bodies that even Dawn felt: like a cold chill on a damp morning.
Then the little boy with the murderous hand crouched, his head click side to side, and his tiny shape flitted across the hideout toward the door.
“Conan careful!” Liz hissed after him. “They’re here.”
And Dawn’s breath went out as the kids extinguished their matches and plunged the room into total darkness. She took a terrified step backward, but stopped when a small hand, Liz’s, grabbed onto her arm. She tried to speak-but another hand cupped her mouth and pointed her head toward the door.
A red glow had appeared in the hall outside, tracing the door’s edges with sickly light. Dawn watched as a brighter focus of light grew and searched at the lower edge of the door, slid its febrile glow on the floorboards there. Then it drew away, and plunged the room into darkness again.
The fingers gripping Dawn’s arm dug into the flesh until she wanted to scream, but her fear silenced her.
Suddenly the door split up the middle and splintered inward. Dawn was pulled against the wall as gunfire erupted from the corners-sent a flashing hail of bullets at the impossibly tall men who charged in.
They wore heavy armor, bulky over chest and shoulders-their legs were hidden by hanging sheets of thick material that seemed to sweep up from the ground to large collars that hid their faces. Black-visored caps sat atop their bullet-shaped heads. The first one in fell on his face-the bright flashes apparently eating into his silhouette as he dropped. But more of them entered, charging over his falling body.
Liz’s eyes were wild in the violent flickering light. She held Dawn’s arm tightly in one hand and fired a pistol with the other. She dragged the forever girl along the wall away from the intruders. The air crackled around them, hissed with hot gunfire and roared with pain and anger.
Dawn watched the little boy, Conan, rush at the invaders’ legs, slashing and jabbing with his curious weapon-chopping at the thick forest of legs around him. His little black shape moved too quickly to see.
Then the tall men, screaming and crying in pain, fell back-dropped into the hallway.
Liz’s fingers dug into her, seemed to have reached bone as the room fell silent and dark. There was a muffled thump, then blinding explosion.
Green lights jazzed her vision. She stumbled. Her ears were ringing. She felt cold hands suddenly on her: biting nails, rough skin ripping over her own. She opened her eyes to red light. Strange men without faces loomed. And something panted near her ear-stank of dogs and blood. Faraway she heard the sound of gunfire-then there was only darkness.