Jay Posey - Three

Three disappeared around a corner into yet another narrow, rusting alley, and Cass followed with one trudging step at a time, one foot in front of the other, willing herself onward. Exiting the alleyway, Cass found herself at a wide road. An old maglev line, bowed in the middle, ran overhead. And just across the road sat a squat block of concrete, more like a bunker than a building, with a heavy steel gate implanted in its middle. The Vault.

Three hesitated at the edge of the road, glanced skyward. Cass edged to his side.

“That it?”

Three nodded with a furrowed brow. She noticed the slash across his throat was bleeding again.

“So, shouldn’t we be going in?”

Three nodded again. But he didn’t move. Just stood there, scanning the road, the building, something, everything; Cass wasn’t sure what.

“Sooo… why aren’t we?”

Three shook his head, let Wren slide down off his back.

“Feels wrong.”

He unbuttoned his coat, and eased his pistol out of its holster. Flipped open its cylinder, snapped it shut again with a flick of his wrist. Without looking at her, he pushed Wren gently back against her legs, held the gun out for her to take. Cass dropped a hand on Wren’s shoulder, took the heavy weapon with the other.

“Wait here.”

Cass felt tears come to her eyes as she watched Three glide out across the road and make his silent way to the Vault. She let them fall without knowing or caring why they came. She was spent, depleted of all her body had to give and beyond, with a weariness she felt down through the middle of her bones, deep into her heart. If there was something wrong here, at the Vault, after all they’d done to reach it, she felt she’d just as soon sit down and let the Weir come for them rather than take another step.

“What do you think it is, Mama?”

Wren’s voice sounded small.

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

“Maybe he’s just being extra careful.”

“That’s probably it.”

“My feet are sad.”

“Mine too, baby. Mine too.”

Across the street, Three moved from place to place, sometimes within view, sometimes not. Cass wondered what he was looking for, what he was seeing. She felt like she could see it all from where she stood: a concrete bunker, impenetrable save through its one entrance, which was securely blocked by the lowered steel gate. And if he truly had friends inside, it seemed like he could just let them know they were outside. But Three was nothing if not cautious and thorough, and she had to trust there was a good reason they were still in the open with the sun slipping beneath the horizon.

After about five minutes, he motioned for them to join him and quickly. Cass steeled herself, took Wren’s hand, and crossed.

“What now?” she asked when they reached him. She handed him his massive handgun, glad to be rid of the thing.

“The gate.”

“Yeah, why don’t we just get them to open it? I thought you said the gatekeeper’s a friend of yours.”

“Yeah.”

Something in Three’s tone concerned Cass. His demeanor had changed; darker now. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost say he sounded worried.

“I don’t understand.”

Three didn’t say anything. Just pointed to the bottom of the gate, nearest to where they were standing. Meanwhile his eyes were busy scanning around the top.

At first, she didn’t see anything. Concrete. Steel. No way in. The fatigue and frustration were getting to her. Why Three couldn’t just tell her what was wrong, she couldn’t fathom. The man’s aversion to words was quickly becoming his least attractive quality.

Cass opened her mouth to tell him to spell it out for her, but caught herself. She saw it now. A gap, maybe three inches wide, at the base of the gate. It wasn’t sealed, looked more like it had fallen than been lowered. She bit her lip to keep the tears back.

Three turned, put a knee in front of Wren, rested his hand on her son’s shoulder.

“How you feelin’, Mister Wren?”

“Tired,” Wren shrugged.

“How’s your hand? Hurting any?”

Wren held up his bandaged hand. Blood showed through the fabric. He shook his head. Cass knew he was trying to be tough, trying to impress Three.

“I’ve known grown men who would’ve given up a long time ago. You’re a soldier. A real soldier.”

Wren half-smiled at that; embarrassed. Honored. Three was building him up for something, Cass figured.

“Think you could help us out here?”

“I dunno.”

Cass didn’t know why Three was taking so long to get to the point. Maybe he just didn’t feel comfortable asking Wren for help directly. She jumped in.

“Can you get this door opened up for us, sweetheart?” she asked.

Three looked up at her briefly, shook his head.

“That’s a no go. Engines that drive the gate are older than I am. Mechanical, not electronic.”

“What do you want him to do then?”

Three looked back at Wren, then pointed up above the gate, to the left side. About nine feet up, there was a small grate, maybe two feet wide and a foot and a half tall; much too small to be a point of entry for anyone. Except perhaps a child.

“Do you see that vent up there?”

Wren looked up, back at Three, nodded. Cass cut the conversation off.

“No. No way. You’re not sending him through there.”

Three ignored her.

“It’s big enough for you to fit. Can you crawl through, and open the gate from the inside?”

“Did you hear me?” Cass said. “He’s not going in there.”

“I’m talking to your son,” answered Three, forcefully. Cass was so stunned she didn’t know how to respond. Three didn’t take his eyes off Wren. “Can you do that?”

Wren shrugged, apparently torn between Cass’s words and this man who called him a soldier.

“I think so, maybe.”

“Don’t tell me what you think,” Three said in a firm voice. “Tell me if you can.”

Wren looked up at the vent again, and then back at Three. Cass noticed her son did not look at her. He just nodded.

“I can do it.”

Three stood up and took off his harness.

“Three,” Cass said. “No. I’m not going to let you send him in there by himself. There’s no telling what’s in that thing. He could get hurt.”

Three pulled a chemlight out of his vest and ignited it, attention still focused on Wren.

“If he doesn’t go, he’ll die.”

Three had a way of making choices seem nonexistent. Cass struggled to think of a better alternative, any alternative, while Three went on prepping her son, as though she had no say in the matter. He gave Wren the chemlight, drew something from his vest which he held hidden in his hand, all the while talking Wren through the steps.

“Once you get the cover off, crawl to the nearest vent. You may have to turn left or right once or twice, but it shouldn’t be too far before you can drop down. If anyone’s in there, ask for Gev. Can you remember that?”

Wren nodded. Cass gave up trying to prevent it, just watched the exchange, noticed how attentive Wren was, how eager.

“And if you don’t see anyone, look for two engines. Big engines. There’s a lever on one side. Just pull it, and the gate should open up. Can you do that?”

“I think—,” Wren stopped himself. “Yes.”

“Who are you asking for?”

“Gev.”

“Alright, I want you to take this.”

Again Three knelt, holding out his hand. Across his palm, lay one of the knives Cass had seen twice before; once in the wayhouse where Wren had cut his hand, and again during Three’s fight with Dagon.

“He certainly doesn’t need that—” she protested. Wren flicked his eyes to her, but Three paid her no mind.