Les coughed and spluttered and coughed again, weakly but with feeling.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Sarah said with a laugh. "I know full well you're not sick, and it's not as if you're selling papers."

Les wiped his mouth and shrugged. "Force o' habit, I guess."

"I'll bet." She looked up at a street sign and tried to figure out how much further it was to this Tibby's restaurant Les mentioned, suggesting that Jack and David might have gone there for an early lunch. She had expected to run into at least one of the newsies out hustling the headlines by this point, but so far the air had been surprisingly clear of shouted exaggerations and fabricated stories. In fact, the city itself seemed to be getting clearer of people with every street they passed.

"Hey, y'know, we're getting close to Medda's," Les said. "Ya think we could maybe drop in for a song or two?"

"I think you're too young to be seeing that particular show," Sarah answered darkly.

"Well I think we should go to Medda's." This was said with a strange, declarative quality that she didn't expect from her kid brother – even he seemed surprised by it. "And anyway," he went on casually, "Toby could get us free candy."

"Who's Toby?"

"He's the old clown that works there. Gives me free candy."

"You accept free candy from a middle-aged clown?" she asked in reproach. "How naïve are you?"

"Not as naïve as you are," Les muttered.

"What does that mean?"

"Oh, nothin'. Don't listen to me, I'm just a kid. Whadoo I know?" He whistled and continued walking along with a little added spring in his step.

"Well, anyway," she went on, as if he hadn't said anything, "we can't stop in for a show just because you're bored. We've got to find David and Jack."

"Why?"

"What?"

Les stared at her. "Why do we have to find David and Jack?"

"Uh…" Sarah faltered, blushing slightly in her confusion. "Well, there's not an exact reason that we have to find them, but, um, don't you want to see them?"

He shrugged. "Why not. Better than school, at least."

"Hey, Jacobs!" called a voice across the street. Both of them whirled around, but the boy was addressing Les. "Nice nighty, ya girl!"

Les looked down at himself, painfully aware that he'd never dressed out of his night clothes before leaving the house, and sighed. Life sure could be difficult sometimes.

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Specs lagged behind the group and noticed with disappointment that even the southern part of Manhattan was now mostly clear of citizens. He hoped against hope that people were simply wising up and seeking shelter indoors, making their group of six the only people foolish enough to be out on the streets, and when all this was over the death count would be minimal.

He didn't know who or what was causing the death count, of course, but he had a few ideas after discussing with Swifty what exactly he had seen the hour before.

"What do you mean their eyes had no color?"

"They were white – white and strange and terrible."

"This woman, she didn't react when you broke her fingers?"

"Nope, not at all. It was the devil's work, I'm telling you."

"She bit into Jake's leg? Like she was trying to eat him or something?"

"And another guy down the street… he was chewing on someone's arm."

"And they all made the same noise? What was it like?"

Here Swifty had turned to him, looking sick and scared. "Something tells me we'll hear it soon enough."

Swifty had insisted again and again that it was "the devil's work," these people and the way they were behaving. Specs didn't know what to make of this. Being raised Jewish, he believed in God and judgment in the afterlife, but knew nothing of fire and brimstone and pitchforks and frankly found the idea a bit ludicrous. Still, he had to admit that – assuming Swifty was in complete control of his mental faculties and his description was accurate – these people didn't sound like people. Not people from this world, anyway.

But since there was little Specs could do until they talked to Itey and compared stories, he turned his attention to something else. Namely, what the hell Lashes was doing clinging to Skittery's arm like that while they walked.

Race and Mush were at the front of the group, the former attempting to cheer Swifty up with a lengthy, dirty joke revolving around women's garters. It had Mush in stitches, but Swifty could barely crack a smile, his eyes darting around for trouble. Skittery said something implying that Race would know about women's garters from personal use, which sent Lashes into a fit of high, shrill hysterics.

Specs grimaced. Skittery blushed and glanced back in his direction, but said nothing.

