Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

“If you have all you need,” Mister Sun said, “I will retire to my room.”

“Actually, Mister Sun,” Cass replied, “why don’t you pull up a chair?”

Painter was starting to feel quite a bit more relaxed and just a little pleasantly warm. It’d been, what, an hour, an hour and a half maybe? Whatever it was, they’d spent about two and a half mug’s worth, anyway, bringing Mister Sun up to speed and discussing their options. Or rather, Cass and Wren had done so. Painter had mostly been drinking and listening. Talking wasn’t really his thing, and he wasn’t sure he had much to offer anyway. Everything still seemed so surreal and horrible. He didn’t even want to think about it. But there really wasn’t anything else he could think about. He truly hadn’t meant to kill those men. It’d just been so easy. So terribly, terribly easy.

“I don’t know what else to do,” Cass said. Painter realized he’d tuned out and had no idea how much of the conversation he’d missed.

“What about Able?” Wren asked. Cass shook her head and bit her lower lip. There was something really attractive about the way she did that. It wasn’t the first time Painter had noticed it, but it seemed like maybe it was the first time he had noticed that he’d noticed. Or maybe he’d had more to drink than he’d thought. Or maybe both.

“Too risky,” she said. “If they really do have a trace on, we don’t know who else might be running it. Unless you think you could slip it?”

Wren considered it, but then shook his head. “I don’t think so, Mama. I don’t know what to look for. And what if looking for it is the thing that sets it off?”

Cass sipped her tea and shook her head slightly. “And there’s no telling what their backup plan is if that alarm gets raised.”

“It might be raised already,” Mister Sun said. He seemed more serious than usual. And he wasn’t calling them all my friend , which somehow seemed odd. “They might already be looking for you.”

“True,” Cass said. “I really don’t see any other way. I’ll just have to risk it.”

“Mama, I don’t want you to go,” Wren said. He looked really tired. And with good reason. It was after midnight.

“I know, baby, but I don’t think we have any other options. Once I get outside the wall, I should be able to find at least one of them pretty quickly. If not Able, maybe Swoop or Gamble.”

“I’ll do it,” Painter said. It seemed to catch everyone off guard, even himself a little bit. Maybe it was because he hadn’t said anything in a while. Or maybe they weren’t sure if he was serious. So he said it again. “I’ll do it.”

“Thank you, Painter,” Cass said, and she sounded like she really meant it. “But I can’t let you go back out there.”

“You don’t have to l-l-l- let me,” Painter said. “I don’t think I need your permmm-mission.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just… it’s really dangerous out there. With the curfew, and people on edge already. Never know when a jumpy guard might just start shooting. And if someone catches me out there, they won’t try to arrest me.”

“They might, Mama.”

Cass glanced at Wren and for a moment seemed to be considering what he’d said. But she shook her head again. “I can’t ask that of you, Painter. You’ve already done so much.”

“You didn’t ask,” Painter said. For some reason the more he heard her tell him why he couldn’t, the more he wanted to prove Cass wrong. Maybe she thought Painter couldn’t because he’d been so scared on their way here. Or maybe his stutter made her think he was incapable. But he’d bailed them out in the alley with nothing but words. Words. His weakness. Imagine what he could do with his strength. Actually he didn’t have to imagine it. He’d already shown that too, without even meaning to.

“I’ll go, I w-w-want to,” Painter said. It wasn’t a discussion anymore. “What sh-sh-shhh, what should I say?”

They all stared at him for a moment. Cass seemed to still be trying to figure out how to dissuade him. Wren piped up.

“I think you should find Finn,” Wren said. “If they really do have a trace, he’d know what to do about it.”

“OK,” Painter said, standing. He felt slightly light-headed and not even a little scared. Looking back on it, he wasn’t sure why he’d been so afraid on the way over. Rattled from everything that had happened maybe. He felt calmer now, more sure of himself. Purposeful. It’d been a long time since he’d felt that.

“How will you get outside?” Cass asked. A hitch. Painter hadn’t even thought about that.

“Climb down?” he offered. But even standing here feeling brave, he knew that wasn’t really an option. The gates would be locked up tight, so those were out.

“He could use the tunnel,” Wren said, and his mother looked at him sharply — as if he’d just blurted out a shameful family secret. He held her gaze, shrugged slightly.

“What t-t, what tunnel?”

Cass continued to look at Wren, but Painter could see now that she wasn’t upset. She was thinking it through. Finally she said, “There’s a tunnel, by the compound. It runs under the wall.”

“It’s secret,” Wren added.

“Back to the… compound?” Painter asked. He lowered himself back into his chair. Sneaking from Mister Sun’s to the wall didn’t seem like such a stretch, but going all the way back to the governor’s compound was a different story. Not to mention getting back inside.

“Yeah,” Cass said. “It’s alright, Painter. We’ll figure something else out.”

Painter felt deflated. In theory it had been a challenge, almost an adventure. But now all of the realities started flooding into his mind, all of the tedious particulars of what it would entail. Travel back to the governor’s compound. Get back inside. Find the secret tunnel. And then what? Even if he didn’t get caught on the streets, how was he even supposed to find any of those people outside the wall? And what would they do when they saw Painter skulking around looking for them? Shoot him dead before he ever even saw them, most likely.

Who was he kidding? He was just a kid, a useless dishwasher who’d had too much to drink. But then something else started to bubble up in his mind. Thoughts of the thugs that had beaten him up nights ago. And thoughts of what people like them had done to his friend, Luck. And thoughts of his sister.

And where alcohol-induced bravery had burned away, anger filled the void. These people had taken nearly all he had. No way Painter was going to sit around while they took the rest. He stood up again.

“How do I find the tunnel?” he asked.

There was silence for a moment. And then Cass laid it all out for him; where the entrance was, how to access it, where it led, and how to find his way back again. And as they talked it through, other hasty plans came together. It began to seem possible again. And by the end, it almost seemed inevitable.

They escorted him to the door, everyone giving him final words of caution, and thanks, and encouragement. Then Mister Sun was opening the door just wide enough for Painter to slip out, and the night air was cold — and full of a crackling energy that almost felt alive. The door slid shut behind him, and he drew a deep breath.

To think. Him. Painter. A messenger. He almost laughed as he stepped out into the street.

For Painter, the first few minutes had been a strange mix of fear and giddiness. The fear had begun to melt away after he’d successfully crossed the first of the major streets in his path. The giddiness wore off soon after. And now, as he crouched in shadow a hundred and fifty yards from the compound, he found himself falling into something like quiet determination. It was almost shocking how familiar it was beginning to feel. Stealing through the night, probing for anyone who might cross his path. He’d done it so frequently before. Before. Only now he was avoiding them instead of hunting them.