Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

Wren held it up for her, and she took a bite off the corner of it.

“Save anything ffff-for me?” Painter said from the hall.

“Oh, hey Painter,” Cass said. “No, sorry. We ate all our rations first thing this morning.”

He stood in the hall staring with a slightly puzzled look on his face. Painter still had the circles under his eyes, Wren noticed.

“I’m joking,” Cass added. “Are you OK?”

“Oh,” Painter said. “Yeah. Just tuh, tuh, just tired.”

“Here, have a seat,” she said. She got up from the table and went to get him some food. Painter eased himself onto one of the other chairs, almost like it hurt him to do it.

“Sore?” Wren asked.

Painter nodded, but he kept his eyes on the table in front of him. Wren got an uneasy feeling. Painter seemed different somehow. Or he felt different. Wren couldn’t figure out what it was, though. It’d been a tough few days for all of them, but maybe Painter most of all. Maybe that’s all there was to it. Or maybe it was nothing more than Wren’s own frazzled nerves, making him worry about things that weren’t there.

“I think you’re really going to like Chapel’s place,” Wren said. “It’s different from anywhere else. And the people are really nice.”

Painter nodded again. After that, Wren stopped trying to make any conversation. Cass reappeared with food and water for Painter, and then left them on their own while she helped the others prepare to leave. It wasn’t unusual for Painter to keep to himself, but as they sat together in silence, Wren couldn’t escape the feeling that Painter was purposely shutting him out.

It was only a few minutes after Painter had finished eating that Gamble popped her head in and told them to get ready to move again. The boys went back to their stalls and gathered their things. Within ten minutes, they were all heading back down the stairs together and back out into the open.

A heavy fog waited for them when they stepped outside. It was cool, not cold, but the mist seemed to go right through Wren’s coat and straight to his bones. He pulled his hood up and drew it down around his face. Everything was shrouded in a gentle rolling grey and as they pushed out into it, Wren felt almost like they were intruding on some sacred ground. As if the broken city had finally found rest in the misted silence, and every one of their magnified footsteps threatened to disturb its peace.

The others seemed to sense it too. They hardly ever talked, and when they did it was in near whispers. Wick led them on, occasionally disappearing briefly from view in the swirling mist.

By midday much of the fog had melted away, but the sky remained grey and heavily overcast, in the all-day sort of way where it might rain any moment, or not at all. Mama wasn’t wearing her veil, and Painter didn’t even need his goggles. They stopped for lunch and a brief rest. Gamble had them up and moving again well before Wren was ready.

It was hard to keep track of time on the colorless march. But Wren guessed it was midafternoon when he found himself recognizing parts of their surroundings, without being able to remember ever having noticed them in the first place. A buckled overpass, a series of cracked and crumbling concrete pillars, a sunken building. Landmarks from some forgotten corner of his mind.

“We’re close,” Wren said. “I think you should wait here, Mama.”

Gamble called for the team to halt and conferred with everyone. Wick guessed they had about a five-minute walk left to reach the compound. It was decided that Gamble, Wick, and Able would escort Wren to the compound to scout it out. Once they’d explained everything to Chapel, they’d notify the others to join them. The two groups split up and Wren’s team headed towards the compound.

Wren was more tired than he could remember being in a long time, but he felt excitement the closer they got. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Chapel, and Lil too — until the idea of seeing them again had become more than a dream, and was moments away from becoming a reality.

It was quieter than he’d expected. Much quieter. A distant sense of dread pricked his mind. Wren tried to ignore it. The compound was just ahead, beyond a little rise in the terrain. Probably the wind was carrying the normal sounds of life away in the other direction. Chapel would be there. Chapel and Lil. Everything would be just as he remembered.

But as they crested the rise, even as his mind denied it, Wren’s heart went sharply cold and he found himself running, running towards those low walls, with Gamble shouting after him to stop. And then Able caught him, but Wren barely felt it because he was screaming in wordless agony, with tears soaking his face and blinding his eyes.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, but it was.

Chapel’s compound lay before them in ruins.

When Cass heard the scream echo through the cityscape, she didn’t hesitate. She knew her son’s voice. Cass was off at a full sprint before anyone else had even reacted.

The others were only a couple hundred yards away. As Cass approached, she saw Wick kneeling and Gamble standing nearby with her hands on top of her head. Able was holding Wren. Gamble reacted to the sound of her approach, but Cass’s only concern was for her son.

“Wren!” she called. “Wren, what happened?”

His face was buried against Able’s shoulder, and he didn’t answer at first. But as she drew nearer, she could tell he was sobbing.

Gamble intercepted her with a stony expression.

“Is he alright, is he hurt?” Cass asked.

“He’s not hurt,” Gamble said. But her face was grave.

“Mama,” Wren said, racked with sobs. “Mama, they’re gone! They’re all gone!” Able carried him over to her, and Wren clung to her fiercely, with her coat balled in his fists.

“What? What do you mean, Wren?”

Gamble just pointed down the slope. At first, Cass couldn’t tell what she was pointing at. Nothing caught her eye as unusual. Just more of the same broken and scarred urban landscape.

But then Cass noticed a low wall with gentle curves, and from there started picking up little details. Here a shredded bit of cloth. There some kind of tool, broken in two. The damage was more recent than the rest of the surrounding area. Much more recent.

The rest of the team came barreling up behind them and immediately moved into positions with their weapons up, scanning for targets. They were breathing hard from the sprint with all that gear, but every man was sharp and alert. Painter was the last to reach them.

“What’s going on?” Finn asked. He was inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling out of his mouth, trying to bring his breathing back under control.

“Place is wrecked,” Wick said.

“That it down there? With the fence?” said Finn.

“Yeah,” Wick answered.

“Weir?”

“Not sure yet.”

“Better check it,” Swoop said. “G?”

Gamble nodded. That was all Swoop needed. “Wick, Finn, you’re with me,” he said. “Sky, think you can find a room with a view?”

“Yep,” Sky said. The four men started removing their packs and double-checking their combat gear.

“Rest of you hang here while we make sure it’s clear,” said Swoop.

“Keep your eyes wide open, boy,” Gamble said. “And watch your step. If it was scrapers, they might’ve left traps.”

“Heard, understood, and acknowledged,” Swoop said. “We’ll keep you posted.”

Swoop led Wick and Finn down the hill towards the compound, while Sky went off on his own to find an elevated position.

“Scrapers?” Painter asked.

“The worst kind of scavengers,” Gamble said. “They don’t necessarily wait around for you to die on your own. We had more trouble with them than we did with the Weir, back when Underdown was around.”