Cy in Chains by David L. Dudley Read Free Book Online Page B

believing in would have killed Mr. Dathan Cain and his men a long time ago and done something to save the boys who were their slaves. Or at least saved Cy. The others could look out for themselves.
    He was desperate for more sleep, but he fought to stay awake. The dream was too much to face again. It was no comfort that some of the other boys were tormented by nightmares, too. Mouse would sometimes shout and wake up clawing at an invisible enemy. At first, Cy had felt sorry for him. Now Mouse and his dreams were just trespassing on Cy’s sleep. You had to have rest after twelve-hour days breaking rocks or shoveling heavy, wet clay. You needed a small place of peace where you didn’t have to deal with the nasty food, the reek of the outhouse, the stink of other boys who almost never got a bath. From the constant battles over the most ordinary things—an extra piece of cornpone, a blanket not yet infested with lice. From the need always to be looking over your shoulder, always to be protecting what few things you tried to pretend were your own. Rufus had pulled a knife—stolen from the kitchen—on High Boy in a fight over a worn-out cap. When it was over, High Boy had a three-inch slash across his left cheek, Rufus got twenty lashes, and the cap had been torn into worthless pieces.
    Even though the air was cold, Cy’s forehead and armpits were wet. He was glad no one near him was awake. You couldn’t risk anyone seeing you were afraid. If you did, you were in danger of the stronger guys messing with you. Cy was glad he was one of the biggest in the camp, and he had a reputation now. It hadn’t always been that way. When he first came to the camp, the older boys had beaten him, taken his boots, and mocked him for weeks after Bull found him crying. A year ago, Bull had picked on Cy one time too many and ended up with a broken arm. Cain got rid of him. Where he sent Bull and others who could no longer work, no one knew for sure. Cy hadn’t much minded the light whipping he received for hurting Bull. He’d gotten rid of an enemy and made himself a boy to fear. Since then, no one had found the guts to try anything with him.
    In the colorless shadows of dawn, Cy made out the gray shapes of sleeping boys stretched out on either side. Rain rattled against the roof and dripped through the holes in the rotting shakes. An icy drop hit his forehead.
    Shit! Did he have to be wet from rain as well as his own sweat?
    Cy tried to move out from under the leak, but there was nowhere to go. He and nineteen other boys were chained side by side on one long platform with only thin straw ticks between them and the wooden slats. Like everything else in the camp, there wasn’t enough of the platform for everyone, so the boys slept jammed against one another. On Cy’s left, Jess was dead asleep; he was big as a steer, and he took up a lot of room. More than his share. You could poke him, and he wouldn’t budge. It was like sleeping next to a boulder. Next to Jess, the new kid, Billy, lay like a corpse, except that his chest rose and fell underneath his blanket. On Cy’s right, Mouse pressed close, craving warmth.
    Cy couldn’t stand Mouse nestling against him. Sure, he made a little heat even though he was the smallest boy in camp, and yes, Jess kept preaching that they had to take care of him. Cy didn’t see it that way. It didn’t matter if you were huge, like Jess, or puny, like Mouse. When you got down to it, you had to take care of
yourself
, because no one else would. If you didn’t—or couldn’t—you were done for.
    The way Jess babied the little guys got on Cy’s nerves. Last night, it was all about Billy. He’d been brought to the camp after dark and sent into the kitchen where Cy, Jess, and a couple of other boys from their bunkhouse were scrubbing the pots. Billy was jabbering with fear, the way all the new ones did. Rosalee, the cook, got him some cold