Jay Posey - Three

Dagon shrugged.

“I guess I go back and tell Asher where I found you. And you keep running.”

“Not really my style.”

“Well. You might want to make it yours. You seem like a good man.”

Three thought it through. He could try again. Try to drop Dagon while he was relaxed. But the last time he’d thought he’d gotten the drop on him had almost cost Three his life. It didn’t seem like Dagon had any intention of fighting him. At least not here. Not now. And Dagon likely could’ve killed Three while he slept. Somehow attacking him now seemed dishonorable.

“There aren’t any good men left, Dagon.”

Dagon just nodded. Then stepped back, turned, and began walking away. After a couple of steps, he turned back, raised his voice just enough to be heard.

“Best of luck to you, Three. I’m sure we’ll see you again.”

“Yeah.”

And with that, Dagon walked back down the maglev line, more casual than cautious, and faded into nothingness, even to Three’s eyes. To the east, the barest hint of gray was beginning to show at the horizon.

Three had never so dreaded the breaking of dawn.

Wren lay curled in a ball, arms tucked together, legs drawn in, his hands used as a pillow. Shivering, half or less from the cold, the rest from fear. Exhausted as he was, he just couldn’t sleep. Not really. He’d dozed off for stretches of a few minutes here and there for the last hour, or two, or ten. But the concrete and an erratic but persistent dripping sound always woke him. He had no idea how long they’d been in “the safe place”, and he was too afraid to check GST ever since his mother’s pim. Almost immediately after she’d sent it, his captor-companion had shifted and grunted in the darkness, as though the pim had woken It. And even though it may have been pure coincidence, Wren couldn’t bring himself to risk streaming anything else. Not until he knew it was morning.

Wren picked up his hand, moved it slowly towards his face until his palm bumped the tip of his nose. Pitch-black. Why had he thrown his light? And his knife. The two things that Mister Three had given him, both gone. And the thing he wished most was gone was still there. He could feel it. Even in relative silence, the It had a wild edge; its soft breathing sounded more animal than man. Wren wondered when It would wake and what it would do when it did.

And Wren thought of his mama. Wondered where she was. Her pim hadn’t sounded scared, or hurt. Just worried. But that wasn’t unusual. Mister Three was with her, and that probably meant she was OK. Maybe he’d found a way in before it got dark. Or maybe a safe place to hide. He seemed like he knew how to stay safe even at nighttime. Mister Three seemed like he could pretty much do anything.

“Gev?”

The sudden sound of Its voice startled Wren, and he jumped badly. It wasn’t whispering, and Wren realized that the It was most likely a He. Wren couldn’t bring himself to answer in anything but a whisper.

“I don’t think he’s here.”

“Oh…” He said. There was a long pause, and finally He made rustling sounds that Wren took to mean he was sitting up. “Did you sleep, little one?”

Wren didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to offend anyone either.

“A little bit.”

“I’m sorry it’s not more comfortable. But it’s safe, yeah?”

“Is it morning?”

“Early still. I don’t think the sun’s up, but it should be very soon.”

The He sounded nicer, or at least less scary. Less confused. They sat in silence for a few moments longer. Then the He sounded like he was getting to his feet.

“I’m sorry if I scared you. Last night, I mean. Night is a bad time for me. A bad time.”

From the sound of His voice, Wren could tell the other had turned and was walking away from him. There was a click and suddenly a blue-white light flared. Dull and dim by usual standards, it momentarily dazzled Wren’s eyes. He squeezed them tightly shut against the glare. And then wondered whether or not he actually wanted to open them again. In the long darkness, he’d almost forgotten that the person-thing that had carried him downstairs was more than just a voice. He knew when he opened his eyes, He would be standing there.

“You OK?” He asked.

Wren couldn’t answer. He hugged his knees.

“Hey, you’re OK, little one. Nothing’s going to happen to you now.”

Wren heard Him approach, felt Him kneel down. A hand on his shoulder, gentle, soothing. Wren risked a peek.

The first thing that struck him was how young a face it was that stared back down at him. Not a boy, certainly, but maybe not quite old enough to be a man yet. He kind of reminded Wren of Asher, at least age-wise. His face was grubby and gaunt; greasy, dark hair hung in long curls to his shoulders. He didn’t seem mean, or even unkind. Mostly, he just needed a bath.

“My name was Jackson,” he said, then shook his head, corrected himself, “ is Jackson. What’s yours?”

“I’m Wren.”

Jackson held out his hand: fingers tipped with long, dirty nails.

“Hi there, Wren.”

Wren took his hand and shook it timidly. Jackson smiled.

“Been a while since I’ve had company.”

Wren nodded. Jackson stood, and helped him to his feet. Wren glanced around, checked out what the so-called safe place looked like. No surprise, it was concrete: concrete floor, concrete ceiling. He guessed the walls were concrete too, though they were mostly obscured by rows and rows of dark pipes, stacked atop one another. That explained the dripping sound. Water pooled in a back corner, where the elbow joint of one pipe leaked slightly. The room was smaller than he’d expected, though when he thought about it he couldn’t figure out why he’d ever imagined it’d be larger. As far as he could tell, it was some kind of hub for the Vault’s water system, a miniaturized version of the storm water system Mister Three had hidden them in their first night outside.

“Can I see my mama now?” Wren asked. Jackson grimaced.

“I hope so. I can’t open the gate, though. Not yet. It isn’t safe.”

Wren felt the tears clawing their way up his throat. He was cold and tired and hungry and there was nothing he wanted more than just to sit in his mama’s lap and fall asleep knowing she was safe, and he was safe, and everything was going to be OK. Jackson moved alongside him, dropped an arm over his shoulders.

“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you something to eat, and then we’ll find your mom, yeah?”

Wren wiped his eye with the back of his hand, and nodded, and let Jackson lead him out into the darkness of the Vault.

Cass felt sleep slipping away from her without being able to recall ever falling asleep. As always, her first instinct was to reach out and check on Wren. It took a moment for her brain to catch up, to replay the events of the night before, to remind her of their situation now. She thought back to his pim, wondered if he was still hiding somewhere, or scared, or hurt. She resisted the urge to pim him again, to tell him she was coming to get him right now.

Her eyes floated open. She was lying on something lumpy, still covered in Three’s coat. He was nowhere to be seen. Cass tried not to panic. She couldn’t imagine he’d go to all the trouble to get her through the night, only to leave her in the morning. Well, she could imagine it, which was the problem. She forced herself not to. Judging from the graying light, dawn wasn’t far off.

She sat up, tried to work the kinks out of her muscles. Twisting to one side brought a shooting pain that reminded her of her fall. She ran a hand under her shirt and gingerly checked the injury with her fingertips. Massive abrasion, deeply bruised, but as far as she could tell nothing was broken. A slow, careful, deep inhalation. Pain, but not broken-rib pain. She’d be alright.