by Jay Posey
Cass couldn’t help it. She called out, reflexively.
“Dagon, no!”
Too late. Dagon slashed the blade across Three’s throat. Three’s hand jerked once, spasmodically. For a moment afterwards, no one moved. Then, Cass gasped at the thin line of crimson that welled on Three’s Adam’s apple.
“Please,” Dagon said, glancing at Cass, almost pleading. “They’ll hear us.”
Dagon looked back to Three, watched him with unreserved fascination, the hint of a smile on his thin lips.
“I could’ve killed you, you know.”
Three hesitated, nodded. He reached up, felt his throat with his fingertips. A seam of blood stretched from one side of his throat to the other, a shallow cut, almost surgical. A warning.
“I didn’t do so bad myself,” Three replied in dry monotone.
Dagon chuckled humorlessly, dropped his gaze to his own torso. There, for the first time, Cass saw a slender length of polished steel protruding from between Dagon’s ribs.
“Missed the heart,” Dagon answered.
“Not by much.”
Dagon shrugged, smiled. Shot a look to Cass. Struggled, wavered. Finally.
“You know I can’t just let you go.”
He turned back to Three, eyed him. Cass saw something pass between them, some kind of understanding she couldn’t identify or explain. Three smirked.
“But I can give you a head start.”
Dagon plucked the blade from between his ribs, bowed slightly, extended Three’s short sword back to him. Three took it without ceremony; slid it into its sheath.
“I’ll keep this one,” Dagon said, holding the simple knife. “A reminder.”
Three touched his throat again.
“Guess I’ll keep this one then.”
“Next time,” Dagon started.
Three just nodded. Cass picked Wren up and quickly joined Three. Dagon wouldn’t look at her anymore.
“You should go,” he said quietly. “They won’t be far behind.”
“Dagon…” Cass began.
“Don’t.”
He turned his back to them, but made no motion to leave.
“Seeya, Spins.”
“Bye,” Wren murmured.
Cass swung Wren to her back, and hoped in her heart she’d never see Dagon again.
Three didn’t know what exactly had just transpired, who Dagon was, or why he’d let them go, but he wasn’t about to wait around for someone else to find them. He grabbed Cass under the arm and led her as fast as she could go back the way he had come. They’d made it deep into a tight alley, maybe fifty meters away, before Cass ripped her arm from him and stopped running.
Three halted, whirled to face her.
“We’ve got to keep moving.”
Cass set Wren down on his feet. And then, with everything she had, she punched Three square in the face. He took it, but reflexively grabbed her wrists.
“You left us!” she spat. “You left us to die, you son–”
Three spun her, shoved her hard against the nearest wall, crushed his body into hers, pinning her.
“You listen to me,” he growled, in a cold monotone. “I promised you nothing. I owe you nothing. You’re alive. For now. You want to stay that way, we move. Now.”
Three looked down deep into Cass’s dark eyes, saw the defiance there, the hard resolve, the intense fire he knew would burn him later. But also acceptance. She knew he was right. There would be time for arguments later. He hoped.
He stepped back, released her wrists.
“He said a head start. How much of one?”
Cass massaged her wrists, shook her head.
“Not enough to get away.”
And as if on cue, there came a cry from the far end of the alley. In the strengthening light of the early morning, the source was unmistakable. Tall, muscular, right arm dangling, gray and useless. Fedor.
Three snatched Wren off the ground and broke into a dead run with the boy tucked awkwardly under his arm, Cass right on his heels.
Cass fought to keep up the breakneck speed that Three required of her, but without the quint, she couldn’t get any more out of her body. Fedor’s massive form was closing the distance with every step, and Cass knew Jez couldn’t be far behind.
The trio twisted and turned, seemingly at random. Cass wanted to tell Three that they’d never lose Fedor when they were already this close, but she didn’t have the breath or the words for it. Then, she started to notice their surroundings. Landmarks she hadn’t even realized she’d noted the first time she’d seen them. A crumbling brick wall. Piles of rusted corrugated steel. A lewd advertisement from some former shop.
Three was leading them back the way they’d come. Something nagged at her, in the back of her mind. A warning. Too faint, too vague to heed.
“Come on, this way!” he called from ahead.
Cass couldn’t figure out the point in retracing their steps. They were way too far from the Enclave to make it back. Even if they could, the guards at the gate would never let them in after the way they’d left. It all seemed pointless. Fedor had dropped out of view, but she knew he was still tracking them. And he never tired.
The trio rounded another corner.
“Keep running,” Three barked. “Don’t stop, don’t look back!”
Cass didn’t have the will to argue. Three practically tossed Wren to her as she passed him, and she slung him on her back, on top of the backpack. Three slowed. She hazarded a glance back, and saw him drop to a crouch.
She pressed on, alarms screaming in her head, danger. What was she forgetting? She ran ten more yards, nameless panic rising.
Then it dawned on her.
The traps.
She skidded to a stop, almost fell to her knees under the weight of Wren and the backpack.
A moment later, a thunderous explosion shattered the air. Behind her, plumes of concrete dust filled the sky and alleyways. Heart pounding, she sank to the ground and hugged Wren, doubting anyone would be catching up to her now.
