by Posey, Jay
Everything had changed.
And she was at peace.
* * *
Wren squelched the connection with his mama. Not just disconnected. Closed it and compressed it, just as Foe had taught him. It was still possible for Asher to find him, but not without Wren knowing about it. And to anyone else, he wouldn’t exist. Well, to anyone except a nearby Weir, maybe. He still hadn’t had a chance to test that yet.
Running the open after he’d left Foe’s tower had been an incredible experience. Exhilarating. He’d traveled a lot, and it had always been oppressive and full of constant anxiety; a slow-burning fear that worked on the mind and soul, even if all around seemed safe and secure.
Now, the depth and power of Foe’s training had begun to reveal itself to him. And the farther out he went, the more evident it became that Haiku’s “game” had been more than just a game. Much more. Where before the world of the open had been a grey wash of ruin, now it was vivid and alive with a subtle life of its own. How very much he had missed before. He’d taken to walking that fuzzy border between the Strand and the dead cityscape, and now it seemed like everywhere he looked he saw quiet whispers of stories untold. He’d spent the first night hiding out on the third floor of a five-story structure. But as the sun was slipping below the horizon on the second day, he noticed signs that suggested people had traveled through not all that long ago. And when he followed the trail, it led him to a wayhouse, cleverly concealed. A welcome surprise, not only to sleep in absolute security for a night, but also to have discovered his own ability to perceive the world around him so clearly.
The same skill enabled him to skirt a pair of scrapers that were either pushing their luck traveling so close to the Strand, or had wandered into unfamiliar territory. He saw signs of them before he heard them, and when he heard them, he went quiet, remembering how he’d moved in the Waiting Room. The habits he’d formed in the tower were showing their worth. Now he understood the value of constant practice. And he understood how every moment was an opportunity to practice.
There was another skill that Wren continued to develop all along his journey.
Draw from the holster, sights on target. Finger to trigger; smooth pressure.
Click.
Over and over he rehearsed, with careful attention to each step. As he walked, he picked out different targets, various bits of scrap or marks on the walls of the buildings he passed. At times he would even stop, close his eyes, and draw, just to see if he could get on target by feeling alone. He didn’t quite master that technique, but he could get pretty close. And while he worked, Wren tried not to worry about being fast. He just wanted to be smooth. Oddly enough, as he got smoother, the speed came too.
Unfortunately, the speed of his draw didn’t improve the speed of his travel. He too was running a route laid out for him by Wick, one that was intended to get him to Greenstone, coming in from the opposite side of the Strand. And though Wren had thought it was a good enough plan when he’d first received it, with each hour that passed, it seemed less like the right path to take. He was supposed to branch off westward, but kept delaying transition. Eventually, he made the decision, and committed to it.
If he stuck to Wick’s path, he might make it in time, might be able to stand with Mama, and jCharles, and Gamble and the team. But he wasn’t going to Greenstone. He knew what would happen if Asher reached it. He wouldn’t let that happen.
Wren turned eastward, back out into the Strand, cutting the corner. Asher and his Weir might make it to Greenstone.
But they’d have to pass Wren to do it.
* * *
When Cass reached the gate around noon, coated in dust and exhausted, jCharles and Gamble were both there to meet her. Gamble gave her a rough embrace and then, in typical fashion, got straight to business.
“How far ahead of them are you?”
Cass shook her head. “They were on my heels until daybreak. Two, three hours after dusk at most.”
“Team’s waiting at the McGann,” Gamble said. “We’ll get you up to speed.”
When Gamble had said the team, Cass had assumed she meant Gamble’s people. But as soon as she walked in the front door of the Samurai McGann, she realized how wrong she’d been. All of Gamble’s team was there, of course, but the entire saloon was full of people, the vast majority of whom she’d never seen before. Greenmen, rough looking citizens, a red-eyed girl who looked like trouble.
