by Jay Posey
“They came in the room. Aron and Connor. And Aron hit me with something… dislocator maybe?”
“I think so. He shot you. Four times.”
Cass grunted as her hand went over her chest and stomach, probing the injuries. “No wonder everything hurts. Where are they now?”
“I killed them,” Painter said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. His arms were wet past the elbows and the skin on both looked raw, like they’d been scalded. “It won’t cuh-cuh-cuh… come off.” There were still little splotches of blood on his forearm, shirt, fist, and sleeve.
“What do you mean, Painter?” she asked slowly. “What did you do?”
“They took me to the machine, Mama,” Wren said. “They wanted me to use it.”
“I di-di-didn’t mean to.”
“They’re dead? Both of them?” she asked.
Wren replied, “I think so. Connor is.”
Cass put her hand over her mouth, but Wren could tell it wasn’t from shock or disgust – she was thinking through everything, coming up with a plan.
“I th-th-thought… I don’t even know wh-why. I thought Wren was in tr-tr-trrr-trouble.”
“I did that,” Wren said. “I called you.”
“What about Able? Or Swoop?” Cass asked.
Wren shook his head. “Uncle Aron said they’d put a trace on the whole team. He said if I tried to call them, they’d know, and they’d hurt you.” It felt weird calling him “Uncle” after what had just happened.
“OK,” Cass said, getting up off the bed and grabbing her jacket. “OK. First things first. We need to get out of the compound.” She looked at Painter. “All of us.” Back to Wren. “Who else is here? In the compound?”
“We didn’t see anybody else.”
“Not even guards?”
Wren shook his head. “Do you think it was just them, Mama? Just those two?”
Cass was already moving towards her closet. “I don’t know, baby. That’ll have to wait.” She opened the closet door and pulled a small pack from the top shelf. “Is there anything you absolutely have to have? We might not be coming back here for a while.”
Wren shook his head again. The idea of leaving seemed so strange. He’d thought about it a lot the past few months, but only as a dream, never as something that might actually require planning or packing or being prepared. He tried to think of what he’d need to take, or what’d he miss, but his mind was coming up blank.
Cass tossed a coat to Wren, and then threw the pack on the bed. While Wren put his coat on, she opened the pack and quickly scanned the contents. Wren couldn’t see much, but he saw enough. It was Mama’s go-bag. Back before they’d left RushRuin, really left, for pretty much as long as he could remember, she’d kept a bag packed. Just in case, she’d always say. He’d always thought it was for an emergency. Until the day they made a run for it. It was then he realized that back then, it hadn’t been for an emergency, it’d been for an opportunity. Maybe old habits were just hard to break.
Cass looked down at her blood-smeared shirt. With a grimace, she ripped it off over her head, wadded it into a ball, and threw it in the corner. Her compression top didn’t cover very much, and Wren could see two spiraling welts on her belly, one just above her left hip, and one on her upper chest, just above her heart. They were an angry red in the center, surrounded by spidery arms of bruising. Painter made a little sound, and when Wren looked at him, his face was all red and he was looking at the floor. Cass grabbed another shirt and threw it on, and then snatched a coat out of the closet.
A thought occurred to Wren. “Wait, there is something,” he said. “In my room.”
“You need it? Absolutely need?” She was already closing the bag back up.
Wren nodded.
“Alright, let’s get it.”
She crossed the room, slinging on her pack as she moved, and stood next to the door, hand on the handle. “Painter,” she said. Painter was still just standing there in the bathroom door. He was just staring at the floor. “Painter, let’s go.”
His head snapped up and he looked at her, but it was like he hadn’t heard her. “I didn’t… mmmmean to, Cass.”
“It’s done, Painter. We need to move. Listen,” she said, and then again sharply, “Listen!” His eyes focused, like he was finally really hearing her. “Wren and I are going across to his room. We’ll come back to get you in a second. If you’re not ready, we’re leaving without you. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, mmma’am, I’ll buh-be ready.”
