Jay Posey - Three

“I never said they were.”

“Said it or not, you let me believe it. Just as bad.”

She didn’t argue the point.

“Who’s RushRuin?” Jackson asked. Cass had almost forgotten he was there.

“Brainhackers,” Three answered, eyes still on Cass. “Some of the best.”

“ The best,” Cass said. “I don’t know another crew that does the kind of damage they do.”

“And you’re one of them?” Jackson said, obvious awe in his voice.

“ Was . I don’t do that anymore.”

For a moment they all just sat in silence. Jackson stunned by the truth, Cass relieved to have admitted it, and Three trying to figure out what it all meant.

“Bottom line,” Three said at last, “I shouldn’t have brought you out here. Not without knowing the facts.”

Cass felt stung, though not surprised.

“So you’d rather us be dead? My son and me?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten involved, Cass,” he said with a shrug. Never one for diplomacy. “But because I am, I’m telling you I shouldn’t have brought you out here, to the Vault. If I had known what you were running from, there might have been better options.”

“If you had known what we were running from, you wouldn’t have helped us.”

“I’m not gonna lie to you, girl. When you walked into that bar, you were just some skew with some kid you couldn’t take care of. Same story, seen it a thousand times. And you’re right, if I had known, no way I would’ve put my life on the line for you. But—”

If she hadn’t been so tired, she would’ve stopped herself. At least that’s what she let herself believe. As it was, Cass slapped Three across the face, hard. He took it, didn’t even try to stop her. He worked his jaw, tested the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

“But,” he continued, seemingly unfazed, “none of that makes any difference now. Right now , we’re together, and we gotta figure out how to keep it that way.”

Cass wasn’t sure what he was saying. Or didn’t want to let herself believe that maybe, hope against hope, he was saying he wasn’t going to leave them, even now, even knowing what they were really up against.

“You really gotta stop hittin’ me.”

Cass chuckled in spite of herself. It all seemed suddenly ridiculous, that she should be sitting here, in this place, with these people. She was weary, weary beyond imagining, but she was with her son, and right now it was enough. She was instantly sorry she’d hit Three, but couldn’t bring herself to say it.

“When you left, where’d you think you’d go?” Three asked.

For whatever reason, she didn’t care anymore. If Three knew about RushRuin, he might as well know everything. She owed him that much.

“Morningside.”

For a split-second, Cass almost thought she saw something like surprise on Three’s face. Jackson was more obvious.

“Morningside?” he said, looking like he might fall backwards out of his chair. “That’s on the other side of the Strand!”

“Yeah, I know where it is, Jackson.”

“But… that’s… there’s no way you’d ever make it.”

Cass glanced at Three, tried to gauge his reaction. As usual, nothing. He sat in stony silence, though his eyes were lively, active. Wheels turning.

“I mean… Fourover, Swingbridge, there’s plenty of big towns to get lost in this side of the Strand. What’s Morningside got worth the risk?”

She thought, weighed the options. She’d given up trying to guess Three’s way of thinking, or motivation. No real reason to hold back.

“Wren’s father.”

And somehow, once again, Three had made a decision without ever having had a choice. He was kidding himself if he thought he could leave Cass and Wren behind to fend for themselves. It might’ve been a mistake to get himself involved, but that was one mistake he could live with. Leaving these two alone to face Dagon, and Fedor, and this Asher, whoever he was, wasn’t a mistake he was willing to make.

It made some insane sort of sense. At least, tactically.

“Morningside, huh?”

Jackson chimed in.

“Why don’t you just hide out here? There’s plenty of everything you need. You try to cross the Strand, there’s no way you’d make it.”

“There’s no way they’d expect us to try, either.”

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like the best way, the only way, to escape. He’d crossed the Strand before, once out, once back. He could do it again.

“There’s a train, still runs out of Greenstone.”

“Greenstone?” Jackson cried. “That’s just as bad! Maybe you could do it, but no way you could take them. No way.”

Jackson was growing agitated, Three noticed. He chalked it up to loneliness. The kid had been through a lot. They were probably the first people he’d seen since the Weir had come.

“Easy, kid,” Three said, shooting Jackson a glance. He looked over at Wren, who was staring blankly at his shuttlecar. “Mister Wren, you alright?”

Wren looked up through glassy eyes, and nodded.

“You look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m OK,” Wren said, immediately suppressing a yawn.

“Cass, how about you let your boy get some rest, while you and I work out details?”

He framed it as a question, though it wasn’t a request. Cass picked up on the tone, seemed to understand. Nodded.

“I’m not sleepy, honest,” Wren said.

“I know, sweetheart, but it’d be good if you could lie down for a bit. We’ll have to leave soon, and I don’t know how long it’ll be before we’ll have a real bed to sleep in again.”

Cass kissed Wren on the top of the head.

“I don’t wanna take a nap.”

“Just rest then, OK? You won’t miss anything, I promise.”

Cass looked to Jackson, who was bouncing his legs up and down, anxious, restless. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Jackson, you think you could sit with him? So he’s not alone?”

Jackson glanced around the room, sucked his top lip, nodded.

“Sure. Yeah, sure, no worries,” he said, standing and offering a hand to Wren. “C’mon, little one. We’ll let your mom sort it out, yeah?”

Wren nodded, slid out of Cass’s lap, and took Jackson’s hand. Cass squeezed Wren’s shoulder as he moved away. The two walked to the nearest exit, brothers in exile. Just before they disappeared, Cass called after them.

“And Jackson?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Thank you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Three watched Cass as her son disappeared. Corners of her mouth taut in that mix of emotion mothers so often feel as they watch their children leave a room: pride, love, warmth, sadness.

“He’ll be fine.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

Jackson sat in a low Temprafoam chair at the foot of the futon where Wren slept soundly. A small lamp shone golden-orange in the corner, casting the room in a dull tribute to sunset. Jackson looked at Wren curled there, oblivious to the world in the way only children can be. Kid hadn’t gotten much sleep, he guessed, and he couldn’t really blame the boy. So young, separated from his mama, trapped in a pitch-black urban cavern with a probable lunatic. Now that he thought about it, Jackson had to admire Wren for taking it all as well as he had.

He shouldn’t be here. He doesn’t belong.

The voice was in his head, but it wasn’t his own. He wasn’t sure whose it was, or what it was doing there. But it was angry. They’d been starting earlier lately. And there seemed to be more of them than there’d been when he first got back. Or did he just think that? Not like he’d been keeping notes, or counting names.