The welcome from the team was brief, but sincere. There were murmurs throughout the crowd from those that didn’t know her, but no one actually gave her any trouble. It took Cass a few moments to realize that contact with Swoop and Kit must have acclimated people somewhat to the idea of the Awakened. Not that they liked it. But they seemed to accept it. At least for the moment.
As Cass scanned the crowd, to her utter shock and surprise, she glimpsed a familiar face towards the back.
Lil.
Lil smiled and gave a gentle wave, but didn’t try to push her way forward. Cass understood. The urgency was too great. There might come a time for reunions, but if so, they would have to earn it.
Gamble gave her the briefing, explained the plan from something between high and low level. At the end of it, Cass wasn’t quite sure if she’d gotten too much detail or not enough. Fortunately, the basics were simple, if a little crazy. An early stand. A tactical withdrawal. Ambushes along the way. Hope for the best.
“You’re letting them into the city?” Cass asked.
“Not for free,” Swoop said.
Cass shook her head. It was a good plan. Maybe the best plan, all things considered. But it wasn’t going to be enough. She knew it in her gut. She’d seen it at Morningside. The most terrifying aspect of Asher’s Weir was the speed with which they could react as a single entity. On an individual level, she could outpace any one of them. But when the entire force could split itself into two forces in an instant, or scatter and then reform at another point... There was just no way to defend against it.
Unless.
“Wick,” Cass said. “I need you to find something for me.”
* * *
Haiku stood on the catwalk, looking out over the wide, flat plain below and at the broken bones of the sprawl beyond. Foe stood by his side, keeping silent watch. Since Wren had left, the tower had returned to its usual quiet, but with it had come a strange emptiness. For so long, days and nights had been filled with constant activity and purpose; now they were a yawning void. Even so, there was no rest in them. Haiku couldn’t stop analyzing all he’d taught Wren, and all he hadn’t.
“I wish he had stayed,” Haiku said. “Just a little longer.”
Foe didn’t respond. Haiku hadn’t really expected him to.
“Do you think he’ll be able to resist Asher?” Haiku asked.
“It is what he is trained to do,” Foe said. He fell silent after he said it, and Haiku thought that was all the old man would say on the matter. But a few moments later, he added, “He truly believes he is ready to face his brother, and thus, so do I. But there is one doubt that lingers. Something for which I fear I failed to prepare him.”
“To win?”
Foe shook his head.
“To bear what it will cost him to do so.”
* * *
“I don’t know,” Wick said. He was kitted out, ready to go to war, back in prime shape. “That’s pretty far out, Cass. You think you can get there in time?”
“I can,” Cass stated. “I can do it. Do you have any grenades or explosives?”
The little guy named 4jack barked a laugh, and then apologized. “Sorry,” he said, “but yeah. Yeah, we’ve got some explosives.”
“Most of them are already in place,” his shy friend Mr 850 said. “What do you need?”
“Anything that’ll go boom,” she said. But Mr 850 shook his head.
“How much boom?” he asked. “Do you want fire? No fire? Wide area blast, concentrated? Are you wanting to collapse a structure, or penetrate thick pl
ating? There are a lot of parameters–”
“I don’t know,” Cass said. She turned to Swoop. “Maybe like what you did at Ninestory. Something like what you did with the door?”
Swoop nodded and looked at Mr 850.
“Hexcord,” he said. “Three... no let’s say four strips.”
“Green or grey?” Mr 850 asked.
“Green if you got it.”
Mr 850 nodded and bustled off.
“How do I rig it?” Cass asked.
“You don’t,” Swoop said. “You cover me while I rig it.”
Cass shook her head. “No, Swoop, you stay here. Your team needs you. These people need you.”
“I appreciate that, Cass, but nah. You’re not goin’ out by yourself.”
“We have this conversation a lot.”
“Think you woulda learned by now.”
Cass looked to Gamble for support, but Gamble shook her head.
“You know he doesn’t listen to me anyway.”
