by Jay Posey
He turned back towards the little shelter, but Cass stopped him with a question.
“Three, what’d you do?” she asked. He stopped. Just stood there for a moment. Still, the way only he could be, like he’d just turned to stone. Or had always been. “To get disconnected, I mean.”
He turned slowly, with a grim look. Wrestled. With the confession, she assumed.
“Whatever it was, I can handle it. You can tell me.”
“I know,” he said. He stared at the ground for a long breath, then inhaled sharply through his nose. Held. Then looked up, and answered.
“To be disconnected, you gotta be connected in the first place.” That took Cass by surprise. There was no way Three was old enough to have been born before they’d gone genetic, before connection had become inherited, like brown eyes, or high cheekbones.
“I… don’t understand.”
“You’re not supposed to, Cass. No one’s supposed to.”
“What, both your parents were sanitized or something?”
“I don’t know,” he answered, stepping closer. “I don’t know who my parents were.” He looked to the ground, then away to the horizon. Another step closer. “But I’m not what you think.”
“Then tell me what you are, Three. Tell me who you are.”
He turned his shoulder to her then, leaned against the broken wall, slid down it until he was seated. And suddenly he looked desperately weary. After long moments of silence, Cass sat down next to him.
“Back… before,” he started. Then, he raised a hand and swept it over the Strand. “Before. I was born into a very particular family. Raised for a very particular reason.”
She sat in silence, sensing that Three was fighting himself. Wanting to tell a story, his story, one that he’d kept secret for perhaps as long as he’d been alive.
“I lied before,” he said. “When I told you I had a sister. There was a girl, but she wasn’t my sister. I loved her like one. At least, I loved her the way I’d guess you might love a sister. We grew up together, in the same House anyway.”
He put a curious emphasis on the way he said house, as if it meant more than the building in which he’d grown up.
“We grew up together. We were the same. And they taught us, they trained us, to do certain things, to be certain things. When everyone in the world is connected… well, I guess there were uses for people like me. But then the world changed, Cass. And my House fell. And all those things we’d been trained to do didn’t matter anymore. Not in the same way. And they didn’t help me protect her. Not when I needed to most.”
He went quiet after that, and still, and the sun continued to slip below the horizon. After a while, he broke the silence.
“How long do you have?”
Cass understood the question, wondered how long he’d been wanting to ask it.
“A few months, I’d guess. Give or take.”
“Nothing to do?”
She shook her head. “It’s the quint. A body can only run so hot for so long.”
“Not even genework? Nerve replacement?”
“No. Believe me, I’ve looked. But no. When I went chemic, I knew what I was in for. But when you’re fifteen, living to thirty seems like forever.”
“That how you got hooked up with RushRuin? Pulling speedruns and security?”
Her turn now. It was only fair. She took a breath, and started in.
“It wasn’t RushRuin when I got started. There was a man, and I was young and scared. He wasn’t nice, but he was strong. And he liked me, so I let him.”
She hadn’t thought back to those early days in a long time. It seemed like someone else’s life.
“Called himself Zenith,” she said, with a scoff. All these years, it still sounded ridiculous. “Thought he was the ‘true peak of man’. He put a crew together, and let me tag along as his showpiece, used me when it suited him. Wasn’t too happy when I turned up pregnant.”
“And this is the guy you’re taking Wren to?” He sounded skeptical. Maybe a hint of shock, or anger.
“No, he wasn’t Wren’s father,” she replied. Hesitated. But they were being honest now, and it somehow felt right to tell the whole story. “He was Asher’s.”
Three didn’t respond, not verbally, but she could feel the realization sweep over him.
“Asher’s your son,” Three said. His tone even, controlled.
“Wren’s brother,” she added. “Well… half-brother.”
He made no further comment, and Cass suddenly felt compelled to fill in the blanks. “Zenith’s crew was pretty good in the small-time, back when we were running standard jobs. Sec/Net stuff mostly, identity spoofing sometimes. That’s when I started dosing. Making myself useful, you know.”
