Three lotd-1

by Jay Posey

  “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 can 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.

  There was a sudden snap. And then, somehow, it all stopped. And all was still. And all was quiet, save for the sobbing child. Her child. What had happened? Where had it come from?

  Then, movement. The Weir. Rising up. Rolling over. Flopping onto its back. Three lay still. Breathing. Heavy, labored, but breathing.

  Wren was the first to his side. Three held up a hand. Bloody, impossible to tell if it was his or the Weir’s.

  “Bad start,” he said through gritted teeth. “Bad start.”

  He rolled up to an elbow, awkwardly pushed himself to sitting. Cass got to her feet, edged her way to him. Realized she was trembling. From somewhere out on the Strand, a cry pierced the pre-dawn gray and was answered in kind.

  “So much for keepin’ quiet.”

  Three forced himself to his feet, shouldered his pack. There was blood on his lips.

  “You sure you’re alright to go?” Cass asked.

  “Doesn’t much matter. Let’s move.”

  He turned and started the march with long strides. Forced, determined steps. Not the smooth glide she was accustomed to seeing. He was hurt, and she had no idea how badly. Cass took Wren’s hand and together they followed as quickly and quietly as they were able.

  The sky above was growing lighter by the minute, but Cass couldn’t escape the grasping fear of the shadows on their heels. The suddenness of the attack on Three had her shaken. It’d come without warning. Taken Three by surprise. And if Three could be taken by surprise… she didn’t want to think what that might mean for them out here. She replayed it in her mind, realized she couldn’t find the starting point, couldn’t picture where the Weir had been when it leapt. Only that it had leapt. Three knocking Wren to the ground.

  Not to the ground. Out of the way. The Weir hadn’t been after
Three. It had been after Wren. And Three had saved him. Saved them. Again. She wondered at what cost. But the man that forged ahead of them made no signs of slowing, no hint of injury, or fear. Cass set her mind to keeping pace. And she swore that no matter what may come, she would never again let surprise render her helpless. Next time she would stand at his shoulder. Next time, they would fight together.

  Three had told them it would be a hard push, and he kept his promise. For the first four hours, he refused to let them stop for more than three or four minutes at a time. There was a dull ache deep in his side from the impact with the Weir, and the pain got sharp if he inhaled too quickly, or too much. But he fought back, forcing his mind back to the now, to that moment, that footfall. And he fought to keep his bearing, knowing the human tendency to circle obliviously. They’d survived one night in the Strand, but not by accident. They wouldn’t survive a second.

  At times, he’d switched packs with Cass so he could carry Wren. Another promise he’d made. How many had he made to them now? How many kept? How many more could he keep?

  The wind had picked up that day, gusts swirling gritty dust into their eyes and mouths. They passed most of the journey in silence, each focused on the peculiarly personal misery the Strand seemed to impose upon anyone who crossed it. There was a presence in the place, an ominous weight that bore down on the spirit, and made footsteps heavy. At one point, Three realized Wren was quietly weeping. No one asked why.

  By noon, Three reckoned they’d traveled maybe eighteen miles, which was good, but not great. If they kept pace, they’d clear the Strand in time. But keeping pace was a hard task, harder than the one they’d accomplished that morning. They stopped then, and took another round of the goo that jCharles had provided. It wasn’t the physical fatigue that concerned Three the most, however. It was the draining of the soul, the sapping of the will that he feared. The early morning attack had rattled Cass. She kept Wren close while they rested, but her eyes were vacant, staring. Hunted. He’d seen that look before, back when he’d first met the two.

  “Hey,” he said. “We’ll make it…”

  He cut himself off before he finished, and realized he’d been about to make it a promise. Cass smiled emptily and nodded. Three didn’t know which worried him more. Her look, or the fact that he couldn’t make the promise.