Kit muscled her way through the small knot.
“I’ll come too,” she said.
“No you won’t,” Cass and Swoop said at the same time.
“I’m not going to make much difference here,” Kit said. “Out there, with you two? I bet the Weir won’t even notice us.”
“Kit,” Cass said. “I’m just going to come out and say it. I’m not coming back. When Asher figures out what I’m up to, he’s going to throw everything he can afford at me. And he can afford a lot.”
“Hey,” Kit said. “I already died once, Cass. Same as you.”
“No need to do it a second time,” Cass said.
“You a shooter?” Swoop asked, looking at Kit.
“Done a fair bit,” she answered.
“Good enough for me,” he said. “Two guns up while I’m riggin’.”
Mr 850 pushed his way back through the saloon, gripping a small satchel in his hand.
“I could only find two greens, but I had three greys,” he said. “They’re all in there.”
“Thanks, brother,” Swoop said. He took the satchel, tossed the strap over his head, looked at Cass. “We still standin’ here?”
Cass looked at Swoop, then at Kit, then back to Swoop. They were coming, and there was nothing she could do to stop them.
“Nope,” she said. Someone Cass didn’t know handed Kit a rifle. Kit took it, checked it over like a pro. Once she was satisfied that she knew the controls, she leaned over and gave Wick a kiss right on the mouth. When she pulled away, he looked simultaneously startled, confused, and a little goofy.
“Let’s do it,” Kit said.
Cass turned and led the way out the front door of the Samurai McGann. As she stepped into the street, a pim came in.
“Mama,” Wren said. “They’re coming.”
“I know, baby,” she answered. “How close are you to Greenstone?”
“Not far.”
“OK. Hurry, baby. I’m not going to be here, we’re going to try to–”
“No, Mama, don’t tell me. If I don’t know, he can’t find it out.” Cass didn’t like the sound of that at all, but before she could say anything, Wren added, “Good luck.”
“OK, baby. You too. We’ll see each other soon.” She said it without thinking, without meaning to lie. But once she’d said it, she couldn’t bring herself to change it.
“I hope so,” Wren replied. “But if not, it’s OK.”
And a moment later, he vanished.
* * *
Painter moved along at the very front of the force. Asher had always sent him well ahead before, to deliver his messages. Now, Painter was with the army itself, driving hard. The sun was still above the horizon, and when Painter glanced back he could see how much trouble it was causing in the way his Weir companions loped along behind him, stumbling at times, veering off course. And he could feel it in the strain of Asher’s control. Though Asher hadn’t forced his way into Painter’s mind, there was a lingering presence there, a sensitivity that seemed to grow with each day. Painter couldn’t help but wonder if one day he would cease to be himself entirely; if one day Asher would be all there was.
Asher was exerting himself to a degree that Painter had never experienced before. That told him everything he needed to know about what lay ahead. This was the big one. The thing Asher had been preparing for all this time. He had summoned everyone. Every single Weir he could reach and influence. Even Painter didn’t know how many that was.
Roh and Snow were with him, up front. Asher’s voice and Asher’s hands. And many more besides. Roh’s grotesque behemoths followed closely behind, terrible to behold. There were more out there, too. Painter had felt them, somehow. Once he’d met Roh’s, once he’d gotten the sense of their signature, he recognized it elsewhere in the datastream.
Snow made a quiet whuff, part question, part warning. Painter glanced over at her, saw her looking intently ahead. When he looked back, he didn’t see anything at first. After they’d covered another thirty yards though, he was able to make out what she’d seen. He’d missed it before because it was coated in the grey dust of the Strand and was so small.
A lone figure.
A boy.
Wren.