She didn’t say it, but she couldn’t forget the terrifying nights she’d withstood from Zenith, just to keep Asher safe.
“Eventually, we started getting attention from some big players, and Zenith brought in people like Jez, and Fedor and Kostya. They were fresh on the scene then, but they’d already dusted off some important people.”
“And that’s when you started the brain gigs?”
Cass shook her head. “Not until Wren’s father showed up. He was light years ahead of everyone else. Not just in our crew, everyone. The whole scene. As far as he was concerned, Sec/Net was doing things the hard way. He’d figured out how to go straight to the source. Right into someone’s head, find what you need, get back out.
“He was elegant, though. His way was to do the job so no one even knew he’d been there. Zenith hated him from day one, but he knew a moneymaker when he saw one.” Cass paused. She hadn’t really thought back to those times, not in a long while. Back to when she was young, and he swept in and changed her life. Old feelings stirred like autumn leaves rolling. “He was good. And he was a good man. That’s when we went big time. RushRuin. After a couple of runs, Ran and Dagon came on board. The Mountain and the Grave. They were at the top of the game back then. Freelancers. Everybody wanted them, and they came to us.”
“One big happy family.”
“Until Wren.”
“Not Zenith’s. And he knew.”
“Everybody did. Except the father.”
“He left you there? With Zenith?”
“There was a… disagreement. He couldn’t stay. I couldn’t leave.”
“So your new man walked. And Zenith did what?”
“Got what was coming. Finally got too rough with me one night. Dagon was there.”
She grimaced at the image. The pain. The flood of relief. And regret. Three hadn’t looked at her since she’d started the tale. He was busy studying the horizon. Only the top quarter of the sun remained. She could see behind his eyes though, that he was busy putting the pieces together, processing.
“And Asher runs the show now,” he said. “It didn’t bother him that Dagon killed his father?”
“He was running jobs by the time he was ten. At first, because Zenith made him. But after I had Wren, he… changed. Started asking, begging to run jobs. Even ones Zenith wouldn’t take. Sometimes, Asher would do them anyway. After Dagon… after Zenith was gone, he just sort of took over. Didn’t miss a beat. Like he’d been groomed for it. And everyone seemed OK with it.”
“Except you.”
“I was never OK with any of it.”
Three nodded.
“He’s after Wren,” he said. “Because Wren is… Wren is something else entirely.”
“Wren shut him down, Three. Locked him out. At age five. No one else has ever been able to do that. And Asher can’t live without knowing how Wren did it, and Wren…” Tears started coming now, thinking about her boy, lying in a hole in the middle of the Strand. All because he didn’t want to see someone hurt. “That’s my baby he’s after. My baby. He doesn’t know how he did it, he can’t tell Asher what he wants to know. And Asher won’t stop… it’s an obsession. A disease. He wants to take my boy apart.”
“They’re both your boys.”
It stung to hear him say that, but he didn’t seem to have intended it to be anything more than a factual statement. Or maybe he was, for the first time, processing out loud. He looked to her, as if he suddenly realized how that had sounded. Placed a gentle hand on her forearm. She wondered that such rough hands could touch that gently.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t–”
“No, it’s OK,” Cass said, wiping the tears off her face. “It’s true. Technically. But Asher ceased to be my son years ago. He’s more like his father now. And he wants everything his father had.” She dipped her head, looked straight into his eyes. “Everything.”
Three seemed to understand. But nothing seemed to shock him. She guessed he’d seen too much of the world to be surprised by any depths of depravity anymore.
“So we get to Morningside, and you find Wren’s father, and then?”
Cass was surprised to feel her heart drop under the weight of the question. Up until a few weeks ago, she’d been unable to imagine any other person in the world she could trust Wren to, once she was gone.
“I guess we hope he’s still as good a man as he once was.”
Three just nodded again. The sun’s final orange rays were tinting red now.
