When I finished, I leaned back, eyeing my work. It wasn’t the best job I’d ever done, and if you looked closely enough, you could see the cracks, gaps, and uneven edges between the bricks. But I was hoping that no one would peer too long and hard at this corner of the restaurant. Or, if they did, mistakenly attribute the damage to the fire. Hopefully, they’d be too concerned with the body and the rest of the destruction to even dream that I’d escaped.
When I’d bricked up the wall as best I could, I grabbed the duffel bag and crawled over to the edge of the Dumpster, peering around the corner. Just as I’d suspected, both ends of the alley were blocked off. A mix of cops and firefighters milled around each exit, standing in front of long ribbons of yellow crime-scene tape that had been tacked up between the walls there. The red, white, and blue lights of the fire trucks and the police cars on the side streets beyond highlighted the words on the glossy tape: Do Not Enter.
It didn’t look like the cops and firefighters were going to come back here anytime soon, but I still needed someplace to hide. I looked longingly at the crack in the opposite alley wall that I used to hunker down in when I was a kid and searching for a safe place to sleep for the night. But my body was far too big to fit in there now, and I didn’t have any magic left to help me widen the spot.
But I couldn’t stay here forever. There was too great a risk of someone seeing me. If nothing else, the firefighters would eventually examine the back wall of the restaurant to make sure that the structure looked sound enough for them to enter. They would easily spot me in my current location. So where else could I hide? The only thing that was even big enough to conceal my entire body was the Dumpster that I was crouching behind . . .
I sighed.
I really, really didn’t want to do it, but I needed someplace to rest and hide while I got my strength back, especially since I was so exhausted that I was in danger of passing out at any second. I knew from my time living on the streets that nobody ever looked in the Dumpsters except the homeless bums searching for food and stuff to salvage. There was too much of a chance of finding a dead body stuffed into one. Nobody wanted to deal with that hassle, not even the cops. I’d be safe enough sleeping in the Dumpster for the rest of the night. And if I wasn’t, well, I’d tried my best to survive.
So I waited until one of the cops at the end of the alley closest to me brought over a round of coffee for his men and the firefighters. Then I got to my feet. I stood in the shadows, looking and listening, but now that the fire was out, all the action was on the streets, and no one was peering in my direction. So I stepped up onto a dirty milk crate that someone had left in the alley. I hoisted my duffel bag up and over the side of the Dumpster, holding on to it for as long as I could before letting go. It landed with a soft thump. I held my breath, but the sound hadn’t carried, and the cops and firefighters didn’t even glance in my direction.
So I hooked one leg over the side of the Dumpster, then the other one. I clutched the side of the pitted, pockmarked metal, even as my body sagged against it, my heart racing, sweat trickling down my neck, my breath once again coming in shallow pants. Just that small motion had exhausted what little strength I had left, and I didn’t have the energy to move again for several minutes.
I listened over my ragged breathing, but no one entered the alley, and no one had noticed my slithering into the Dumpster. Even if someone had, I didn’t have the magic or the strength left to fight off an attack or the energy to try to make a break for it.
When I slid into the Dumpster, I landed on—well, I didn’t want to even think about what I landed on. All sorts of foul things moved and squished and slopped around beneath my boots and then my body as I sank down into the muck. Trash bags rustled. Plastic cups splintered. Spoiled food slithered this way and that, shifting under my weight. And a small, sharp squeak sounded that could only have been a rat, angry that I’d plopped my ass right down into the middle of its nest.
But the worst part was the smell.
Sticky soda. Rotten banana peels. Blood and snot and vomit and all the other foul, disgusting things that come out of human bodies. And, yes, even spoiled barbecue from the Pork Pit that had baked for far too long out in the autumn sun. The stench invaded my nose and throat, choking me like the smoke had, and I had to swallow down my bile again.
Using small, quiet movements, I grabbed my duffel bag, unzipped the top, and rooted around until I found one of the tins of Jo-Jo’s healing ointment. I popped off the top and buried my nose in the sweet, vanilla-scented balm. I inhaled deep, deep lungfuls of the soft aroma, trying to get the scent of the garbage out of my nose and mouth. For added measure, I dipped my grimy fingers into the tin and smeared some of the ointment under my nose. It drowned out the worst of the stench.
I also took the time to smear the ointment over all the cuts, scrapes, and bruises that I could reach on my face, hands, arms, and legs, as well as across my lungs. It wasn’t as good as Jo-Jo’s healing me herself, but she’d infused plenty of her magic into the ointment, and I felt the soft pins-and-needles of her Air power prick at my skin, stitching together and smoothing out the ragged parts of me that they could.
My movements were slower and more awkward than ever before, and it took me a couple of concentrated tries before I managed to put the lid back on the empty tin of ointment, drop it down into my bag, and zip it all up again.
Then I put my duffel bag underneath my head, made myself as comfortable as possible in my bed of garbage, and drifted off to sleep.
17
For once, my slumber was peaceful and free of the dreams and memories that so often plagued me.
But the noises woke me all too soon.
Footsteps slap-slap-slapped back and forth through the alley. Shouts and yells and steady beep-beep-beeps bounced off the brick walls. The rattle-rattle and scrape-scrape-scrape of cars and heavy machinery rumbled at a steady level on the surrounding streets.
I opened my eyes and had to squint against the growing glare of the early-morning sunlight as it slipped in between the buildings and streamed down into the Dumpster, highlighting all of the filth that I was cocooned in. I didn’t know what time it was, probably a little after seven, but the fire department was getting an early start dealing with what remained of the Pork Pit, just like the fire chief had promised Madeline. Then again, I imagined that she had paid him or perhaps someone else even higher up on the food chain more than enough to kick everyone into high gear this morning.
One by one, people started trickling into the alley. The Dumpster was high enough to hide me from sight, although I did have a few tense moments when some giants walked by. They were so tall that they could easily have peered over the side of the container, but they strolled on without even looking in my direction. But I remained as quiet and motionless as possible, not wanting to attract anyone’s eyes or ears with a stray movement or an unfortunate squish of garbage.