“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.
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.