* * *
jCharles stood on the northern wall, a pair of jitterguns in holsters high on his belly. It’d been a long time since he’d worn those. He tried not to think about how much he’d missed their comforting weight. Hollander stood to his right, geared up, eyes fixed northward. He held his rifle shouldered, but cradled barrel down; he’d be able to snap it up when it was time, but now wasn’t the time. 4jack was on jCharles’s left, shirtless, and casually manipulating his knives, one in each hand. jCharles would have called it a nervous habit, but 4jack never got nervous. Especially not when he was supposed to be.
The sun still hadn’t quite sunk below the horizon yet. The crowd was gathered a couple of hundred yards away, and it wasn’t coming any closer. Not yet, anyway.
“You wanna send out that alert?” jCharles said. “Better to get people moving now than when it gets to be a real emergency.”
Hollander shook his head. “I know you’re worked up, bud. But I don’t think you appreciate just how strong this place is. I’ve got my folks in good order. We can handle this.”
To Hollander’s credit, jCharles was a little surprised at the size of the force out there. It was big, sure, but not like he’d imagined. Maybe he really had let his imagination run away with him. For some reason he’d expected them to come more from the east, though he didn’t know why.
As he was thinking that, a sudden cry arose, the sound of many Weir shrieking in the distance. A moment later, the crowd broke into a run towards the wall.
“Here we go,” Hollander said, but he didn’t raise his rifle.
There was something strange about the advance of the Weir. Something in the way they moved that seemed off. Haphazard.
“My God,” 4jack said, seeing it before anyone else.
“What?” Hollander said.
And then he saw it too. All of them did. This wasn’t a wave of Weir rushing the wall.
It was people.
“What do we do, Holl?” jCharles asked. They’d closed to a hundred yards. Ninety. Seventy. “Holl?”
“People or not,” Holl finally said. “They’re not comin’ over this wall.” He raised his rifle.
It was hard to tear his eyes away from the people as they covered that final distance, but jCharles managed to look up, out in the distance. There were Weir out there. He could make them out. But they were hanging back, waiting to see what happened to the people first.
He looked back down. They were close enough now to make out faces, expressions. The terrified look, the desperation. And jCharles understood. Slaves, of a sort. Captives, at least. Forced to fight for their lives. Facing certain death if they refused, and death merely likely if they attacked. Taking the wall was their only, desperate hope for life.
Hollander fired the first
shot. After that, as the sun sank below the horizon and darkness seeped into the sky, jCharles had to shut off his brain and let his body do what his mind couldn’t.
* * *
Cass and her two companions had covered more distance than even she had thought possible in such short time, fueled by thoughts of what might be happening in the town they’d left behind. Dusk had settled and was edging towards night when they approached the waypoint Wick had laid down for them. Cass saw the spire first, thirty feet high. A single, red light glowed dully on top.
They hadn’t seen a single Weir yet. Hadn’t even heard one.
“Here we go,” Cass said.
“Stay tight,” Swoop answered as he pulled ahead of her. “Let me lead.”
Cass waved Kit forward.
“Hand on Swoop’s shoulder,” Cass directed, “cover left. I’m rear guard.”
“Got it,” Kit answered, and she fell right in step. Cass didn’t know much about what Kit had done in her days before she was Awakened, but it was obvious she’d done more than just a little shooting.
The structure wasn’t the same as the one Cass had seen before, but the feeling was similar. She knew the node was here, down below them, even though she was afraid to reach out to it to verify. The reintegration was working on her again. And she didn’t dare draw Asher’s eye now, for fear of giving them all away.
There was no fence around the building, this one rounded and thin. It looked almost like a smokestack. Swoop eased the door open and, as expected, found a set of stairs leading down into darkness.
“Slow and steady,” Swoop said.
“Maybe just steady,” Cass said back.
Together, the three of them began their descent.
* * *
Painter couldn’t believe it. What was Wren doing here? What was he doing at all? The boy was just standing there, like he’d been waiting for them. Just as he’d been the last time Painter had seen him; a little dirtier maybe, but still small, fragile. Whatever was left of Painter’s heart twisted and sank. He’d known this would happen some day. But not today. Not like this.
