Daughter of the Refuge

Chapter Twenty-Two

Warning: violence, an attack, a fight

The sun was lowering into it's bed for the night, disappearing over the tall buildings that filled New York, ready to signify to everyone on the other side of the world that it was a new day. A new day of warmth and sunshine. A new day of hope and things to accomplish. A new day of first attempts and second chances. 

But for those in New York, the setting sun signified the dying light of the city. The reds, and pinks, and oranges, bleeding into a hue of dark purples and blues. It was a stunning sight, that was undeniable, but it was one of mourning. And many throughout the city were doing just that. 

The image of the girl on the wall was engraved in Samantha's memory. She couldn't move past the look of terror on the girl's face. How the alley had already been stained with the distinct bitter stench and crimson glare of the blood coating the walls. The haunting sign, painted in the life source of the girl who had done nothing more than be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Samantha didn't even know her name, and the girl had been used as nothing more than a message. 

The world was a dark, disgusting place. But Samantha had always known that. 

She was running through every angle of the situation that her mind could conjure up, but it was like a box filled with two different puzzles. None of the pieces were fitting together, and just when she thought she matched a section, she discovered it was apart of a different puzzle. 

She supposed that her father could have killed the girl and left the message, but that didn't add up. If he had wanted her dead, he would have killed her instead of Peter. And the name 'Daughter of the Refuge' was so foreign that she could almost guarantee that he hadn't crafted that part. 

But if it wasn't her father, then who wrote the message and why? Why did they want her dead, and why did they go to so much trouble as they had to convey that? It was clearly more than a simple threat. They were showing their power. They had resources, they had enemies, and to them everyone was expendable. 

The girl hadn't been a newsie. For all Samantha could guess, the girl was scarcely two years older than Les. 

Samantha ran through the conversation she'd had with her father, one sentence standing out to her. 

'Those newsboys mean nothing to me or to this war.'

Never once had any of them stopped to consider that Snyder hadn't  been the one behind the attacks. 

But as soon as that thought raced through her mind, a piercing shot of fear following it, she remembered the Harlem attack. Snyder had been the one to kill Ryder with his very own hand. He had to be the one behind the attack, if for nothing more than the fact that no other possibility made sense. 

Samantha glanced up in surprise, startled out of her thoughts when Jojo's hand shot out in front of her. She immediately noticed his tense shoulders, and watched as his eyes darted back and forth, surveying the whole of the street. 

"What is it?" She whispered, but cut off the sound when he gestured for her to be quiet. In the dim light of the vanished sun, street lamps, and slowly ascending moon, Samantha's eyes struggled to find whatever it was Jojo seemed so anxious about. 

"Turn around and walk back three streets before taking a left. Circle back around and meet me a street over. Keep your head down, and-" He quickly glanced over a Samantha before taking his hat off his head, pushing it into her hands, his gaze darting away from her once more. "Put that on and pull it over your face."

Samantha glared at the boy who refused to tell her exactly what was going on. "Jojo-"

"Don't ask, just do. I'll tell you when we meet back up."