“Wren, with me.”
Wren moved to her side, and Cass placed a hand on his shoulder. Not for comfort, though. She gripped him firmly as she cracked open the door, ready to move him whatever direction might be necessary, depending on what she saw outside. After a couple of seconds scanning, Cass opened the door further and pushed Wren through, following close on his heels. He made a direct line across the hall, not even daring to look to either side. The door to his room was locked, but in the few steps it took to cross to it, he took care of it.
They slipped into his room in a smooth motion. Cass remained by the partially opened door, keeping watch. Neither of them turned on a light; Wren’s little blue night light still glowed by the foot of his bed.
“Be quick,” she said.
Wren went straight to the table across from his bed and slid open the drawer. It was there, where he always kept it, partially hidden under some clutter. His knife. The one Three had made for him. Mama had kept Three’s pistol, kept it packed away in her room – but it was this knife that reminded Wren the most of the man. He took it out, rolled it over in his hand. Felt the weight, the balance, ran his thumb along the cool, simple lines. The blade was supremely economical. Efficient. Like everything Three had been pressed down into something Wren could hold. It hurt him to remember, but the pain was welcome, familiar. Simple, and real. Somehow things had become so complicated.
“OK, Mama,” he said, returning to her side. “I’m ready now.”
She nodded, and just as quickly as they’d come, they crossed the hall back to her room. Wren risked looking around that time, and just as they were passing through the doorway, his heart nearly stopped with dread. For a split second, he thought he saw a shadow at the end of the hall. Back in his mama’s room, he gripped his knife a little tighter.
“Painter, let’s go.”
Painter appeared from the bathroom, mostly clean now, and looking much more in control. He just nodded and formed up next to them.
“Stay close to me,” Cass said. “And quiet.”
Wren held his breath while she eased the door open again. But whatever he’d seen mustn’t have been there now, because Mama slipped out into the hallway and pulled him along behind her. He was thankful that they were headed the opposite direction from the shadow. Wren was afraid to look back behind them, but he was more afraid not to, so he risked a peek. Nothing was following.
Cass led them around a corner and down a set of stairs to a lower level.
“What about the cuh-cuh-curfew?” Painter whispered.
“It’s alright,” Wren said. “They won’t stop us.”
“No, Painter’s right,” Cass answered. “We can’t let anyone see us. If Connor was in on it, there’s no telling which of the guard might be on his side. And we don’t want anyone to know where we are, or where we’re going, anyway. We’ll have to be careful.” She paused, and then added half to herself, “And maybe lucky.”
They moved through a darkened hallway to a side entrance.
“Wren, door,” Cass whispered. He didn’t really respond, just flipped the lock. She eased it open. Checked for any guards – or anyone else, really. Then she pulled the door closed again, and turned back to them both. “We’re going to move quickly, but keep your eyes open. We’ll try to avoid patrols, but if we get spotted, just keep your heads down and keep moving. Stay with me, alright? Stay right with me.”
/> Wren nodded, and then Painter did too. And with that, Cass pushed the door open once more, and the three of them moved out into the cool night air. For the first time, Wren felt that it was a far more dangerous thing to be trapped inside the wall than outside.
TEN
Cass kept the boys behind her at a corner, pressed against the outer wall of a darkened shop, waiting for the patrol to move further down the road. She counted three guardsmen, though from the way they were positioned, she got the feeling there were actually four of them out there. Or maybe she was truly feeling the fourth; those signals she was still learning to read. Yes, there. Trailing the others by a good thirty yards, holding himself to the far side of the street while they followed the center. Walking clean-up.
Cass waited until the guards had disappeared from view before she signaled the others to move forward. Wren clung close, a hand on her lower back, silently and fluidly adapting to her movement. They smoothly crossed the open stretch of ground and threaded their way through a narrow alley on the other side, turning right where it intersected in a T with another alley. At this rate, they’d make their destination in five, maybe seven more minutes. It hadn’t been the most direct route by any means, but so far it’d been the right one. They stopped again at the mouth of the alley, pausing to assess. If the guard was running four-man patrols, they probably wouldn’t be so close together. But now wasn’t the time to risk probably.