“Alright, girl,” he said. Her heart stirred when he called her that. “Let’s get you some rest, and we’ll see about getting you to your man.”
He stood, and lent her his hand, helping her to her feet. They stood close for a moment. He looked down deep in her eyes; she felt he was searching for something, and found herself wishing she knew what it was. Right now, she felt like she would tell him anything. Then he stepped back, moving out of her path to the shelter.
“It might get a little noisy tonight. But don’t worry. I’ll be watching over you.”
Cass only nodded in response, but somehow hearing those words, in that voice, with that certainty, gave her hope, comfort. She moved to the shelter, and worked her way in through the narrow opening. Wren was already fast asleep. As she settled herself in beside him, she heard Three moving near the entrance, and then it was suddenly dark.
“Three?” she called in a forced whisper. Orange light reappeared, and he looked in through the opening.
“Yeah?”
“Are you coming in?”
He shook his head. “I’m going to seal you in. Cover you up completely, just to be safe. I need to be able to see what’s going on.”
“Will you sleep?”
He smiled. “Later.” He started to cover over the entrance again, and then paused. “Hey, Cass. Wren’s dad. What’s his name?”
It struck her as an odd time for the question. Especially since he hadn’t seemed interested before.
“Underdown,” she answered. His expression wavered momentarily in some passing cloud of emotion. Then he smiled again, and nodded, and covered the entrance, and all was dark.
Twenty-Three
After the first hour of the distant, circuit-laced wails, the exhaustion finally won out, and Cass dozed off. But just minutes after she’d fallen asleep, she was startled awake by a scrabbling noise just outside the shelter. Heart pounding, she fought to control her breathing, to shield Wren, and most importantly to be still. Something was right outside, right next to the wall, picking along it, picking at it. Dust crumbled onto her cheek.
Still, she thought. Be still.
There was a noise of something shifting away, and a flow of cold air rolled over her. It was dismantling their shelter.
“Cass,” Three whispered. “We’re gonna need to get movin’ in a few.”
Her mind rejected the concept immediately. Moving through the Strand at night was guaranteed to get them all killed. What time was it anyway? She went to check the time…
“Cass!” Three whispered more urgently. “You awake?”
His second call was enough, and snapped her to full awareness. She wouldn’t mention just how close she’d come to giving them all away.
“I’m awake,” she answered in a whisper, fearing the Weir were near. “What’s wrong, did they find us?”
She rolled over, and found Three peeking in through their narrow entrance, face backlit by a dull gray light.
“No, it’s almost daybreak. If we’re gonna make it out of here today, I want to get a jump on it. Just over ten hours of daylight.”
“It’s morning already?”
“Yeah, close enough. You sleep?”
“Apparently.”
“Well, take a minute to get sorted out, and then we need to move, OK?”
“OK.” He looked tired. And sweaty. There were flecks of something dark spattered under his chin. “Are you alright?”
“Sure, fine. Just be ready to move.”
Cass pointed at his chin. Three touched it with his fingertips, and drew them back. Scanned them.
“Yeah…” he said. “Busy night.” He flashed a weak smile that seemed filled with an endless fatigue. “Let me know when you’re ready. Sooner is better.” And then he withdrew.
Cass sat up as best she could inside their hiding place, rolled her neck and shoulders. Frustrated that she’d slept for hours and felt it had been no more than a few minutes. She hoped Wren had slept better. She looked at him there, curled tight in a ball, a long coat draped over him like a blanket. She blinked at the coat. Mind still groggy, but processing. She didn’t remember the coat from before. Three’s. He must’ve checked on them in the night.
Cass reached over and ran her fingers through Wren’s golden-white hair gently, and cooed his name the way only mothers can.
“Wren.”
He stirred.
“Wren, baby, it’s time.”
Her boy fidgeted under her touch, and then his green eyes appeared beneath slowly receding eyelids. Gradually focused. He lay still.
“Wren, sweetheart, we need to get going, OK?”