"Golly, Skitts, where'd ya get such a great sense of humor?" Lashes asked in awe. Specs mimicked him behind their backs, batting his eyelashes demurely.

"Uh, I dunno." He scratched the back of his head and flipped his cap around so the brim pointed at Specs, curved downwards in a frown. "'S funny ya say that, Lashes, 'cause the boys have a nickname for me…"

"Yeah, Glum 'n Dumb," Race declared in revenge, smirking and lighting up a cigarette.

"Don't mind Race – he's been workin' on his poetry and it ain't turnin' out so good, is all." Race rolled his eyes but chuckled in spite of himself; Lashes shrieked with girlish giggles.

Specs suddenly caught something very interesting. He squinted and moved a little closer to the group, trying to get a better look – but sure enough, he wasn't hallucinating.

As clear as day, there it was: a long, thick lock of shining red hair, hanging loosely from under Lashes's cap.

"GEE, WHATEVER IS THAT? I DIDN'T KNOW YOU HAD SUCH LONG HAIR, LASHES," Specs announced, admittedly a tad louder than might have been necessary.

Everyone whirled in Lashes's direction, but in the blink of an eye he had stuffed the ringlets back under the hat, hidden from view.

"Why, I guess my hair is a little on the long side, Specs." He motioned to his bangs, the only bits of hair showing, and added through gritted teeth, "But it's nowhere near as long as Jack's." He laughed coyly and everyone shrugged, turning away.

Lashes peered back at Specs and narrowed his eyebrows, smirking victoriously and holding Skittery's arm a little tighter. As annoyed as he was, however, Specs knew he had Lashes pegged, and smiled to himself.

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"So there's virtually no way to alter the headline for the evening edition that would improve sales. Is that what you're telling me, Jonathan?"

"Correct, sir. I'm afraid the population statistics will clearly show that…"

Seitz sat in Pulitzer's conference room with a bored, but vaguely attentive expression on his face. It was something he practiced frequently: how to tune out every other word his boss said while still managing his job efficiently enough to go unnoticed.

Pulitzer was rattling on and on about how poorly the day's profits had been – Complaints for a change, Seitz thought bitterly – and how to effectively put something in the water to spawn more people for the lives lost. They were as of yet unsure what was causing the disappearance in citizens, but clearly Seitz was the only man in the room who cared why. The more imminent question was how to make a dollar off of the situation, and how soon this could be done.

"A drug that urges the body to procreate," Jonathan offered, shivering like a small dog.

"Yes, thank you for reiterating my point, Jonathan," Pulitzer commended sarcastically. "Now how about making yourself useful and getting me a whiskey sour?"

"Yes, Mr. Pulitzer! Right away, Mr. Pulitzer!" He fled the room in a hurry. Seitz rolled his eyes.

"Chief, don't you think we should be concerned that half of the city's population has vanished without warning?"

Pulitzer chuckled condescendingly. "Ever the golden boy, Seitz. Ever the golden boy." He shook his head and sighed. "I'll take a moment to indulge you. What is your theory as to the reason for the sudden decrease?"

Seitz, ignoring the way the word "theory" was obviously mocked, continued. "Word on the street is murder, Chief. Mass murder committed by an unknown, but highly lethal gang front."

"Ah, my drink!" Pulitzer announced upon Jonathan's arrival, pointedly dismissing Seitz's input.

But Jonathan wasn't Jonathan. His face was contorted into a sickly, twisted expression of hunger; his eyes were blank and held a disturbing lack of color. Most noticeably, he wasn't shaking with fright. He stumbled forward, still clutching the drink but dropping it upon hearing Pulitzer's voice.

"You idiot, Jonathan! You incompetent schmuck! Can't you do anything—"

Jonathan seized Pulitzer by the throat and proceeded to throttle him, opening his mouth as if craving a bite of the man's face. Seitz jumped up from his seat, alarmed, and grabbed something off the table beside him; it was a very old and very valuable Tiffany lamp. Holding it in his hand the way he did at that moment, Seitz recalled the days of his youth – when he'd spent hours every afternoon playing stickball and was known by his friends as "Batter of the Block." He smiled in fond recognition, and swung the lamp across Jonathan's face, knocking him to the floor.

