“I have no idea, sweetheart.”
“It’s a strobe. Old miltech. Thing’s probably older than your mom is.”
“How does it work?”
Three walked over to Wren, dropped to a knee. It suddenly struck Cass how often Three did that, and how rarely other adults did. The man making himself the same height as her son. Almost equals. Three held his hand out, and Wren dropped the ball into it.
“You take it like this,” Three said, wrapping one hand horizontally around the ball, as if it were a drink. “Then, you press the top and bottom, like this.” He motioned with the thumb and middle finger of his other hand, pinching the air, but not actually activating the device. Then he handed it back.
“Like this,” Three said. He helped form Wren’s tiny hand around the strobe.
“How do you know what’s the top and what’s the bottom?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Three answered. “It knows how you’re holding it. Then, pinch.”
“Can I try it?”
“Sure, just close your eyes first. If it’s still workin’, it’s bright as a star.”
Wren closed his eyes, and Three guided the boy’s other hand into position, shielding his own eyes with his shoulder.
“Might wanna look away, Mama,” Three said.
Cass had just barely shut her eyes when her lids suddenly flared in white-blue, dazzlingly bright.
“It still works!” Wren shouted, as if trying to be heard over the brightness. The strobe pulsed, a stabbing flash followed by a momentary reprieve. Cass turned her back and was amazed to discover she could still see the flashing reflecting off the walls, even with her eyes closed.
“How do you turn it off?” she called over her shoulder.
There was no verbal response, but a moment later, the pulsing stopped. She turned back, after-images floating in her vision.
“Can I keep it?” Wren beamed.
“Ask your mother.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Jackson might want to hang on to it.”
Wren looked disappointed. Three cocked his head slightly, dipped his eyebrows. Two against one.
“Alright. For now,” she said, relenting. “But let’s make sure Jackson doesn’t mind.”
“Mind what?” Jackson said quietly from the door. Instinctively, Cass stepped to shield Wren from him. She felt Three move beside her, calm, as he stood and smoothly moved to the midpoint between Jackson and her. He faced them both, leaning back against one of those sturdy tables, like a careful negotiator refusing to take sides. Making himself the bridge, Cass thought. Or maybe setting himself in place to be the wall, if it came to that.
Cass could only see half of Jackson sticking into the Treasure Room. He hadn’t committed fully to coming inside yet. From what she could see of him, though, it was clear he’d spent some time getting himself cleaned up. He’d bathed, put on fresh clothes that actually seemed to fit him, maybe even cut his hair. His fingernails were trimmed to a normal length, and for the first time he actually seemed to be standing still. She hadn’t really noticed it earlier, but now that she saw him it occurred to her just how much he had fidgeted before. He lingered in the doorway, seemingly uncertain as to whether or not he was welcome.
“If there’s something you want, you can take it. That’s what it’s here for.”
“How you feelin’?” Three asked, though it sounded more like a statement.
“Good. Real good.”
Cass felt Wren close behind her. He slid up next to her, pushed himself between her hip and arm, so that her hand naturally fell to his shoulder.
“Hey,” Three said, “you have any old blankets?”
“Sure. Most of that type of stuff’s in that back corner.”
“Firebricks?”
That one threw Jackson for a second, and Cass too for that matter. Not a whole lot of use for open flames these days.
“Uh, maybe,” Jackson answered. “If so, probably around the same place as the blankets.”
“You can come in, you know,” Three said. “Your place more than ours.”
Jackson half-smiled at Cass, then looked to the floor as he came in and slowly circled around one of the many tables. He hadn’t cut his hair after all, just pulled it back in a loose knot at the base of his skull. Cass noticed he was careful not to look at Wren.
“If you’re headed to Greenstone, you should probably load up, yeah?” he said. “I don’t think you’ll find too many friendly shops down there.”
“But… you’re coming too, aren’t you?” Wren asked, pulling away from Cass’s side. Jackson glanced at Wren and smiled, though there was no cheer there.
“No, little one, I don’t think so.”
Cass looked to Three, wondering if he’d talked to Jackson about it before, but Three had already moved towards the back of the Treasure Room, and was scanning the various tables laid out there.
“It’s… I mean, is it safe for you to stay?” she asked.
“Safe enough, I would guess. It’s been OK so far.”
Three began rummaging through the scraps on one table, but called back over his shoulder.
“Not sure it’ll stay that way, kid. Might be safer if you move with us.”
“I can’t, Three. The Vault is home. Plus, you never know when some more travelers might come through, yeah? Be a shame if there wasn’t anyone here to let ’em in.”
“Did travelers come through before…?” Cass asked, but trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence without sounding callous.
“Before the attack? Yeah, every few weeks, here and there,” Jackson answered. He picked up a biochem battery off one of the tables, rolled it over in his hand absentmindedly. “The Vault’s out of the way and mostly out of view. It’s always been an OK spot to make a trade, and a good spot to rest.”
“To hide?”
He shrugged. “Nobody asked questions, too much, except Gev.” He went quiet for a moment, and Cass didn’t feel like she should respond. After a moment, Jackson set the battery down and continued. “Always had a good sense for people, you know? He kept this place pretty quiet and calm. Turned away the troublemakers, and kept an eye on the rest of us.”
“Not all the troublemakers, the way he’d tell it,” Three said from his corner. “Used to say you were a handful.”
Jackson cracked a sad smile, remembering.
“More like two.”
Three stopped his rummaging, turned to address Jackson.
“Hey.”
Jackson looked over to him.
“He thought a lot of you, you know. Always called you a good kid.” Jackson nodded, but dropped his gaze. Ashamed of something he’d done, maybe, or overwhelmed by Three’s words; Cass couldn’t tell. “And you said it yourself, Gev had a real good sense of people. You are a good kid, no matter what you may or may not have done.”
“It’s a nice thought, but you don’t know what I’ve done.”
Three returned to his rummaging, but wouldn’t let Jackson have the last word.
“Doing and being are two different things, Jackson.”
Jackson didn’t respond, but Cass saw his shoulders sag, like long-borne tension had suddenly released. He was quiet for a long while.
Cass found Wren sitting cross-legged on the floor, right next to her feet, rolling his new strobe from hand to hand, staring at it as if there were some swirling color and light within it. To her eyes, it was simply a clear ball, but she knew that Wren’s eyes often saw far more than hers.
“What are we looking for?” she finally called.
“Four days to Greenstone. Take what you need.”
They’d spent the better part of the afternoon scouring the Treasure Room for supplies for their trip, which Three organized now. Jackson had led them all to a long-unused apartment; sizeable, furnished with a large bed, a couple of chairs, and its own bathroom facilities, which pretty much made it the honeymoon suite of the Vault. Three’d laid all their supplies out across that bed. Warmer clothes, sturdier shoes, better backpacks, food that would travel well. And as requested, a few old blankets, and a pair of firebricks, though he wouldn’t be packing those. They’d have to start at first light and travel hard to make it to the next wayhouse, and he didn’t trust the others to pack their own bags.