He’d asked about ammunition, of course, but there’d been none he could use. Of course. A lot of inert shells, which he had plenty of already. A handful of small-time pocket protectors, 1-kJ jobs for back alleys and gamedives. Nothing for serious work. Jackson had offered an 18-kilojoule shell he’d been keeping with him in his “safe place”, but it was too small to fit the chamber on Three’s pistol and wasn’t worth cracking open for parts.
It hadn’t been all bad news, though. Jackson had managed to turn up a single jector of Trivex in an old trauma kit that had fallen down behind one of the tables nearest the wall. The jector’s flexiglass casing was frosted with ages-old dust, and without doubt the chems were past peak potency, but the dose was almost enough to cover the trip to Greenstone. In a stroke of actual good luck, the same kit had contained three minijectors worth of the syntranq Somalin. Three’d run the numbers four separate times to be sure. Full jector of Trivex tonight, let Cass’s system spin up on it while she slept. Mini of Somalin every 18 hours or so to slow the burn. If they kept up the pace, and didn’t have any major shocks along the way, it just might be enough. It was almost enough to make Three think they were getting a little bias from the System. Almost.
Cass had gone with Jackson and Wren back to the Commons to scrounge up some “real” food while Three took care of organizing their packs. Running solo, organizing had never been much of an issue. Wits, water, and weapons. The Essential Three of the open, in proper order. Everything else was fluff. As the saying went, if you’d survived out in the open long enough to get truly hungry, you’d already outlived your life expectancy. But traveling with those two, well… they had a lot of fluff. He loaded as much as he could in his own harness, knowing every extra kilogram he could grit out was one less for the woman and boy to wrestle with. He’d tried to keep everything they might need close at hand, but he realized he had no way to know what they might want close at hand. This wasn’t his way.
He shook his head. Kid’s dad is in Morningside, and the girl’s dying. Seemed like every answer he got just raised more questions. Who was Wren’s father, and how long had it been since she’d seen him? Did he know he had a son? What did Wren know about his dad? And what did Wren know about Three? He’d said something about Three being “just pretend”, which sounded too close to something Three didn’t want them to know. And then there was Cass… dying how? How soon? Of what?
We’re all dying, girl. All of us, all the time. What makes you special?
He heard the trio coming down the corridor, and busied himself with securing the packs and moving them to the floor. He rolled the blankets around the firebricks and placed those on top of his harness, out of the way.
“You can stay up here with us, you know,” Cass said, as they entered the room. “We really don’t mind.”
Jackson shook his head. “I appreciate it, Cass, but I just… I think I’ll sleep better down there.”
Cass flopped Wren up on to the bed, helped him pull his shoes off.
“They’re not trying to get in here anymore,” Three added. “I watched them myself.”
Wren scrambled up towards the top of the bed. Three noticed the boy still had the strobe in hand. Cass sat on the foot of the bed, mild observer to the conversation. She was exhausted, in pain, fading. And still her primary concern was her son. Something like admiration stirred in Three.
“Well, I dunno what it is. But I feel safe there, yeah? They didn’t find me when they were… that night. No reason to risk it.”
“Only thing different down there’s the water, kid.”
Jackson looked puzzled. So did Cass.
“The water’s different?”
“Your ‘safe place’. It’s under the central water exchange for the Vault.”
“Yeah…?”
Three shrugged. “Something about all the water, rushing through the pipes. Makes it hard for ’em to see. Impossible, sometimes.”
Obviously news to Jackson. But Three saw the wheels turning in Cass’s eyes. Thinking back to the storm water system, no doubt. If he wasn’t careful, she was going to learn all his tricks.
“But if they’re not coming in, they can’t see you anyway,” he continued. “So no need to sleep on a wet floor.”
Jackson regarded Three for a moment, then glanced to Cass. Stared for a moment, as she was looking elsewhere. She caught his eye, raised an eyebrow. He looked back to Three too quickly. Eyes dilated. Slight flush in his cheeks.
Three smiled to himself. Looked like Cass had picked up another would-be suitor.
“Yeeeaaah… I just don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet.”
“Suit yourself. But grab some blankets or something. Only thing’s gonna change that room is you broadcasting out of it.”
“Yeah… yeah, I guess that can’t hurt.”
He reached for the blankets on Three’s pack.
“Not those.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, I’ll just pull ’em from next door. You’ll wake me before you go, yeah?”
“Course, kid. I’ve still got the morning to convince you you’re coming with.”
“Heh, right. Alright. Night, Wren,” Jackson’s eyes moved to Cass, held like they were taking a long last drink.
“Night, Jackson,” Wren answered, voice already distant and thick with impending sleep. Cass waved limply from the foot of the bed.
“See ya, Three.”
Three nodded. Watched as Jackson backed out, pulled the door to. Cass bent double and unbuckled her boots, slipped them off. Rolled her ankles, massaged her feet. Three watched her for a moment: small, tucked in on herself, with such fragile beauty his heart burned.
“Hey,” he said.
She rolled her head his way, eyes bloodshot, lids heavy. Smiled so genuinely, with such unexpected warmth; dawn breaking through a hurricane night. Three found he’d stopped breathing.
“Hey back,” she said, voice low. No more than a meter away. She locked eyes with him: deep brown, dancing, golden. Vulnerable. She leaned back, propped herself on outstretched arms, lithe, feline in her movement. Cocked her head. “You gonna fix me up or what?”
Three held. Evaluated. Wren’s breathing was deep, steady. Cass just sat there, staring back at him with those dark, depthless eyes. He stepped to her, brushed the hair back from her face. Traced her jaw with the back of a finger.
“Lay back.”
Cass lowered herself to the bed, slid her hands behind her head. Three planted a knee next to her, the inside of his leg firm against her ribs. Leaned over her. Wordlessly, he unfastened the first, then second clasp of her shirt. Lay back the left side. Her smile had melted into an amused smirk, but she never broke eye contact.
Three started at her collarbone. With his fingertips, he traced from the notch at the top of her breastbone, out to her left shoulder and back, stopping about three-quarters of the way to the slender curve of her neck. Her olive skin was warm, impossibly soft. Now he ran his fingertips downward, sliding along the inside of her breast. She watched from stillness.
He found a rib, placed a finger from his left hand there. Reached with his right into one of the many pockets of his pants.
“I hate to hurt you.”
“I’m glad it’s you.”
She let her eyes fall closed. Drew a breath.