Jay Posey - Three

Make them leave. They’ll only make more trouble for us.

Jackson tried to ignore it. Sometimes that worked. He watched Wren’s easy breathing. The contented look on the boy’s face. Tried to imagine what his life had been like up to now, figured he couldn’t even guess. His mama was pretty beat up. And gorgeous.

She could be ours. She should be ours. We saved her.

And the man, Three. Gev’s friend. He’d come and gone as he pleased, seemingly content to wander in the open without any apparent obligations.

He doesn’t deserve her!

Jackson wasn’t sure what had brought the three of these people together, or who this RushRuin was that was chasing them. It didn’t really matter. If the boy were gone, and the man, who would she have to turn to?

Us! She would stay with us!

No, she doesn’t belong!

We could make her belong! She could be one of us!

He straightened the blanket that covered Wren. The boy was blond and pale, vibrantly pale in a way that made him seem more alive, more healthy, than anyone had right to be in this world. Jackson would’ve said angelic, if he’d believed there could be any such thing. And he had a sudden urge to smash the boy’s face.

“No!” Jackson said aloud, to himself. The voices shrunk back at the sound of his, but only for a moment. Wren shifted.

The boy. The man. Gone. We could console her. She could stay with us.

He wanted desperately for the voices to stop, for Cass to stay, to be his own again, to give the voices what they wanted. His eyes clenched with the strain. Tears streaked. Pain.

“All I have to do,” he said to himself, “is nothing. Just. Do. Nothing.”

Jackson balled his hands into tight fists, felt his nails bite into his palms, his knuckles burn with the tension. This wasn’t the first time. But it hadn’t been this bad before. There seemed to be more of them. Angry.

You know how!

Yes, do it! Make her ours!

We deserve it!

It’s easy! The boy is sleeping, he won’t fight!

Too much. Jackson stood. Crept to Wren. Leaned over him. The boy so peaceful. Beautiful. A stained-glass window of all that was right and missing in the world. Unfair.

Jackson’s hands moved of their own accord.

They’d made as much of a plan as they could. They’d leave at first light, and make for Greenstone. How they’d manage to get on the train, if it was even possible, they’d figure out once they got there. One thing at a time.

Without thinking, Three reached out, ran his thumb along Cass’s cheekbone, gently. Felt her tense under his touch. But not flinch. He knew he should pull his hand back. Didn’t. Her eyes flicked to his, searching.

“We gotta get you some rest, girl.”

“If that’s all you’ve got, save it,” she said.

She swatted his arm with a backhand as he withdrew. Three found himself half-smiling without knowing why.

She blinked, slowly. Shook her head. She’d lied about her burn rate, he knew. She was holding it together well, all things considered, but he could see it. The paleness of her lips, the dancing pupils, the tremble of her hands that she tried to conceal. They’d have to find her quint again, no doubt. Shouldn’t be a problem in Greenstone, if they made it that far. But it’d be nice to know just how long they had before she needed her next hit.

“Anything else you wanna tell me?”

Her eyes dropped, brow furrowed. She placed both hands on the table, palms down. Drew a breath.

“They want my son…” she started. No surprise there. Cass paused, lingered. Traced a small circle on the table between them. Three waited. Willed her to own up.

Come on girl, let’s have it all. How long till your next dose?

The circles on the table got smaller, slower. Then, without looking up, she told him the rest of the story.

“They want my son,” she repeated. “And I’m dying.”

Somewhere, far below, an inhuman cry echoed.

Cass bounded down the hall ahead of him, faster than he remembered ever seeing her move; she’d reacted nearly instantly to the scream. No, not scream. Screams. Two voices, one unholy shriek. It hadn’t occurred to him before that he had no idea where Jackson might take Wren. Now he couldn’t understand how he’d been so foolish.

The pair raced past the medical apartment and leapt down the stairs that led towards the primary living quarters. Cass hit the landing so hard she nearly fell, but managed to maintain her frantic momentum and streaked down the central corridor. Three skidded to a halt, dropped to a knee. Listened; strained.

A sound, at the edge of hearing. He whirled and headed down a side passage, hunched, trying to steady his breathing as he searched. There again. A faint sob. The corridor dark. Doors sealed. But the muffled cry growing more apparent with each step. Near the end, a dull orange glow seeped from underneath a door.

“Cass! Here!”

In three strides he was there, propelling his whole mass into the door, throwing it open so hard the doorframe separated from the wall. Then, froze. Scanned. Cass skidded into the room while Three tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

“Wren!” Cass shrieked.

She flew to her son, flinging herself around Three and onto the boy who lay crumpled on the floor, fetal, at the side of the bed. Hands over his ears. A bright, thin trail through his fingers: blood.

Three’s eyes swept the rest of the room, saw the sole of one of Jackson’s feet poking out from behind the bed. He prowled cautiously around the edge, one hand moving instinctively to the handle of his blade, though he doubted there’d be any need for it. Wren was the one softly sobbing. Jackson, so far, hadn’t stirred.

“Baby, what happened? What happened?” Cass was pleading with Wren, cradling him to her, voice trembling with fear. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”

Three rounded the bed. Jackson was there, lying in an awkward pose, one leg bent behind him with the other outstretched. Eyes open, but unseeing. Mouth slightly agape. Didn’t seem to be breathing. Three relaxed, released his grip on his weapon. Shook his head. Wren was going to have to do the talking.

“Wren,” Cass continued, “Wren, baby, please, talk to me.”

Three moved to them, took a knee, looked into Wren’s face. The boy’s eyes were open, and they rose to meet Three’s. He was scared, confused, but he didn’t seem hurt. Cass was frantic. Three stretched out his hand and took her shoulder, firmly, to steady her.

“You OK, kid?”

Wren nodded, took his hands from his ears but didn’t offer anything more. There was a wet smear along the side of his face where the cut on his hand had reopened, but from what Three could tell, he didn’t seem to have any new injuries.

“Can you tell us what happened?”

Wren pulled away from Cass enough to sit upright, and wiped his eyes.

“Wren—” Cass said. Three caught her eye and shook his head. After a long moment Wren spoke quietly, like he was recounting a bad dream.

“I was sleeping. And I heard some people talking. But when I woke up, it was just him.” He lowered his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of here,” Three said, standing and offering his hand. Wren stood on his own, Cass accepted the help. “Go on up to the Commons, maybe your mom could take a look at that hand. I’ll be there in a few.”

Wren nodded, trudged out of the room, careful to avoid looking in the direction of Jackson’s body. As Cass moved by him, Three caught her arm, leaned in close.