Nine
A minute; five, twenty. Cass couldn’t be sure how long it’d been since the explosion. Not long enough to catch her breath, too long to be safe. She forced herself to her feet, calves searing, thighs hollow and trembling from the effort. A deep breath. Focus. She readjusted her backpack.
“Can we wait? Just a little longer?” Wren asked, hopeful, barely audible.
Cass just shook her head. She didn’t have the courage to look behind her, so she took his hand in hers, and started off again. One step at a time. It was all she could manage. Out of the corner of her eye, Cass saw Wren glance back over his shoulder. She stole the chance to wipe the tears from her eyes.
It wasn’t the loss. At least, that’s what she told herself. They’d been on their own, on the run, too long for their brief time with Three to really make much difference. For the first time, though, she felt an emptiness that hadn’t been there before. A quiet resignation. Her body would go through the motions for as long as she could force it to, but somewhere between the wayhouse and wherever they were now, her heart had given out. Hope can only be offered and snatched away so many times before it becomes a mockery. It didn’t seem to matter now. There was nothing more this shell of a world had left to give that could make her feel safe.
“Mama?”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Are we going to die now?”
The question jolted Cass from her haze. Wren had an uncanny knack for asking the very questions she was asking herself.
“Of course not.”
She wanted to reassure him, but that was all she could muster.
“OK.”
He took it at face value, and for that she was thankful. They walked a little ways in silence, and then Wren spoke again.
“Will you tell me when?”
“When what, sweetheart?”
“When it’s time for us to die.”
Cass’s heart practically stopped. What mother coul
d possibly answer such a question? And what did it say about her, that her child, so young, would even think to ask it? She couldn’t stop the tears then. She sank to her knees, and drew Wren close, hugged him, drawing comfort more than offering it.
Wren squeezed back.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Cass just squeezed harder.
“It’s not you, sweetheart.”
“It’s me,” a nearby voice said.
Cass and Wren both jerked at Three’s sudden reappearance. She swiveled on a knee, instinctively grasping Wren’s arm to pull him behind her. Three stood at the entrance of an alley, just a few feet from them.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, hastily clearing the tears. “I’m used to you disappearing.”
He grunted at that, the closest thing to a chuckle she’d heard from him.
“Come on this way,” he answered, motioning them over.
Cass stood and readjusted her pack, but made no movement towards him.
“We’ve got about nine hours of light, and ten hours of travel. Sooner is better.”
Still, she held her place.
“You were right, you know,” she said. “No promise. No debt.”
She glanced away, back towards the Enclave. She and Wren had made it a long time without help. They could do it again. Especially now that Fedor, Kostya, and probably Jez were all gone.
“Maybe we should just say our goodbyes, while we still can.”
There was a stretch of silence. Wren shifted beside her, fidgeting as children do.
“Well,” Three said. “I did say I didn’t owe you anything.”
His nonchalant agreement surprised Cass. She’d expected at least some marginal protest, some semblance of noble gesture. But he had left them behind once before. It was probably a relief to do so again, this time without the guilt.
“I never said you didn’t owe me.”
She looked back. He was staring right at her. Grim. Determined.
“I’ve put too much on the line to just let you crawl off and die. So come on.”
He didn’t sound angry. There was no malice or menace in his voice. Just raw determination, as if by his words he’d eliminated any other choice. And to Cass, it was as if he had. Still, she hesitated, more out of pride than uncertainty.
“How do I know you’re not just going to leave again?”
“Because I’m here now.”
She gave a final glance in the direction of the Enclave, feigning the act of weighing her options. Finally, she nodded, and taking Wren’s hand in hers, made her way over.
“Fine.”
“Yeah.”
And without fanfare, Three led them off down his side alley, perpendicular to their previous route. Within the first few yards, he was back to his old self, hesitating every so often when some instinct kicked off a silent warning. He seemed to be straining every possible sense, listening, watching, feeling for any hint or sign of danger. After some indeterminate span of time, Cass began to feel that her own measured breathing was too loud for his liking. Even so, she had to hazard a question.
“How many of them did you get?” she whispered.
Three shot her a sidelong glance, then went back to scanning the way ahead.
“None.”
He must’ve misunderstood. She clarified.
“I meant with the explosion.”
“So did I.”
Cass couldn’t understand Three’s matter-of-factness. All the trouble he’d gone through, the risk he’d taken, and he hadn’t killed even one of their pursuers. She would’ve thought there’d have been some hint of embarrassment, or disappointment at least. He must’ve picked up on that.
“I wasn’t trying to kill them.”
Surely this was some sort of defensive response, a casual I-meant-to-do-that.
“Oh?”
“Nah, I was killing us.”
She rolled it over in her mind, making some sense of it, but not a lot. The explosion, the rubble, the plumes of concrete dust. Maybe the wreckage would disrupt signal enough to buy them some time. Or maybe Asher was busy sifting through the wreckage for her body, or for some trace of residual impulse. Too many maybes, never any answers.
