Cy in Chains by David L. Dudley Page B

opened his eyes, stretched, and said, like he always did, “Good day, gentlemen.”
    Cy poked Mouse. “Come on. We gotta go.”
    Mouse curled up even tighter.
    Down the row, boys came awake. Groans, complaints, sounds of “Move it!” and “Wake up!” and “Lemme alone!”—all the usual morning noise.
    â€œMouse!” Cy shook him. “It time.”
    â€œUnnhh.”
    â€œ
Now
. They gonna unlock us any minute.”
    Sure enough, from outside came the sound of Prescott opening the lock. At night, the chains with the ring at the end, the ones attached to the chain between the boys’ ankles, were put down by their feet. Then Prescott and Stryker took another chain and passed it through the rings. This chain was pulled through a small hole in the far wall of the bunkhouse and attached to a post outside. After all the boys were secured, one of the white men fed the chain through a similar hole in the wall by the door and fastened it around another post. Any boy trying to escape would first have had to unlock the chain outside—but that was impossible. Cy sometimes worried what would happen should there be a fire at night. He and the others would be trapped unless someone from outside rescued them.
    â€œTime to wake up, Billy,” Jess said. “We got to get ready.”
    Billy opened his eyes, and Cy could tell he didn’t know where he was. Then he remembered—and started to twitch.
    Not another boy prone to fits, Cy hoped. They didn’t need that mess.
    â€œHey, now.” Jess put a gentle hand on Billy’s chest. “No need for that. Jus’ do what I do, and you be all right.”
    You be all right.
Only Jess could make such a lie sound so true.
    Billy got quiet.
    â€œThat better?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œDon’t go callin’ me sir
. I ain’t nobody special. Just ’nother dog like you.” Jess looked down the line. “Y’all ready?”
    The door was unlocked from the outside, and Prescott came in, tapping his straight stick against his palm, like he was itching to use it. The man was short, wiry, and bad-tempered as a cornered wildcat. Thick hair the color of dirt sprouted from his nostrils, crept up from his open shirt collar, and covered the backs of his hands. His teeth were brownish yellow from the chaw he worked all day long. More than one boy had gotten tobacco juice sprayed in his face when Prescott was mad about something, which was a lot of the time. He looked around to see that everything was in order, then called Stryker to pull the long chain. In a moment, the boys were free from one another, but it wasn’t time to stand up—not yet.
    Stryker came in. He was bigger and heavier than Prescott, with hair the color of coal. His right eye was blue, the left, milky white, the blind orb covered by some kind of thick film. Of the two men, Stryker was less vicious, the way a bigger dog is often calmer than the smaller one that’s always trying to prove something by its constant growling and snapping. But Stryker could be dangerous, too.
    â€œOn yo’ feet,” Jess said.
    Everyone lined up, backs straight, eyes on the dirt floor. The boys who slept with their caps on took them off now.
    â€œMornin’, boys,” Stryker said.
    â€œMornin’, Mr. Stryker, sir!”
    â€œHow’d y’all sleep?”
    â€œFine, sir. Thank you, sir.”
    Prescott made his way down the line and came to a stop in front of Billy. “God damn! You done peed yourself last night, ain’t you? Yer pants is soaked. Phew! Can you smell yerself, boy?”
    Cy clenched his fist. Prescott was always on the prowl for someone to torment, and the new kid had given him more than enough excuse to have some fun.
    Billy didn’t look up.
    â€œAnswer me when I speak to you! You stink, don’t you?”
    â€œYes, sir,” Billy whispered.
    â€œJust like a baby,”