Jay Posey - Morningside Fall

The Weir began landing more strikes, her cheek, her back, her thigh bled freely. Even as Cass adjusted, they now seemed to anticipate and counter her every move. Their shrieks threatened to disorient her. As they pressed in around her, she knew her only chance was to focus all her wrath on a single point, to drive through the crush.

Cass, fired her jittergun, slashing with her knife, forcing her way back towards the building, back to where Gamble and the team were. But in the churn, she’d lost her bearings, and the writhing horde blocked her view. She took a heavy blow to the left side of her head, and the world tilted, and Cass felt herself sliding, crashing through glass and barbed wire. She was on the ground. On her back. And for the second time in her life, she knew she would die.

With a roar, Cass squeezed the trigger and held it so hard she thought her knuckle might break as the jittergun spewed a stream of death into the tide of Weir that surged towards her. And then — above the demonic cries of the Weir and the buzzsaw scream of her weapon — Cass heard the strangest sound.

A single clear note, high and piercing, like the wind in a winter storm. A human voice. Singing.

And at its sound, the Weir checked their advance. Cass continued to fire into the Weir until she realized that the jittergun had ceased to buzz, and now made only a rapid clicking sound as it tried to feed from an empty magazine.

Strong hands seized her from behind as three forms swept past her and into the Weir. A swirling, almost blinding blue-white light emanated from the three as they moved among the Weir and cut them down with swords that seemed made of fire.

Cass felt herself slipping away, and everything grew smaller, and darker. And the last thing that Cass beheld was a terrifying vision. One of the three forms turned her direction, and its face was of lightning — with blazing coals for eyes, an avenging angel among ravaging demons. And Cass knew no more.

Cass felt herself floating. Or rather, it seemed more like she was falling, but upwards. Her eyelids weighed heavily on her eyes, as if the pressure from the speed of her movement was forcing them into the sockets. Memory fragments returned. Her right hand clenched, desperate to cling to Gamble’s knife, the one that had been in her family a long time, the one Cass had sworn she’d return. But her hand was empty. They had grabbed her. Dragged her away. The Weir had taken her. Again.

Her eyes drifted open, blurred. Tongue too big in her mouth. Everything felt too heavy. She was on her back. A hulking figure loomed. It reached for her. Cass tried to withdraw, but her body barely responded.

“Easy, sister,” a deep baritone voice soothed, the grip firm, heavy, but gentle on her arm. “You’re safe.”

She’d heard that voice before. A long moment. Then her mind processed.

“Mouse?” she said. It took more effort than it should have.

“I’m here,” he answered.

Her eyes still hadn’t focused. “I feel heavy.”

“I had to dose you. Probably going to feel groggy for a while.”

She inhaled deeply. It seemed to take a long time. “Why the dose? Am I hurt bad?”

“They carved you up a little, and you took a hard blow to the head. Nothing life threatening.” He chuckled a little. “I had to dose you because you kept trying to fight everybody.”

“Where’s Wren?” Cass asked.

“Sleeping. It’s the middle of the night. He’s perfectly fine. Not a scratch on him.”

“We made it?”

“We did.”

“All of us?”

He paused. “Almost.”

Cass closed her eyes. “Wick?”

“He’s in rough shape, but he’s hanging in there. Had to give him a fresh whole blood transfusion on the trip back. Got a little lucky there. Turned out Lil was a match.”

She opened her eyes again, turned towards Mouse. Her vision was clearing some. She could see his features. He looked tired. “Wick’s alive?”

“He is,” Mouse answered. He clenched his jaw with passing emotion. “We lost Elan.”

“No,” was all Cass could say. Mouse didn’t respond. There wasn’t really any reason for him to. She had prepared herself as best she could, expecting to lose some of their own. But to cost Lil and her wounded community another life… it seemed unconscionable. And Elan. She remembered him talking with Wren back before they’d left the village, talking about his son. What was his name? Ephraim. Now fatherless.

“How?”

Mouse shook his head. “It was a battle, Cass.” But something in his voice, or his expression — or both — said more. The last moments replayed in her mind. The Weir pressing in around her. Hands dragging her backwards, as angels met the advancing creatures. She’d thought she’d been hallucinating. Now Cass knew she hadn’t been. Not completely.

“He died saving me.” It wasn’t a question.

Mouse took a moment, searched for the words, and then just said, “It wasn’t your fault. And if not for you, more would have died.”

“That doesn’t bring Elan back.”

“Neither does feeling guilty.” She just looked at him, saw pain there, but also grim acceptance. “He knew what we were up against, Cass. He wanted to come help. He volunteered to come help. I guarantee you, if he’d known for sure how it was going to turn out, he still would’ve come.”

“You sound awfully sure for someone who didn’t know him.”

“I knew him. He was a warrior, same as me. And if you gave me the choice between staying behind while others went to war, or laying down my life to see my brothers and sisters safely home, it wouldn’t even be a choice.”

Cass looked up at the ceiling. It was a bond she’d witnessed before, but had never known herself, not outside of her children. “How’s Lil?”

“Glad so many made it home.”

They fell into silence after that. Cass still had many questions, but they seemed to slip through her mind before she could fully grasp them. And while she chased them, a deep and dreamless sleep overtook her.

When Cass awoke, she knew it was morning from the light streaming in from the high narrow window above her head. She was still on her back, but her mind was sharper, her vision clear. She recognized the room now. The same one she’d been in during their previous stay at the refuge. Wall on her right. And to her left, on the bed across the small room, Wren sat next to Lil. They reacted to her movement; Lil smiled at her, and Wren slid off the bed and timidly approached.

“Hi, Mama,” he said.

“Hey, baby.”

“How are you feeling?” Wren asked.

“Still trying to figure that out. But better, I think.”

“Do you think I could give you a hug?”

“Absolutely.”

Cass held out her arms to him and he came and sat on the edge of her bed. Wren leaned down, gently tested his weight against her. Cass pulled him in tight. He responded by sliding one of his slender arms under her neck and squeezing fiercely, and pressing his face into hers.

“How are you?” she asked. “Are you hurt at all?”

She felt him shake his head against hers.

“I was scared for you,” Wren said. “Mouse said you would be OK, but it didn’t look like it.”

“Mouse was right. I am OK. You don’t need to worry.”

He turned his face into the hollow where her neck met her shoulder, and whispered, “I hate it when you’re hurt, Mama.”

“Well, I’m OK now. How long have we been here?” Cass asked.

Wren finally released her neck and sat back up on the bed. “Just the night. We got back a little before the sun went down. You’ve been sleeping.”

Cass decided to test her strength. She pushed herself up, slowly, to a sitting position. She still felt weak and a little dizzy, but she managed. There were bandages wound around her torso and her right biceps, and covering her left shoulder. She worked her left arm, felt a hollow pang deep, so deep it almost felt like it came from within her shoulder blade. With her fingertips, she gently probed the side of her head, from her hairline backwards. There was a goose egg just above and slightly behind her ear. The skin didn’t seem to be broken. Small comfort.