As Cole hurried along River Street, the cries of the peddlers changed. One minute they were hawking mended shirts and worn boots and the next they were selling equally worn-out dreams and promises. “Peddlers of hope,” people called them. “Predators,” his brother Tyler said. Preying on hope, because that was the only thing the people of New Chicago had left.
If Tyler caught him here, Cole would get a long lecture. But there was no danger of that. His brother wouldn’t set foot on this part of River Street. He’d say it was because he didn’t want to give the hope peddlers an audience, but Cole suspected Tyler feared temptation. Walk past the peddlers and he might hear a pitch that would make him dig into his pocket for the coins they couldn’t afford to spare, wagering them on the dream of a better life in New Chicago.
New Chicago. The name itself rang with hope. People from across the nation fought starvation and bandits and the infected, to get to the great city. When they were finally admitted in, after weeks in quarantine outside, they wept. But they did not weep for joy.
They’d heard that New Chicago was like the cities of old, clean and safe and bursting with promise. Instead they found aravaged city with peddlers selling maps to the one they’d just left.
Tyler’s dream wasn’t to leave New Chicago. He knew there was nothing better for them out there. But therewassomething better in here: Garfield Park. Beyond its walls was a real city—safer, cleaner, better. To get in, though, you needed money. Lots of it.
As Cole passed through the hope peddlers, he noticed a group gathered in front of one booth.
“—guaranteed to ward off the infected,” the young woman was saying.
She was about Tyler’s age—twenty-two—and dressed in not nearly enough, given the bitter wind driving off the river. That, Cole decided, explained her crowd.
“—my friend, Wally,” she continued, waving at a barely upright drunk beside her. “He was out there, beyond the city walls, for three days and not a single one of the infected bothered him. Why? Because he was wearing this.”
Cole pressed into the crowd, as if straining to see what she held. His fingers slid into a man’s bulging jacket pocket. Out came a switchblade. Then he reached into a woman’s shopping bag and nicked two bruised apples. While the crowd absently shoved him back, he tucked his winnings under his jacket. Then he backed out and continued on.
This part of the market was the best for lifting and picking. There were always crowds, and there were always distracted people, most who’d just finished their shopping farther up.
If Tyler found out what Cole was doing, he’d get another lecture, this one about empathy. If they started stealing from each other, they were no better than the infected. But life here was a battle, and only the strongest would survive. Tyler knew that. He worked for Russ McClintock, the most feared man in New Chicago. He just wanted better for Cole. He always had.So Tyler pretended he slung boxes and cleaned warehouses for McClintock, and Cole pretended he spent all day reading the books Tyler brought home. And both brothers slowly added to the small fortune they’d need to buy their way into Garfield Park.
Cole was moving slowly past the peddlers’ booths, as if reluctantly being pulled along by some other task. You had to act as if you were just passing through so you didn’t catch the attention of the peddlers themselves, who hated anyone stealing from their marks before they could.
Cole came through every other day and only picked four or five pockets before moving on. It helped that he was small for his sixteen years, average looking and clean. The “clean” part counted for a lot in New Chicago. Good water was so hard to come by, but Russ McClintock liked his employees to be shaven and scrubbed—it lifted them above the riff-raff. So he had plenty of reasonably clean water, and he let Tyler bring Cole around, in hopes of recruiting him someday.
Cole was almost through the hope peddlers when he caught sight of something interesting. A man from Garfield Park. You could tell because his clothing didn’t look like it had been mended more than a time or two. Cole’s gaze slipped to the man’s right jacket pocket. It gaped open, ready for the picking. Unfortunately, the man looked uncomfortable here, his gaze darting about. Not an easy mark.
The man finally found what he was looking for—an older man with a dragging leg, cheeks patchy with graying stubble, eyes dull with the “New Chicago look” empty gaze, expecting nothing. When the old man saw the guy from Garfield Park, he lifted a hand in greeting. The rich man’s eyes narrowed, as if thinking the old guy looked vaguely familiar. Then he nodded and approached. They exchanged a few words and headed toward an alley. Cole followed.
He knew his way through the alleys around the market. Now, seeing where the two men were going, he skirted down a side road and came out near the end of their alley.
“I remember you had an interest in special items, Mr. Murray,” the older man was saying, his voice a hoarse rumble. “A scholarly interest.”
“If you summoned me here to sell me some cheap bauble?—”
“I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Murray. I know you’re a very busy man. This is something special. I’m told it’s well known in certain circles.”
“Everything is well known in certain circles,” Murray snapped. “And almost all of it is as worthless as that crap they’re hawking out there, so if?—”
“It’s a monkey’s paw.”
Silence. Cole inched toward the corner.
“A what?” Murray said finally.
Fabric rustled, as if the older man was pulling something from his pocket. Cole leaned around the corner. He could see the old man holding something, but he couldn’t make out what it was.
“There’s a legend—” the old man began.
Now it was Murray cutting him short. “I’ve heard it.”
“Three wishes. They say the paw grants three wishes.”
Murray snorted. “If it did, you wouldn’t be here trying to sell it to me.”
“I…made mistakes,” the old man said. “I didn’t know you need to be very, very careful what you ask for. The gentleman who gave me the paw tried to explain, but I heard only the part about the wishes. He was a wealthy man I’d helped, as I used to help you. He wanted to help me back. So he gave me this. He told me to take care, but I didn’t listen and I used up my wishes.”
