“Gonna have us a good time either way,” added another, this one with a strip of stained cloth tied around his face as a mask. “Before and after.”
“That’s not gonna work,” Three answered. Steady, controlled. But Cass could hear the fire. Four of them. Three was good, but no way he’d handle them. She unclipped her backpack.
“Hey, come on fellas,” she said. “I’m sure we can work something out here.”
The pack looked to her as if her words were an unwelcome intrusion on some black business deal. The leader seemed almost amused. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead of words, a strange crackling hiss spilled out from the leader’s throat. Blood burbled at the corners of his lips. Three was in motion.
As the leader staggered backwards, clutching his throat, Three was already upon the redhead. The redhead was doubled over, his head caught in Three’s vice-grip hands, being used as a human shield to prevent the other two from closing the distance. Three jerked the redhead in one direction, then violently back the other, twisting as he did. There was a sickening snap, and the redhead ragdolled into the gurgling leader. Three didn’t seem to be in any hurry, and his expression had not changed.
The masked man was next in line, and Three met him halfway, stomping the man’s shin just above the ankle. It rolled and snapped, as Three twisted and connected with a perfectly placed hammer-fist just at the hinge of the masked man’s jaw. Cass saw his eyes rolling back before he’d finished falling.
The fourth and final man seemed frozen in place, his hand drawn back with some sort of jagged club, and his eyes wide with fear. Three took one long stride and then buried his boot sole-first into the man’s hip socket, folding him like a jackknife. The man fell backwards but still Three closed, grabbing the man’s head at the top of his skull between his hands. Three drove downward with all his weight as the man impacted the ground, and Cass heard the cascade of pops as some unknown number of the man’s vertebrae shattered. The man slumped awkwardly forward, his jaw slack.
The pack leader had just gained a knee by the time Three turned back to him. He stretched out a hand in a silent plea for mercy, but Three had none to give. Three drew up to his full height and then plummeted his fist and all the power of his body into the leader’s temple, his knuckle so expertly placed that Cass knew the man would never again wake. The leader’s skull bounced dully off the concrete, and all was still.
It was over in six, maybe seven seconds. Cass was no stranger to violence, but the scene she had just witnessed was like nothing she’d seen before. The warmth drained from her body, and suddenly, the safety she’d felt with Three melted away. She had killed before, out of necessity, but she was no killer. But he had just violently disassembled four men with his bare hands. Just as casual as he was now, lifting his pack and rebuckling his harness. Same practiced fluidity, same apparent ease. Same load on his conscience. Zero.
“Come on,” he said, lightly grabbing Cass under an elbow. “We gotta move.”
His touch repulsed her, and she reflexively pulled away. He blinked at her, not understanding.
“You hurt?”
“You killed them… all…” Her voice sounded far away. He quickly scanned the four bodies.
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t have much patience for their kind.”
She couldn’t process it. Whatever these unfortunate men had been looking for, surely it hadn’t been worth their lives.
“No patience for beggars? For scavengers?”
Three’s eyes narrowed, and Cass wondered what she’d missed.
“Slavers, girl. And they weren’t interested in you. Or me.”
Cass flashed back to the minute before, replayed the scene in her mind. The pack leader staring at her. No, not at her. At Wren, clinging to her. She glanced to the leader’s crumpled heap, at the coil of leather at his waist. Not a whip, she saw now. A leash.
Her eyes suddenly burned, and a sickness crept into her gut. A despair she couldn’t name settled over her. What hope would there be for her son, when she was gone?
“Cass,” Three said. “We need to go.”
He didn’t reach out to her then. Just turned and started on his way without even a glance back. After Three had gone a few paces, Cass felt Wren’s grip around her leg slacken, and he pulled away.
“Mama?”
Cass wondered if there was really even hope for them now, if Morningside was anything more than a desperate dream. Wren stood, staring up at her with his storm-green eyes. She nodded. Drew a deep breath. Focused on the Now. It was all she could handle. And together, she and Wren fell back into Three’s shadow, trailing long behind him in the low afternoon sun.
“But you were so… fast,” Wren said in a hushed voice. In awe. In fear. Cass sat on the small bed, back to the wall, watching in silence as Three taught her son.
“Not fast,” Three answered. “Quick. You learn to see a man’s intent, you’ll be the quickest.”
The two of them were in the central room of the wayhouse. Three was on a knee, arms resting across his leg, face to face with Wren. Cass had resisted the idea at first, but after the event that afternoon and Three’s description of Greenstone, she’d given in. So she just watched, as Wren got his first lesson in self-defense.
“A man’s eyes will tell you everything he wants to do,” Three continued. He shot Cass a quick look. “A woman’s, too.”
Wren was intense, focused, soaking it all in.
“And his hands will be the ones doing it. So, eyes, and hands. Hands and eyes. Learn to watch those, you’re already ahead of ninety-nine percent of folks out there.”
Wren nodded slowly. Three reached out, and took Wren’s hand in his, positioned the tiny fingers, adjusted the grip. The dose of Somalin clouded everything, made Cass feel like she was dreaming.
“OK,” Three said. “Show me. Real slow.”
For a few moments, the two just stared at each other. Then, Three moved at half-speed, reached out slowly, grabbed Wren by the shoulders. Just as his hands made contact, Wren’s right hand came up clutching the unsharpened knife Three had fashioned for him. He jabbed slowly, once, down towards Three’s arm.
“That’s good. But you can do better. Don’t wait. And don’t stop with one. Move as soon as you see trouble, and keep poking holes until you can’t find any more places to poke. Got it?”
Wren nodded again. Cass wondered numbly what kind of mother she’d become. But the reality that she wouldn’t be able to protect him forever was weighing heavily. Maybe this was the best way. If not the best, maybe the only.
“One more time. Just relax, you’re doing good.”
Three slapped Wren on the shoulders a couple of times. Smiled. Wren smiled in spite of himself. Three reset. Again, the man and her son stared at each other. Then, quicker this time, Three moved to grab Wren. And to Cass’s amazement, Wren moved almost simultaneously, bringing his little blade up and darting it onto Three’s biceps, forearm, then shoulder, neck.
“See, look at that. You’re a natural, kiddo. A real warrior.”
Three tousled Wren’s hair, and Wren smiled again, stared at his feet. Cass saw her son’s smile slip away. Three noticed it too. More than noticed it. Interpreted it.
“Not fun though, huh?”
Wren shook his head.
“Doesn’t feel very good?”
Wren shook his head again. Spoke quietly.
“I don’t like it when people get hurt.”
Three dropped a hand on Wren’s shoulder. Squeezed it.
“Hey. Hey, look at me.”
Wren looked up.
“That’s good. That’s really. Good. OK?”
Wren nodded. “OK.”