Cass glanced over her shoulder at Wren. His eyes were bright in the dim light, and focused. He still had his hand on her lower back; just enough pressure to be sure he was there, without pushing or hindering her movement. If he was feeling any fear, he was doing a masterful job of hiding it.
Painter was a different story. Cass looked up to check on him, and wasn’t reassured. Ever since they’d left her room, his face had been a constant mask of utter desperation. His eyes never stopped roving, as if danger might leap out at them from every angle. It was like he’d already decided they were doomed and was just waiting for the proof. And whenever they moved, everything he did seemed loud to her. His footsteps, the rustle of his clothing, his breathing. Loud.
Whenever they stopped, Painter had a distracting way of clutching at Wren and at her. Completely different from Wren’s touch. Wren’s hand on her was a method of communication, a sign that he was with her, really with her, moving, stopping, and moving again as one. Painter, on the other hand, clawed at them like they were a raft for a drowning man. As if he was afraid they might push out into the darkness and leave him drifting behind.
Wren patted her lower back twice, quickly, and she returned her attention to the street ahead. It looked clear. But as Cass started to move forward, she felt Wren’s hand clench, enough change to make her hold position. She scanned the street again, slower this time, looking for any sign of anyone, guard, citizen, or otherwise. But came up empty. She turned slowly back to look at Wren and when she did, he pointed. Across the street. And up.
Cass followed the line from his finger. Across the street. Up. The building directly across from them was three stories high. The windows were all dark, but there was a sign glowing orange along the top. Cass squinted against the glare, raised a hand to shield her eyes from the buzzing light. Nothing. And then. There. The scantest silhouette, black against a midnight blue sky. Shoulders, head, little more, with just a trace of soft halo where she detected his electromagnetic aura. How Wren had seen him, she had no idea, but for now it was enough that he had. She turned back to Wren and Painter, hunched low.
“Back,” Cass whispered, barely louder than an exhalation. “We’ll have to cut around the other side.”
Wren nodded. Painter just looked scared. Cass noticed he had a hand on Wren’s shoulder, and Wren’s coat was all bunched up in his fist. She tried not to be annoyed. And for a split second she wondered if this was how Three felt about her the first time he took her into the open. Not now. She shoved Three from her thoughts and retraced her steps back down the alley.
But as they approached the point where the two alleys intersected, a chill gripped Cass and she stopped dead. Strained with all her senses. There was someone else in the alley.
She pressed back against the wall, and with her arm swept the other two against it as well. For a moment, there was nothing. But then, a soft sound from around the corner. An inhalation. And then without warning, a white light splashed on the wall across from them, illuminating them all in its glow.
“Someone down there?” the Someone Else called. A younger male, or a gruffer female. Trying to sound authoritative. There was uncertainty, but not fear. Cass felt Wren press in closer, and someone clutched her sleeve. Footsteps, now: slow and cautious, approaching. “Hello?”
Cass’s mind raced through the options. Backing up again was out. The guy on the roof had that end covered. They could wait, hope whoever it was would just turn around. That seemed unlikely. She could announce herself. There was a good chance that a guard wouldn’t try to do anything other than report her position. But they were close enough to their destination that if the guard called it in, it wouldn’t take long for any other Council members to put the pieces together. If any other Council members were even in on it. Too many unknowns.
“I know you’re back there, so come on out. Easy.”
The footsteps were getting closer, and Cass heard the distinctive click and hum of a coilgun powering up. No way for one of those to be used for nonlethal means. Apparently they weren’t taking any chances with the curfew.
She might have to just ambush the guard, avoid the weapon, go for the quick knockout. Cass was fast enough. But there was always the chance for that to go wrong and get noisy. And there was always the chance that this guard was on the right side of things, anyway. That was the trouble with betrayal… even the innocent became suspect.