Pulitzer fell to his knees, panting. "I cannot believe this. First he drops my drink and ruins my carpet, then he tries to kill me? That blasted fool has just lost his job. And Seitz! What the hell are you thinking? Do you have any idea how expensive that—"

Seitz cracked the lamp over Pulitzer's head, just enough force to knock him unconscious. Not because he thought Pulitzer had been taken over like Jonathan mysteriously had been – just because he'd been wanting to do that for years and this was his only opportunity without Pulitzer remembering later and firing him for it.

Well, he was right about one thing: Pulitzer wouldn't remember. Because at that moment, Jonathan got up again and sunk his teeth into Pulitzer's jugular. Seitz screamed in horror, ran out of the room and tore down the street, never letting go of the Tiffany lamp.

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Racetrack took a long drag off his cigarette and did his best impression of someone who wasn't scared for his life. It fooled everyone but Swifty.

Race wasn't a religious guy – he believed in luck, not fate. But when he was young his mother had insisted he attend church with her a few times, and he'd heard plenty about hell in those hours. So all of Swifty's talk about the devil and his insistence that this was some sort of judgment on the earth was starting to freak him out a bit.

He lifted the cigarette to his lips and noticed his fingers were trembling. He cursed under his breath and tossed it to the ground – not a second later, his name was called.

"Race!"

"What?"

"Race! Guys!"

He looked up and saw Les running toward him (in a nightgown, for God knows what reason), with Sarah lagging behind.

"Heya, kid." Race ruffled his hair and gave a slight wave toward Sarah.

"Why're you in a dress?" Lashes asked, looking Les up and down. Before he could reply, Race interrupted impatiently, concern evident in his voice.

"What're you two doin' out here? It ain't safe."

He saw Sarah's face fall and realized that she didn't know something that they knew.

"What… what do you mean?" she asked, looking from person to person.

"Some friends of ours have been… uh… killed, today. And other people around the city, too."

"What?"

"Who died?" Les demanded. "What's goin' on?"

"Snitch. And Jake. Dutchy's missin' too," Mush said quietly.

Sarah blanched. "But—but the headline this morning said—"

Skittery removed his hat and cleared his throat a little. "Yeah, we know what it said. It's a lie – it's bullshit. Ya need to get inside some place safe."

"But what's happening? Who's doing this—?"

"We don't know anything except it isn't safe to be out here."

"Then why are you all out here?"

Racetrack rolled his eyes. "'At's what I'd like to know…"

"Les, just get Sarah outta here," Specs whispered to the boy. Les nodded and Specs turned back to Sarah. "Tibby's isn't too far from here, and that's where Jack and David are. Maybe it's a good idea for you to be with 'em."

"Yes." She shook her head, staring at nothing. "Yes. Yes, that's where we're trying to get to." She looked up at them suddenly and asked, "They're together? David and Jack? Did Jack—did they ask about me? I mean, us? Are they—"

"Yeah, we gotta get goin'," Race declared, walking away from them. The others followed suit, mumbling their apologies.

Les took Sarah by the hand. She seemed shaken and confused. "It's gonna be alright," he said, leading the way.

Not very long after that transaction, Race became aware that the city wasn't so quiet anymore. Instead of voices and wheels and hooves, however, it was dull, haunting moans that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"Does anybody else hear th—" He cut himself off when he caught sight of Swifty's face. He followed his gaze up to the Lodging House.

"I told you," Swifty said. "I told you."

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Author's Note: Yeah, I don't really like this chapter much. Full of ideas that sounded good in my head but just wouldn't come out the right way in text. I spent days tinkering with it, but can't make it how I want it, so here it is anyway. I'm very interested to see if it works for your guys, though. (And big THANK-YOU! to those who have reviewed so far!)

P.S. Is it just me or is the line break function not working?