Jay Posey - Three

“You sure you’re alright to go?” Cass asked.

“Doesn’t much matter. Let’s move.”

He turned and started the march with long strides. Forced, determined steps. Not the smooth glide she was accustomed to seeing. He was hurt, and she had no idea how badly. Cass took Wren’s hand and together they followed as quickly and quietly as they were able.

The sky above was growing lighter by the minute, but Cass couldn’t escape the grasping fear of the shadows on their heels. The suddenness of the attack on Three had her shaken. It’d come without warning. Taken Three by surprise. And if Three could be taken by surprise… she didn’t want to think what that might mean for them out here. She replayed it in her mind, realized she couldn’t find the starting point, couldn’t picture where the Weir had been when it leapt. Only that it had leapt. Three knocking Wren to the ground.

Not to the ground. Out of the way. The Weir hadn’t been after Three. It had been after Wren. And Three had saved him. Saved them. Again. She wondered at what cost. But the man that forged ahead of them made no signs of slowing, no hint of injury, or fear. Cass set her mind to keeping pace. And she swore that no matter what may come, she would never again let surprise render her helpless. Next time she would stand at his shoulder. Next time, they would fight together.

Three had told them it would be a hard push, and he kept his promise. For the first four hours, he refused to let them stop for more than three or four minutes at a time. There was a dull ache deep in his side from the impact with the Weir, and the pain got sharp if he inhaled too quickly, or too much. But he fought back, forcing his mind back to the now, to that moment, that footfall. And he fought to keep his bearing, knowing the human tendency to circle obliviously. They’d survived one night in the Strand, but not by accident. They wouldn’t survive a second.

At times, he’d switched packs with Cass so he could carry Wren. Another promise he’d made. How many had he made to them now? How many kept? How many more could he keep?

The wind had picked up that day, gusts swirling gritty dust into their eyes and mouths. They passed most of the journey in silence, each focused on the peculiarly personal misery the Strand seemed to impose upon anyone who crossed it. There was a presence in the place, an ominous weight that bore down on the spirit, and made footsteps heavy. At one point, Three realized Wren was quietly weeping. No one asked why.

By noon, Three reckoned they’d traveled maybe eighteen miles, which was good, but not great. If they kept pace, they’d clear the Strand in time. But keeping pace was a hard task, harder than the one they’d accomplished that morning. They stopped then, and took another round of the goo that jCharles had provided. It wasn’t the physical fatigue that concerned Three the most, however. It was the draining of the soul, the sapping of the will that he feared. The early morning attack had rattled Cass. She kept Wren close while they rested, but her eyes were vacant, staring. Hunted. He’d seen that look before, back when he’d first met the two.

“Hey,” he said. “We’ll make it…”

He cut himself off before he finished, and realized he’d been about to make it a promise. Cass smiled emptily and nodded. Three didn’t know which worried him more. Her look, or the fact that he couldn’t make the promise.

They got on the move again after that, but within the first hour he knew they were in trouble. The pace was slacking, and no matter what he tried, he couldn’t pick it up. It was as if some cruel headwind had set itself against them, as if the Strand itself had bent its will to preventing their escape. By mid-afternoon, he’d discarded Wren’s pack, and soon after he offloaded most of Cass’s and his own as well. He carried Wren on his back the rest of the way, fighting hard to ignore how the boy’s knee drove into his side and sent waves of electric fire radiating through his chest.

Three strove onwards, willing himself, willing Cass and her son, willing them to race the slowly gathering dusk. But with less than an hour of daylight left, he estimated they still had another five miles to the fringe. It didn’t matter. There were no other options.

He looked back at Cass, hunched over, forward, leaning into the journey as if she really were facing a physical wall of wind.

“Almost there, girl,” he lied. “Just a little further.”

Cass didn’t reply, and as he turned back and resumed his plodding steps, he wondered whether she hadn’t heard him, or hadn’t believed him. She was no fool, and the sun was impossible to miss. It was already sinking into the horizon. He thought briefly about telling Cass to run for it. To boost, and to take Wren and just run, run as fast and as far as she could. But he knew it was a fool’s wish. She wouldn’t know the way. All the speed in the world wouldn’t save them if she ran back to the heart of the Strand.

As the sky faded purple and the first stars began to appear, he began preparing. The adrenaline kicked in then, for both of them, and they covered those last couple of miles at a better pace than they started the day with. But it wouldn’t be enough. The first calls were already sounding in the night.

“Three,” Cass said, and he heard it in her voice. She knew what was coming. And to his surprise, she sounded strong.

“We’re in some trouble, Cass.”

“I know.”

He set Wren down. Cass slid next to them, picked Wren up, hugged him close. He was strangely calm.

“Are we going to die now, mama?” he asked sleepily. Three didn’t wait for Cass to answer.

“No, Wren. Now we’re going to fight.”

Heart full of fire, Three scanned their surroundings. There wasn’t much to choose from, but as the cries of the Weir grew louder, he spotted one structure that might actually give them the slightest chance. It had been taller before, perhaps much taller. Now it was little more than two stories. And the top story was mostly exposed, its walls largely crumbled away. There was a corner of protection, and it afforded them height. Maybe it’d be enough.

“This way,” he said. Grabbing Cass by the arm, he pulled her along and together they raced across the broken terrain, fear and adrenaline granting them new speed. They reached the skeletal building, and Three wasted no time. He grabbed Wren away from Cass, and then leaned into one of the crumbling walls.

“Climb,” he said, as he laced his fingers together at his waist. She understood immediately, and stepped into his hands. Three boosted her and she used his shoulders as another foothold. He felt her press down, and then spring off him. Quickly after, she called down.

“Wren!”

Three grabbed the boy around the waist and lifted him until Wren was on his shoulders. He stepped close to the wall, held steady while Cass got a hold on him.

“Help me, Wren, come on. Climb up!”

“I’m trying!”

The calls weren’t just getting closer now. They were growing in number.

“Go, Wren, go!” Three called, and as if his word alone was enough, Wren’s feet lifted off his shoulders and were scrabbling up the side of the wall as Cass pulled from above.

As soon as Wren was clear, Three moved back about six feet, and then dashed towards the wall. He leapt and planted a foot in the middle of the wall and then pushed off and stretched upward, catching the lip of the upper story by just the fingertips. Stifled a grunt of pain as something cracked in his side. He strained upwards, and as he pulled himself high enough to get an elbow atop the wall, four hands grabbed him and hauled him further along. He scrambled onto the top level with the others.