None of them seemed like good options, but they were running out of time. She’d announce herself, and hope the guard didn’t come looking far enough to see the others. That might leave some chance of a cover story, if they needed one.
“OK, OK,” Painter called to the guard. “I’m guh-guh-gonna step out.”
He’d cracked under the pressure. Cass whipped around to look at him. He still looked petrified, but he had a hand up. Wait. What was he up to?
“I’m ssss-sorry, I’m cuh-cuh-cuh… I’m coming out. But don’t freak out, I’m A-a-awakened.”
“Come out here real slow, with your hands up where I can see ’em!” the guard called.
Painter nodded to Cass and patted Wren on the shoulder gently, and then stretched his hands out and eased towards the corner. He showed his hands first, and then followed them out very slowly.
“Get down on your knees,” the guard said, the light still blazing like a miniature sun with Painter’s shadow stark in its middle.
“Yeah, sssss-sure,” Painter said. But he didn’t. He made a risky move and advanced a few steps down the alley, towards the guard – and away from Cass and Wren.
“Hold it, hold it!” the guard said, raising her voice. Not shouting, but heading that way. Cass was sure that coilgun was going to sing any second. “I said get on your knees!”
“Yeah, yeah, look, please, d-d-don’t take me in,” Painter said. Cass couldn’t see him anymore, but judging from the shadow and the sounds, he was getting down on the ground. “Please, listen–”
“You’re in violation of a hard curfew, as ordered by the governor–”
“I nuh-nuh, I know, please, ma’am,” Painter pleaded. Female guard then. “Let me explain.”
It was a dangerous game. The guard hadn’t called for backup yet, but that was always a possibility. Maybe even a likelihood. With the noise they were making, calling for it might not even be necessary.
She said, “Talking won’t matter, kid, I’ve got orders.”
“Please, I’ll luh-luh, I’ll lose my job, ma’am, please.”
“You should’ve thought of that before you violated the curfew. Lie flat, face down, hand
s stretched out above your head.”
“I didn’t mmm-mmean to, I lost tr-track of tuh-tuh-tuh, of time.”
“It’s not my problem, kid.”
“Please, there’s this guh-guh, there’s a girl,” Painter said. There was a pause after that.
“A girl?” the guard said. Her voice had lost the slightest bit of its edge.
“Yes, mmm-ma’am.”
“She with you now?” the guard asked.
“No, ma’am, I was on my way b-b-back from her place. I’m sss-sorry.”
Another pause.
“You’re that one from Mister Sun’s place, ain’t ya?” She said that one with just a hint of emphasis. “Hunter or something.”
“Yes, ma’am. Painter.”
She replied, “Painter, that’s right. And this girl. She worth getting shot over, Painter?”
Painter was quiet for a second. “Yes, ma’am.”
“What about getting jumped and strung up by a bunch of thugs?”
“I rrrrr-, I reckon she’s wuh-wuh-worth just about any kind of hell Mmmmorningside’s got, ma’am.”
The guard chuckled at that. “Just about, huh?” she said, with a hint of amusement.
“Just about. May-may-may… maybe not losing my job.”
Cass heard the click of the coilgun, and it quit humming.
“Alright, kid. You got me. I might be just enough of a romantic to let you off once. Once, you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m gonna swing by Mister Sun’s in ten minutes. If you aren’t there, I’m gonna bring my boys down on you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Get outta here.”
There was scuffling in the alleyway as Painter got back to his feet. “Th-th-thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for something that never happened, kid. Get.”
“Yes, mmma’am.”
Painter’s shadow gradually shrank on the wall and then he was in the intersection. Cass held her breath. But he did the right thing, and turned the opposite direction without the slightest hitch or glance their way. A few moments later the light switched off, and she could hear the guard muttering something to herself. Footsteps receded down the alley, and the unusual silence of Morningside returned. Cass felt Wren relax behind her, but still she waited a full minute before crossing the intersection, just to be sure.
