Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

By the time the sun was sinking towards the horizon, they’d reached their destination: a burned-out, partially collapsed structure. Wren actually wouldn’t have thought it was safe to go inside of if Wick hadn’t strolled so confidently through the gaping hole in the front. Even though the ceiling sagged enough in the middle, enough to make Wren nervous, Wick took them all inside and then did something with his hand to a place on the rear wall. A few moments later, there was a clicking sound and what looked like one of the exposed concrete support beams swung gently open. There was a metal staircase leading upwards into darkness.

It was a wayhouse, cleverly hidden within the failing structure. Wren gave another look at the bulging ceiling.

“It’s safe,” Finn said, seeing his concern. “It’s actually reinforced, though you can’t really tell from here. Clever bit of work, really.”

They all filed in. Wick came in last, closing the door behind him. The air was a little stale, but not foul, which was reassuring. Wren noticed the door made a rubbery sort of sound when it shut, like it was vacuum-sealed.

It turned out there weren’t actually that many steps. Someone activated the lights, and Wren was surprised at the size of the room at the top of the stairs. From where he was standing, it looked far too shallow for all of them to fit, and Mouse had to hunch down to keep from hitting his head on the ceiling. Swoop, Sky, Finn, and Mouse paired up and disappeared from view, two to the left and two to the right.

When Wren reached the top, he saw that the room was actually very wide, spreading out maybe four times wider than it was deep, with the staircase right in the middle. The four men had split off to check the wayhouse, he realised. Wren could see them moving quickly down the halls on either side.

There were no real rooms that he could see; just one long corridor with a few short walls jutting out every so often to form stalls. To his right, the feet of several sets of steel-framed bunk beds poked out from several of the stalls. Off to his left, the place opened out a little more, and Wren assumed that was probably where the dining area and bathrooms were. He hoped there were doors on the bathrooms.

“It’s clear,” Swoop called as he came back towards the rest of the group. “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

“Anyone been through recently?” Gamble asked.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Doesn’t smell like it either,” Wick said. Wren looked up at him. “That’s actually a good thing. I’ve been in a couple that were fuuunky. ” He held the word out for extra emphasis.

“Give it till morning,” Swoop said. “We ain’t exactly a bunch of sweet-smellin’ petunias.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sky said. “ I’m as fresh as a baby’s bottom.” He tossed his pack on the floor in the stall closest to the entrance. “I call top bunk.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t squeak,” Finn said as he moved by, further down the corridor. Gamble kicked his backside as he passed. The others started making themselves at home, laying claim to various stalls by slinging their packs down. Gamble shepherded Cass, Wren, and Painter along the hall towards the beds. She stopped them at one a few down from the entrance.

“I’d like to put you two in here,” she said, indicating Cass and Wren. There wasn’t much to it. A set of bunk beds with thin mattresses, bare concrete floor, bare concrete walls. There was a single light fixture in the middle of the low ceiling. “And Painter, if you don’t mind, we’ll put you right next door with Mouse.”

Painter nodded. He looked exhausted. His goggles were down around his neck, and Wren could see the dark rings under his eyes, so dark they almost looked like bruises. Wren realized he couldn’t remember the last time Painter had actually spoken.

“Painter, are you OK?” Wren asked.

Painter looked at him and nodded. He inhaled deeply, like it was an effort. “Just r-r-really tuh-, really tired.” He gave a weak smile, but Wren got the impression there was something else going on.

“You go right ahead and sleep if you want,” Gamble said. “We’re here until morning.” Painter nodded again and wandered to the next stall over. “Same for you two. Rest and recover as much as you can, but feel free to do whatever you like. Just don’t leave.” She said the last part with a smile.

“Thanks,” Cass said.

Swoop passed by, on his way further down the hall. “I’m gonna rack out for a few.”

“Good,” Gamble said, and then a moment later called after him. “Make sure you eat something too.”

“You’re startin’ to sound like Mouse,” Swoop called back.

The remainder of the day was unremarkable for Wren. He and his mother ate some of their rations together in the dining area, on a wobbly steel table with mismatched chairs. Afterwards, he was so tired he just wanted to sleep. Cass helped him get ready for bed, which pretty much amounted to taking off his shoes and spreading his coat out on top of the mattress. Cass said she didn’t want Wren lying directly on that old thing. She kissed him on the forehead and then went and removed some things from her pack, so she wouldn’t wake him later. As Wren watched Cass, he saw her partially withdraw something and look at it for a moment.

She didn’t pull it all the way out of the pack, but he recognized the grip of Three’s pistol. She’d brought it along, even though he knew she didn’t have any ammunition for it. Maybe for her it was like his knife was to him. He didn’t really expect to use it, but he was glad to have it.

Cass glanced up and caught Wren looking at her. She smiled a little sadly and pushed the pistol back down into her pack, and finished whatever it was she had been doing. Then she came over and kissed his cheek again, and then switched off the light in their stall.

Wren wondered briefly if all the other lights and activity would make it hard for him to fall asleep, and that was his last thought before drifting off.

Painter awoke with the distinct feeling that someone had just called his name. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his forehead was covered with a light sweat. He lay still with his eyes open, listening for whoever it was to speak again. The lights were all out. He could hear Mouse on the lower bunk below him, breathing deeply. All else was quiet, still.

But the feeling remained. As if someone had been there, whispering his name right in his ear to wake him. And it almost felt like someone was standing there. When Painter looked around the room he saw nothing unusual. But there was a sense of presence, of someone else, close. It filled him with a creeping dread.

His sleep had been troubled by dark and twisted dreams, though he couldn’t remember any of the details when he tried. Maybe it was just a lingering sensation from those. His subconscious trying to process the unbelievable chaos and pain of the past few days. Painter tried to remind himself that he was safe here, that no matter what was going on outside, he was secure in here. He was with good people, people who were capable of protecting him, and who had even shown their willingness to do so. Even so, the darkness remained, clinging to his mind like an oily shadow.

There was a sudden flutter through Painter’s mind, a black tide of rippling thought. Foreign, incoherent, forced into his brain. He instinctively clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Pressure grew, as if a band had been stretched around his skull and was being gradually drawn tighter, tighter, tighter until it was almost unbearable. Painter gritted his teeth and wanted to scream, but found he couldn’t even draw a breath.

And then just as suddenly as it had come, Painter felt an almost physical pop inside his head, and the pressure evaporated. And in its place was a tiny, quiet thought.