Author
It has been a long day. Matt and Jonas have still not returned with Scat. I am keeping my fingers crossed that Scat is doing fine and that he didn’t get caught by the Central Bobcats. Tony was his best friend, is his best friend.
Scat had been confined to the room for two days; hunger gnawed at his insides. The scraps of food tossed into the room by one of the goons was barely enough to feed a toddler. It did little to dull the ache in his stomach.
He wasn’t alone. Other boys shared the space, each of them quiet and trying to avoid attention. The only times the door creaked open were for three grim purposes: to march them to the bathroom, to force them into chores, or worst of all to drag one of them to the gym.
The Central gym had become a place of dread. No one wanted to be chosen. The Goons never explained, never asked. They simply pointed, and the unlucky boy was taken.
Those who returned, if they returned, came back limping, bleeding, broken in body and spirit. Eyes dull, ribs bruised, sometimes unable to stand on their own. The silence afterward was always the loudest part, boys staring at the floor, pretending not to see, knowing it could be their turn next.
Scat didn’t cry. Not yet. But fear was settling deep in his bones, and hunger was only one of the many things eating away at him.
JT had been trimming festival flyers that afternoon, when the chime above the front door rang out, he barely looked up. Most days, it meant someone hoping to place a lost-dog notice or a desperate personal ad. But this time, it wasn’t a lonely heart. Two of the Central Goons stepped through the door, bringing with them the cold, unwelcome presence of Xavier Boulder’s influence. They didn’t bother with small talk. One of them, broad-shouldered and sneering, announced they were acting on Xavier’s orders. Central was recruiting. They wanted muscle. Guards. Enforcers.
JT kept his tone even, his hands steady. Supplies were low, he told them. Nothing could be printed, not now.
They weren’t interested in excuses. One of the Goons stepped in close, his voice low and threatening. The message was simple: if the posters weren’t ready in two days, they’d return and flatten the Bear News.
JT didn’t flinch until they left. But after the door shut and their footsteps faded, a silence settled over the room that felt heavier than before. He tried to shake it off, went back to trimming flyers like nothing had changed.
But it had.
Casey had been restless for hours, caught in a cycle of shallow sleep and discomfort. The third trip to the bathroom came with a groan, the familiar urgency driving her from the warmth of her tangled sheets. The baby pressed unrelentingly against her bladder, as if even in the womb it demanded space and attention.
Her back throbbed with a dull, constant ache. Her eyelids hung heavy, but rest refused to come. Every muscle in her body felt drained, as if simply being was a task too great.
There was no lack of love only weariness. She was deeply grateful for the life growing inside her, for the small kicks and flutters that reminded her she was never truly alone. But in the quiet hours of early morning, when the world was still and she was not, that gratitude was layered with longing.
She wanted it to be over. Not the motherhood, not the bond but the heaviness, the waiting. More than anything, Casey wanted to hold her baby in her arms, to trade aching anticipation for the weight of new life cradled against her chest.
Tony is getting worse, and Scat is missing. I couldn’t find him anywhere this morning. He didn’t show for breakfast. His bike is also missing. He is too little to be out in the city alone. If he is caught by the Central Bobcats, it could be disastrous.
Matt and Jonas volunteered to go and look for Scat. I would have gone but I have things that need my attention here.
Madie
The Central Goons had grown bolder in recent weeks. No longer content with intimidation alone, they had begun snatching boys off the streets, anyone small enough to drag away, anyone without someone watching. The boys taken were forced into hard labor on the Central Campus, their days filled with hunger, cleaning, and obeying. The unfortunate were thrown into savage warm-up fights, nothing more than living punching bags for Xavier Boulder’s goons to train on.
At that moment, Scat had just reached his bike. The trade was done, the precious medicine secured. He was ready to return to Bear Country, to save his friend Tony.
Scat didn’t see the two Goons until it was too late. He tried to escape their grasp but failed.
Scat murmured his thanks as they stepped out the backside of the mall, the sharp afternoon light catching the dust in the air. Sam handed him the medicine without ceremony, her face calm, unreadable as always. She had covered the rest of the trade with the pharmacist, a quiet favor, but not a small one.
“Meet me at the market plaza tonight,” she said, slipping her hands into her coat pockets. “I could use your help with a little distraction… and maybe picking a few pockets.”
She paused, just long enough to let the next words carry weight. “I hope this medicine helps Tony.”
Then she turned and walked away, leaving Scat standing with the bottle in his hand.
Sam, Queen of the Gutter Rats, felt a flicker of irritation toward Scat, though she knew he wasn’t to blame. She hadn’t warned him what the pharmacist might demand in trade. The man was unpredictable, sometimes picky, other times needlessly cruel. Scat, unaware of the risks, had laid everything he owned on the counter: every last coin and a battered old pocket watch, his hands trembling slightly as he hoped it would be enough.
He called himself “The Pharmacist,” but he didn’t care about healing anyone. His concoctions were mostly fakes, cheap mixtures that did more harm than good. If you died taking his medicine, that was on you. All he cared about was making trades and scamming the desperate, those trying to save someone they loved, or just escape their pain for a while.
Scat was desperate to find medicine for Tony. The old mall was a ruin, collapsed ceilings, shattered glass, and the smell of rot hanging in the air. No one went there anymore, not unless they were out of options or out of their mind. People said only the desperate or the doomed walked through its doors. But Sam insisted it would be fine. They were going through the back way, a more direct route to the pharmacist.