Jack Thompson's Arc

Chapter 5 of 25

Jack froze with a book half-pulled from the shelf. A floorboard creaked deeper in the library. Not the wind. Not settling wood. Steps. Slow ones. He set the book down and reached for the shotgun leaning against the table. He limped between the stacks, shotgun thudding soft against the floor. Past a reading table he saw it — a pallet stacked with old books, shaped into a low bed. Blankets bunched at one end. Someone lived here. Jack's grip tightened. He pushed further in and found the corner: two tall shelves dragged into an L, cushioned seats wedged inside, desk lamps angled outward like eyes. A fort. A watch post. A voice came from behind the shelves. Flat. Bored. "Shotgun's loud. Don't." Jack stopped. A young man stepped out from the nook, hands loose at his sides, a red band across his forehead. No Luna Eclipsed pin. No drawn weapon. Just tired eyes that had already counted Jack's bad leg. "Not a scout," the stranger said. "Name's 13. Living here. You're bleeding on my floor." Jack glanced down. He hadn't noticed the cut. Jack lowered the barrel an inch. Not all the way. "You hiding from them too?" 13 tilted his head. "Hiding from worse." He nodded at the shotgun. "You're the card man. Heard about the dock. Three bodies." Jack's jaw set. The thing inside him stirred at the word bodies, quiet and patient. He breathed through it. The library wasn't safe anymore — but it wasn't a trap, either. He eased the shotgun down and pulled out a chair. Whatever 13 knew, Jack was going to need it.