Jay Posey - Three

Still, she thought. Be still.

There was a noise of something shifting away, and a flow of cold air rolled over her. It was dismantling their shelter.

“Cass,” Three whispered. “We’re gonna need to get movin’ in a few.”

Her mind rejected the concept immediately. Moving through the Strand at night was guaranteed to get them all killed. What time was it anyway? She went to check the time…

“Cass!” Three whispered more urgently. “You awake?”

His second call was enough, and snapped her to full awareness. She wouldn’t mention just how close she’d come to giving them all away.

“I’m awake,” she answered in a whisper, fearing the Weir were near. “What’s wrong, did they find us?”

She rolled over, and found Three peeking in through their narrow entrance, face backlit by a dull gray light.

“No, it’s almost daybreak. If we’re gonna make it out of here today, I want to get a jump on it. Just over ten hours of daylight.”

“It’s morning already?”

“Yeah, close enough. You sleep?”

“Apparently.”

“Well, take a minute to get sorted out, and then we need to move, OK?”

“OK.” He looked tired. And sweaty. There were flecks of something dark spattered under his chin. “Are you alright?”

“Sure, fine. Just be ready to move.”

Cass pointed at his chin. Three touched it with his fingertips, and drew them back. Scanned them.

“Yeah…” he said. “Busy night.” He flashed a weak smile that seemed filled with an endless fatigue. “Let me know when you’re ready. Sooner is better.” And then he withdrew.

Cass sat up as best she could inside their hiding place, rolled her neck and shoulders. Frustrated that she’d slept for hours and felt it had been no more than a few minutes. She hoped Wren had slept better. She looked at him there, curled tight in a ball, a long coat draped over him like a blanket. She blinked at the coat. Mind still groggy, but processing. She didn’t remember the coat from before. Three’s. He must’ve checked on them in the night.

Cass reached over and ran her fingers through Wren’s golden-white hair gently, and cooed his name the way only mothers can.

“Wren.”

He stirred.

“Wren, baby, it’s time.”

Her boy fidgeted under her touch, and then his green eyes appeared beneath slowly receding eyelids. Gradually focused. He lay still.

“Wren, sweetheart, we need to get going, OK?”

Wren inhaled deeply, his mouth inverted. A quick exhalation, another deep inhalation; corners of his mouth quivering. She realized he was trying not to cry.

“It’s alright baby, we’re alright.”

She leaned over onto him then, wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. But he squirmed away. Cass sat back up, and Wren sat up with her.

“OK, Mom.”

The ‘Mom’ hit her like a mild slap. It sounded too old to be coming out of Wren’s mouth. He was already up and tucking his little blade back inside his belt, hidden by his coat, suddenly looking very much like a man in miniature.

“OK, baby,” she said. And then she too was up on knees, checking gear and refastening her boots. Three reappeared and started tearing down a section of their hide to open up the entrance. An electric howl sounded from far too close for Cass’s comfort, but Three ignored it.

“Farther than it sounds,” he said, apparently seeing her concern. “Sound carries in strange ways out here.”

He helped her out of the shelter, and then Wren, and then reached in and pulled the packs out.

“It’s early yet. There may still be a couple of ’em out and about, so stay sharp. But if we don’t get started now, I’m afraid we’ll run out of time on the other end. And that wouldn’t go well for us.”

Cass nodded, as did Wren.

“It’s going to be a hard push today, alright? Set your minds to it. It’s going to be hard. But once we’re on the other side, there’s gonna be a place to rest. We can rest for a couple of days. Fed, warm, safe. So you push with everything you’ve got today, and we’ll make up for it after, alright?”

“Alright.”

“OK. Here,” he said, handing them each a silver-foil package. Cass took hers, and couldn’t help but notice how it seemed to ooze in the middle. Three ripped the top corner of his and squeezed some kind of congealed substance out of it into his mouth. It looked like a mix of coagulated grease and wet sand. He grimaced as it went in, and swallowed hard. Seeing her look, he explained. “Supposed to be the perfect chemical balance of proteins and carbohydrates to keep you running all day. If you can keep it down.”

She nodded, and squeezed a portion of her packet into her mouth. The taste wasn’t quite foul, but if not for Three’s explanation, it never would have occurred to her that this substance was intended to be consumed by humans. Machines, maybe.

Wren gagged on his, and coughed it back out. It fell in a wet pasty lump into the cold, gray ash-sand of the Strand. Three knelt next to Wren, and they both stared at it.

“Tell you what,” Three said after a moment. “You get half of one of these down, and I’ll carry you when you get tired.”

“I don’t think I can…” Wren said.

But Three coaxed him with a hand on his back. “You can do it. It’s not food, it’s fuel. It’s power. Just get it in there and swallow as soon as it hits your tongue. Don’t even have to chew it.”

Wren nodded, and gingerly squeezed another half serving out. It dangled for a moment above his open mouth, then plopped suddenly full force onto his waiting tongue. He swallowed in an instant, and dry heaved, but nothing came out. Nothing but a few tears of disgust.

Three stood, and patted him heartily on the shoulder, rustled his hair.

“There you go, buddy. Just like a soldier.”

Wren looked up and gave a strained smile, no doubt still dealing with the semi-acrid aftertaste of whatever it was that was sliding down into his belly.

It came so fast, Cass barely had time to scream.

“Three!”

A streak of gray-blue leapt, and Three knocked Wren clear the instant before impact. Wren fell hard, and rolled up shrieking at the writhing mass that fought and strove just inches from him. Cass reacted, reached down, snatched him by handfuls of his coat. Jerked him away with such force she lost her balance. They tumbled together, backwards to the ground. Helpless spectators.

It was so fast, so savage, Cass couldn’t make sense of what was happening until she saw the Weir’s clawed hand flash up bloody, and down again. Three whipped back and forth on the ground like he was lying on hot coals, his arms folded up like a mantis. The Weir flailing as if caught in a web. Terror gripped Cass’s throat, her spine, paralyzed her, even as Wren was screaming, screaming, like a child in the throes of a nightmare, screaming for her to help.

There was a sudden snap. And then, somehow, it all stopped. And all was still. And all was quiet, save for the sobbing child. Her child. What had happened? Where had it come from?

Then, movement. The Weir. Rising up. Rolling over. Flopping onto its back. Three lay still. Breathing. Heavy, labored, but breathing.

Wren was the first to his side. Three held up a hand. Bloody, impossible to tell if it was his or the Weir’s.

“Bad start,” he said through gritted teeth. “Bad start.”

He rolled up to an elbow, awkwardly pushed himself to sitting. Cass got to her feet, edged her way to him. Realized she was trembling. From somewhere out on the Strand, a cry pierced the pre-dawn gray and was answered in kind.

“So much for keepin’ quiet.”

Three forced himself to his feet, shouldered his pack. There was blood on his lips.