Free Vessel by Lisa T. Cresswell Page A

strained to hear what Tiber said to Recks before shoving him toward the vendor. The shouts of the crowd grew again, drowning out everything else.
    Recks didn’t hesitate. He ran up to the vendor and grabbed the man’s arm, gesturing toward the crowd. Then I heard Tiber shout.
    “Move!”
    Members of the Tribe I hadn’t even noticed sprang out of the crowd, running behind Tiber. They descended upon the vendor, his cries going unnoticed in the roar of the crowd. The prisoner was in the flames now, and no one heard the vendor. In a second, the grill was emptied, and the tribe disappeared into the dark streets. I ran after them, unable to see Recks, to get away from the screams of the dying prisoner. Somehow I heard his screams above everything else. I knew what it was like to feel your flesh burning off. I wished him a speedy death as I ran.
     
     
    ***
     
     
    The rubber-soled shoes wore my ankles raw as I dodged the garbage and the metal carriages littering the street. The last of the Tribe ran into a dark building through a broken window, shards of old glass crunching under their boots. Was Recks even with them? Had he gotten away?
    My blood pounded in my ears, thankfully the only sound I heard now, finally far from the crowd. I stepped into the building where the Tribe had disappeared and froze, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the inky darkness. A light flickered on in the distance, and I realized the building was enormous. This was no house. Perhaps it was a place machines were once made? Pipes and machinery filled the floor space, ominous in the eerie glow, the high ceiling invisible in the gloom. I crept closer to the light, straining to hear the excited voices growing louder.
    “What was that?” shouted Tiber.
    “What was what?” The sound of Recks’s voice soothed the ache in my head, but it didn’t sound quite right. I peered through some machinery for a better view. A fire burned in a barrel. Two boys held Recks by the arms while Tiber kicked at his stomach. Recks doubled over, and the boys let him fall on the ground next to the barrel. He groaned.
    “You tried to warn him!” said Tiber.
    Recks couldn’t answer. Tiber kicked at him again. Recks writhed on the floor while the rest of the tribe watched, some devouring bits of stolen meat.
    “I don’t like traitors,” said Tiber. The Tribe jeered and shouted in agreement. Someone handed Tiber some meat, which he ate with his grubby fingers while he circled Recks, watching him through beady eyes. Weevil had the same eyes when he was about to finish someone off. I wanted to scream, but I knew I had to keep my head on. I looked around. What could I do? Running into their camp wasn’t an option. There were at least eight of them that I could see.
    A set of ladders glowed in the firelight overhead. Not knowing exactly what I was going to do, I climbed a ladder quickly to a second story landing and scurried over their heads to hide behind some giant pipes. Lucky for me, the Tribe was entranced by Tiber’s ranting. He wiped his greasy fingers on his pants and leaned over Recks, who wasn’t moving. He lay face down on the filth-strewn floor.
    I fumbled around in my pockets for the slingshot and something to shoot. Yanking it out of my pocket, several pebbles spilled onto the floor. Feeling in the dark, I found a box of heavy metal tools and round metal nuggets about the size of rocks. I wasn’t about to be picky. I loaded a metal bit in the slingshot and fired it at Tiber, missing him by inches. It slammed into the iron vat behind him with a loud bang, startling the entire Tribe.
    “What the hell was that?” said Tiber, looking up at my perch. I hid in the gloom, reloading the slingshot. I took aim and fired again. This time I hit his shoulder. He screamed, more angry than hurt. Some of the other boys ran away.
    “Get up there!” he ordered the closest boy. I’d given my location away, and I might be trapped. A stupid slingshot wasn’t going to take