He dreamed that she was crying. Then Davey started screaming.

Ron’s eyes snapped open. It wasn’t a dream. Davey was screaming!

It was still dark. Davey screamed again, a high, thin screech of pain and terror.

Ron leaped from his mattress, pulled on his pants as he ran, and raced downstairs to Sylvia’s room. The door was open, the lights were on.

Sylvia was kneeling beside her mattress with a torn sheet wrapped around her. She was crying and holding Davey in her arms. The boy had stopped screaming, but he was crying now too, with quick panic-filled gulping sobs. Sylvia rocked back and forth with Davey’s curly black hair nestled against her breast.

Ron knelt beside her. Her lip was split and bleeding. There was an ugly bruise on her throat.

Then he saw Davey. The boy’s face had four straight red welts across one check—finger marks. One eye was swollen. He was trembling, shaking with terror, whimpering.

“Dino,” said Sylvia. Her voice was strained, slurred. “He wanted me t’ go with him. He’s quittin’ th’ gang. Started slappin’ me around when I wouldn’t go with him . . . Davey tried t’ protect me an’ he beat up on Davey. Kicked him . . .”

Ron found that he was shaking now. He turned and found Al coming in. There were more people out in the hallway.

Barely able to control himself, Ron got to his feet and went to the door. He pushed through the growing crowd in the hallway and raced upstairs. On his worktable was an automatic pistol. In fifteen seconds he had clicked all its parts together, worked the action twice to make sure it was ready to fire, and then started back downstairs.

Ammunition was in a storeroom on the second floor. His hands steady now, his insides white-hot, Ron turned on the storeroom light and found a box of cartridges for the pistol. When he finished loading the automatic, he jammed the rest of the ammo into his pants pockets. Then he turned toward the door.

Al was standing there watching him.

“Where you goin’?” Al asked.

“Where do you think?” Ron snapped. He was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. Flat. Deadly.

Al shook his head. “No, you ain’t. Sylvia an’ th’ kid ain’t dead. They’ll be okay.”

“I’m going to kill that sonofa—”

“Dino’ll kill you before you even know where he is,” Al said. “Dontcha think he’s waitin’ for ya right now? He knows you’ll be out after him, an’ he’s waitin’. With a big grin on his stupid face.”

Ron stood there, smoldering like a hot ember.

“Put the ammo back,” Al said, “an’ put th’ gun away. Dino’s left an’ he won’t be back. That’s the end of it.”

“But my ID card . . .”

“That’s the end of it,” Al repeated, his voice stronger.

Not for me, Ron told himself. It’s not the end of it for me. But he turned back and did what Al commanded.

It was more than a week before Al let Ron go to the market again. And when he did, he ordered two warriors to go with Ron.

“Jes’ in case you meet up with Dino,” Al said, “or there’s more trouble with th’ Muslims.”

Or I try to run away, Ron added silently.

At the market, Ron told Dewey what had happened. All of it. The old man listened patiently as he sat on his stool behind the counter full of hardware. Once in a while he nodded or scratched his beard.

“So maybe I can get away later on,” Ron said at last, “but not now.”

Dewey’s eyes looked sadder than usual. “I should’ve figured that the gang wouldn’t let you go. Especially with all this trouble with the Muslims.”

“More trouble?”

Nodding, Dewey answered, “Some of the mid-town gangs tried a few raids on Muslim turf. Wouldn’t be surprised if this Dino fella wasn’t in on it.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know, exactly. Except that a lot of kids came through here yesterday. Most of ’em were hurt pretty bad. Looked like the Muslims chewed ’em up fierce.”

Ron shook his head. “I’ll get free of the gang,” he said, his voice low. “I promise.”

“Don’t take any chances you don’t have to take,” Dewey said. “I can wait. I waited a long time to find a boy like you, son. I can wait a few months longer.”

Feeling sad and embarrassed, Ron covered up his emotions with, “Well . . . don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure,” said Dewey. “I know.”

“I’ll see you.”

“So long, son. Good luck.”

Life settled into a tense routine. It was getting to be winter now, and even though the Dome protected the city from the fiercest winds and bitterest cold, it got too chilly to walk the streets without a coat. The buildings that the kids lived in were heated only when they had enough fuel oil to run the furnaces. Otherwise they made wood fires at night out of furniture, doors, anything they could find that would burn. The smoke hung in the air inside the Dome, making Ron’s eyes sting and his lungs burn from coughing.

Slowly, the other gangs stopped asking for Ron to repair things for them. They even stopped bringing in small repair jobs for him.

“They’re runnin’ low on food an’ money,” Al said. “Got nothin’ left t’ trade with.”

Ron saw all the work he had done for the Gramercy kids become meaningless. The lights, the stoves, the electrical machinery he had fixed—all were useless now. Even the generator down in the basement, which warriors had died for, was now cold and silent, without fuel. It couldn’t snow inside the Dome, of course, but the winter cold seeped in, bringing at first discomfort, then pain, and finally sickness.

The bruises that Dino had put on Sylvia and Davey slowly faded away. But Davey stopped going out on the streets to play with the other boys his own age. He developed a hoarse, dry cough that got deeper and more racking every day. The child stayed close to Ron almost all the time, and even slept with him many nights, under as big a pile of blankets as they could find. Still, Davey coughed and Ron always awoke shivering.

There was no news about Dino. At the market area, there were plenty of stories about raids around the border of the Muslim turf. Sometimes it was white gangs hitting the Muslims, sometimes the Muslims raiding the whites. The fighting was bitter. Many were killed and wounded.

The shaky truce that Al had engineered among the white gangs was beginning to crumble. Kids who were cold and hungry were no longer willing to live in peace if they thought they could get the food or fuel they needed by force. There was no fighting in the Gramercy area though. Ron concluded that the other gangs respected Al too much for them to attack his gang.

Then the night exploded.

Ron was asleep when the first blast lifted him off his mattress. He bounced on the floor, completely awake and totally scared. More blasts! People shouting, cursing, screaming.

Ron’s mind began to work. It’s a raid!

Scrambling to his feet, he dashed out of the room and downstairs. A thin, oily-smelling smoke drifted up the stairwell. Guys were dashing all around down on the first floor. Ron stopped at the second floor landing. More warriors were bunched up in the doorway to the ammo room. Al was in there, shouting orders.

Ron heard glass break downstairs and then a sheet of flame whooshed up from the first floor. Screams of agony came up the stairs with the blistering heat and glaring white flames.