Ammunition was in a storeroom on the second floor. His hands steady now, his insides white-hot, Ron turned on the storeroom light and found a box of cartridges for the pistol. When he finished loading the automatic, he jammed the rest of the ammo into his pants pockets. Then he turned toward the door.

Al was standing there watching him.

“Where you goin’?” Al asked.

“Where do you think?” Ron snapped. He was surprised at how calm his voice sounded. Flat. Deadly.

Al shook his head. “No, you ain’t. Sylvia an’ th’ kid ain’t dead. They’ll be okay.”

“I’m going to kill that sonofa—”

“Dino’ll kill you before you even know where he is,” Al said. “Dontcha think he’s waitin’ for ya right now? He knows you’ll be out after him, an’ he’s waitin’. With a big grin on his stupid face.”

Ron stood there, smoldering like a hot ember.

“Put the ammo back,” Al said, “an’ put th’ gun away. Dino’s left an’ he won’t be back. That’s the end of it.”

“But my ID card . . .”

“That’s the end of it,” Al repeated, his voice stronger.

Not for me, Ron told himself. It’s not the end of it for me. But he turned back and did what Al commanded.

It was more than a week before Al let Ron go to the market again. And when he did, he ordered two warriors to go with Ron.

“Jes’ in case you meet up with Dino,” Al said, “or there’s more trouble with th’ Muslims.”

Or I try to run away, Ron added silently.

At the market, Ron told Dewey what had happened. All of it. The old man listened patiently as he sat on his stool behind the counter full of hardware. Once in a while he nodded or scratched his beard.

“So maybe I can get away later on,” Ron said at last, “but not now.”

Dewey’s eyes looked sadder than usual. “I should’ve figured that the gang wouldn’t let you go. Especially with all this trouble with the Muslims.”

“More trouble?”

Nodding, Dewey answered, “Some of the mid-town gangs tried a few raids on Muslim turf. Wouldn’t be surprised if this Dino fella wasn’t in on it.”

“What happened?”

“Don’t know, exactly. Except that a lot of kids came through here yesterday. Most of ’em were hurt pretty bad. Looked like the Muslims chewed ’em up fierce.”

Ron shook his head. “I’ll get free of the gang,” he said, his voice low. “I promise.”

“Don’t take any chances you don’t have to take,” Dewey said. “I can wait. I waited a long time to find a boy like you, son. I can wait a few months longer.”

Feeling sad and embarrassed, Ron covered up his emotions with, “Well . . . don’t worry. I can take care of myself.”

“Sure,” said Dewey. “I know.”

“I’ll see you.”

“So long, son. Good luck.”

Life settled into a tense routine. It was getting to be winter now, and even though the Dome protected the city from the fiercest winds and bitterest cold, it got too chilly to walk the streets without a coat. The buildings that the kids lived in were heated only when they had enough fuel oil to run the furnaces. Otherwise they made wood fires at night out of furniture, doors, anything they could find that would burn. The smoke hung in the air inside the Dome, making Ron’s eyes sting and his lungs burn from coughing.