Free Gray Skies by Brian Spangler

stale salt that she so loathed. Sammi heard Declan yelling at Harold, and then turned her head in time to see that his feet were surrounded. Harold was swinging his club again, only this time it wasn’t Socks that he was aiming for. She heard another sickening thud, and then watched Declan fall to his knees next to her, gripping at his middle, as his mouth furiously tried to pull in the same foul air.
    Sammi had sucked in enough to douse the stray pin-lights, and stood in time to see Harold’s club held high above them: he was going to strike Declan. Unlike the first blow that had stolen their breath, this was intended to hurt Declan badly.
    “Wait!” Sammi was able to cough out, and then leaped in front of Harold. Her eyes darted to the club hanging above her, and to the jealous rage in Harold’s eyes.
    He’s going to swing the club, anyway , she thought. He’s not done killing today . Harold paused briefly, and then reared his club higher, ready to strike. Still gasping, she swung her leg in a clumsy motion, and connected her shin against his groin. She punched with her leg again until Harold collapsed to his knees. Her strength was exhausted, but she planted her legs, and readied herself for the other boys, pleading in her mind for them to run. Richie and Peter took a step back, with shock and uncertainty on their faces. They huddled together, as though conferring what to do next. Sammi heard Declan heaving, and then saw him limp forward. He moved a few meager steps, but it was enough for Sammi to take hold of his hand, and lead them into the fog.
    Precariousness crippled their steps. But, as confidence grew, so did their distance from Harold. Sammi kept her head down, with eyes fixed to her feet, where she followed the morse lines toward their dwellings. Declan’s hand fell from hers as he stumbled to the ground. He hollered out, having twisted his bad knee, and let out a grunt when he rolled to the ground.
    “We’ve got to run, Declan!” Sammi spat in a near whisper, trying to stay hidden, as gray mist filled the space around them. Her arm strained against Declan’s weight, almost causing her to stumble, as well. She pulled until she felt him behind her again, matching her feet step for step. The fog was thicker now, and when she looked back, she only saw Declan’s fingers in her hand, bobbing in and out of the gray mist. She picked up her feet, and hastened their pace.
    Two, maybe three hands , she thought. We’re safer with more gray now . They ran blindly in the fog. She fed on the fear and adrenaline, which carried them for another minute until they had to stop.
    Declan tripped, and rolled onto his back, heaving. Spittle mixed with blood dripped from his mouth, and lay on his chin. His upturned face also showed her a bloodied nose, and a swollen eye. She dropped next to him, and took his face in her hands, lightly touching where he’d been hit, as though she could wipe away the hurt.
    “Oh, Declan, I didn’t know they’d hit your face,” she said, and touched her lips to where he’d been hit.
    “I’ll be fine. I don’t know what got into Harold, but we need to go. I’m not sure how much I can run, though.”
    Declan wiped some of Sock’s blood from Sammi’s face, and then rested his hand on her back. “He hit you hard, Sammi, really hard. Are you hurt?”
    Her back ached where Harold had struck her with the club, but she thought that she would be okay. She shook her head, and then put her hand on his knee. It was swollen and hot; worse than she imagined it might be.
    When they’d caught their breath, Sammi crawled over the pavement to find the morse lines, and hopefully figure out where they were. She put her hands against the white paint, feeling the cool smoothness. Thousands of feet had followed this path, passing over the thick paint with padded coverall shoes until the morse lines were worn smooth. Her fingers stopped when she came across markings that felt irregular. While the shapes