She opened her mouth to ask another question, but Three pressed ungentle fingers over her lips and shook his head. Enough talk. The rough, callused skin left a trace of heat when he pulled his hand away. He set off again wordlessly, silently, a mist of a man dissipating across the jagged asphalt terrain.
For his part, Wren was holding up well, keeping pace without complaint, picking his feet up instead of scuffing them along as he was wont to do. He had declined a piggyback ride, which was practically unheard of. He seemed more relaxed than Cass could remember him being, more confident. Older somehow, though she couldn’t be sure when he’d grown.
Progress was slow, but steady, and after the first two or three hours, Cass grew nearly accustomed to the broken rhythm of the journey, the patternless flow that Three kept without any apparent effort. At first it had irritated her, being unable to predict how long they might crouch in the corner of an abandoned building, or how far they’d travel across open space before they stopped. But eventually Cass discovered the benefits of it. Alertness. Focus. Rhythm bred complacency, and that was one thing none of them could afford.
“We’ll rest here,” Three said, almost at full voice. The sudden volume was shocking in the dull and heavy silence that pervaded the dead city around them, and Cass couldn’t help but flinch.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” she whispered.
“Not at all,” he answered. “But you need it.”
He glanced to her briefly, caught her eye, added a little nod. Cass had started to protest, but Three’s tone was neither condescending nor accusatory. Not gentle, perhaps, but there was a hint of care or concern in his voice that she hadn’t noticed before. And suddenly, she was glad for it. Cass only now realized how exhausted she was.
They found a niche in what had once been a large fountain, though no water ran there now; a curving serpent wrapped around a stylized mountain, which offered them cover from three sides and some slight concealment from the fourth. Cass and Wren nestled together with their backs against the concrete base. Three produced some sort of ration from his harness: a synthetic combination of carbohydrates and protein; spongy, flavorless. They ate it without conversation or enjoyment, though Cass could tell it was at least nourishing.
After they’d eaten, Wren lay down and put his head in her lap, while Cass leaned back and let her eyes drift closed.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked without opening her eyes again.
“North a few more miles, then west.”
“Where does that get us?”
He inhaled deeply.
“Northwestish.”
Cass cracked an eye open. Three crouched by the opening, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees; the closest thing to relaxed Cass had yet seen of him. Whether he had intended to say more or not, Cass wasn’t sure, but he reacted to her when he saw her looking. A half-smile, one corner of his mouth turned down slightly. A lightness in his eyes. A joke.
“The Vault’s up that way,” he continued. “Heard of it?”
Cass shook her head.
“Yeah, not many have. Not the nicest place, but it should be safe for a night, maybe two. Gatekeeper’s a friend of mine.”
“You have friends?”
Three exhaled abruptly through his nose; apparently his version of a chuckle.
“Enough to get by,” he replied. Then added with a nod, “Get some rest, girl. We’ll move soon.”
Cass let her eyes fall closed again, felt herself drifting off already, welcoming the deep embrace of sleep under Three’s watchful eye.
Three ran a thumb back and forth over the checkered grip of his holstered pistol, mind working to calculate all the variables that would affect the rest of their travel. He’d already let the woman and ki
d sleep nearly half an hour. Every minute that ticked by robbed them of precious daylight, their only ally out here in the open. They’d been making better time than he’d expected. Much better. Tough as the two were, though, they’d been showing signs of exhaustion. Three didn’t know how far he could push them.
Five more minutes. Then he’d wake them.
Three scanned their surroundings from his constrained viewpoint. Less visibility than he would’ve liked. And it was rarely a good idea to back into anything that only had one way out. But he knew Cass and Wren would feel safer here, surrounded by walls, hidden from view.
He chuckled humorlessly at that, touched the shallow, weeping cut across his throat. Seemed like he’d been making a lot of compromises lately.
He glanced over at the slumbering pair, and found Wren sitting upright, staring at him with glassy eyes, blond hair standing straight out from the side of his head where he’d been lying in his mother’s lap. Three nodded. Wren wiped an eye with the back of his hand and tossed a casual wave in response. For a moment, they just sat there, looking at each other, Wren’s sea-green eyes fixed unblinking on Three.
Three flashed back to when he’d first seen those eyes, back at the Enclave, back in that dive bar. Days ago? Another lifetime. Something in those eyes had captured his notice and escaped his definition then. Even now, sober and alert, Three found he couldn’t quite identify what he saw there. Something hovered at the outer edge of his consciousness, just beyond his grasp, a vanishing dream he fought to recall. Something…
Cass spasmed abruptly, eyes wide, hands shooting up from her lap; the sudden movement made Wren jump.
“They know,” she rasped. “They know I’m alive.”
Three was already in motion.
“Tracerunnin’ you?”
She shook her head.
“Can’t be. But he knows.”
Three’s mind scrambled through the scenarios. They’d been headed in a different direction before the blast. Not directly opposite, but far enough off-track to make other routes equally plausible. They’d avoided the obvious double-back. And there was an outside chance that the Vault was off-grid enough to escape Asher’s notice… No. No reason for optimism now. Three never counted on the outside chance, unless it was bad.