Wren inhaled deeply, his mouth inverted. A quick exhalation, another deep inhalation; corners of his mouth quivering. She realized he was trying not to cry.
“It’s alright baby, we’re alright.”
She leaned over onto him then, wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. But he squirmed away. Cass sat back up, and Wren sat up with her.
“OK, Mom.”
The ‘Mom’ hit her like a mild slap. It sounded too old to be coming out of Wren’s mouth. He was already up and tucking his little blade back inside his belt, hidden by his coat, suddenly looking very much like a man in miniature.
“OK, baby,” she said. And then she too was up on knees, checking gear and refastening her boots. Three reappeared and started tearing down a section of their hide to open up the entrance. An electric howl sounded from far too close for Cass’s comfort, but Three ignored it.
“Farther than it sounds,” he said, apparently seeing her concern. “Sound carries in strange ways out here.”
He helped her out of the shelter, and then Wren, and then reached in and pulled the packs out.
“It’s early yet. There may still be a couple of ’em out and about, so stay sharp. But if we don’t get started now, I’m afraid we’ll run out of time on the other end. And that wouldn’t go well for us.”
Cass nodded, as did Wren.
“It’s going to be a hard push today, alright? Set your minds to it. It’s going to be hard. But once we’re on the other side, there’s gonna be a place to rest. We can rest for a couple of days. Fed, warm, safe. So you push with everything you’ve got today, and we’ll make up for it after, alright?”
“Alright.”
“OK. Here,” he said, handing them each a silver-foil package. Cass took hers, and couldn’t help but notice how it seemed to ooze in the middle. Three ripped the top corner of his and squeezed some kind of congealed substance out of it into his mouth. It looked like a mix of coagulated grease and wet sand. He grimaced as it went in, and swallowed hard. Seeing her look, he explained. “Supposed to be the perfect chemical balance of proteins and carbohydrates to keep you running all day. If you c
an keep it down.”
She nodded, and squeezed a portion of her packet into her mouth. The taste wasn’t quite foul, but if not for Three’s explanation, it never would have occurred to her that this substance was intended to be consumed by humans. Machines, maybe.
Wren gagged on his, and coughed it back out. It fell in a wet pasty lump into the cold, gray ash-sand of the Strand. Three knelt next to Wren, and they both stared at it.
“Tell you what,” Three said after a moment. “You get half of one of these down, and I’ll carry you when you get tired.”
“I don’t think I can…” Wren said.
But Three coaxed him with a hand on his back. “You can do it. It’s not food, it’s fuel. It’s power. Just get it in there and swallow as soon as it hits your tongue. Don’t even have to chew it.”
Wren nodded, and gingerly squeezed another half serving out. It dangled for a moment above his open mouth, then plopped suddenly full force onto his waiting tongue. He swallowed in an instant, and dry heaved, but nothing came out. Nothing but a few tears of disgust.
Three stood, and patted him heartily on the shoulder, rustled his hair.
“There you go, buddy. Just like a soldier.”
Wren looked up and gave a strained smile, no doubt still dealing with the semi-acrid aftertaste of whatever it was that was sliding down into his belly.
It came so fast, Cass barely had time to scream.
“Three!”
A streak of gray-blue leapt, and Three knocked Wren clear the instant before impact. Wren fell hard, and rolled up shrieking at the writhing mass that fought and strove just inches from him. Cass reacted, reached down, snatched him by handfuls of his coat. Jerked him away with such force she lost her balance. They tumbled together, backwards to the ground. Helpless spectators.
It was so fast, so savage, Cass couldn’t make sense of what was happening until she saw the Weir’s clawed hand flash up bloody, and down again. Three whipped back and forth on the ground like he was lying on hot coals, his arms folded up like a mantis. The Weir flailing as if caught in a web. Terror gripped Cass’s throat, her spine, paralyzed her, even as Wren was screaming, screaming, like a child in the throes of a nightmare, screaming for her to help.
