Three heard a clattering sound, and as he turned he saw Cass flash from the corner to intercept the third Weir. She shot out a stomping kick that connected at the Weir’s hip, crushing the socket, and folding the Weir towards her. As it fell, Cass caught its head between her hands, dropped to a knee and twisted. The Weir’s neck snapped as its body cartwheeled off the second floor and landed with a meaty thud in the dust below.
“Just the beginning,” Three said.
“I know,” she answered.
He handed her a long knife from his boot. “You still got that jitter?”
Cass nodded.
“Don’t be afraid to use it. Hate to die with ammo left.”
“You think about that yourself,” she said, pointing to his pistol. Wren stayed crouched in his corner, knife at the ready, shivering with fear. His eyes were wide.
“They’re coming.”
A second wave came almost immediately after. Four this time. And as if to confirm Three’s worst suspicions, these four fought together. Not as four wild animals, striving to be the first to the kill, but as four limbs of a single mind. One would feint, and the other would follow through, and in the first exchange Three felt the sting as claws rent the flesh of his shoulder. But Cass was there suddenly, suddenly everywhere it seemed, and as she forced them back, Three seized each opportunity to strike, and soon the four lay motionless.
Three checked the wound along his shoulder where the blood ran freely, and knew it wouldn’t be the last of the night. He looked to Cass, radiant and fierce in the moonlight, glistening under a thin sheen of sweat and speckled dark from the war at hand. Her once fragile beauty replaced by strength, and raw will, and a dark-eyed gaze full of unquenchable fire. And for the first time, he knew they were going to make it.
The next group attacked about three minutes later. The night became a blur for Three then, a smear of gray and blade, the cries of Weir mixed with Cass calling out, his own voice sounding distant. They fought like demons atop a mountain, like lions among wolves. With loud cries and savage strikes, they threw back their enemy. The attacks came in a broken rhythm, sometimes one right after another, sometimes as much as a half hour apart. Each clash brought a new rush of adrenaline, a clarity of focus that seemed impossible to maintain. And after each battle, the fatigue came crushing down, an iron fog that promised the next fight would be the last. They were wounded, slashed, clawed, even bitten. But somehow, some way, Three and Cass fought back to back, shoulder to shoulder, and still they fought, and still they fought.
As the bodies of the Weir fell and piled around them Three got sudden flashes, almost still images of his blade slashing through a Weir, or Cass’s knee crushing into the skull of another. Even little Wren stabbing, fighting like a cornered wolf cub, teeth bared and tears streaming. The sky almost seemed lighter.
But then another wave crashed, and there were too many. Too many. Three fought and slashed and felt more than one impact that he knew meant he’d been punctured, if only the adrenaline had let him feel the pain. He killed the two closest Weir. Moved to a third, stepped into its attack and severed its arm at the shoulder. Threw his body into it, flinging it out into the air and crashing to the ground below. And then Three spun, instinct firing a warning and reflexes answering, and he saw it, coming up through the hole in the floor, leaping up from below. Cass facing the other way. Three screamed her name, but heard nothing. A roar of blood in his ears. She reacted, turned, twisted to dodge the strike but too late. Three saw the claw enter her side, and tear out through her abdomen in a spray.
Wren saw it too.
“MAMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!”
The scream tore through the melee and Three felt something pass through him like a shockwave, and suddenly all the remaining Weir spasmed in near unison and collapsed like they’d just been switched off. Wren just stood there, near the corner, eyes wide, face pale. Staring. Panting. And all else was still.
How Three got from where he was to Cass, he didn’t recall. The next thing he knew, he was dragging her into the corner, slipping in the trail she was leaving behind. His heart cold with fear, with a fear so familiar, so cruel; a fear he’d sworn he would never feel again.
He pulled her into the wall, propped her up. Wren moved in close.
“Mama?”
“It’s alright, baby. They got me a little, but it’s alright. Go over there and keep watch for us, OK? Let us know as soon as trouble comes.”
He nodded, tears in his eyes, but didn’t move.
“Wren, sweetheart. It’s important. We need you to keep watch, OK?”
“Go on, son,” Three said. And at that, Wren nodded again and moved away, crouching low near the edge and peering into the waning night.
Three reached down to examine the wound then, tried to move her hands away. Cass resisted.
“Three,” she said calmly. Much too calmly. He wouldn’t look at her.
“Move your hands, let me see it.”
“Three,” she said again. And the fear rose, and the strength left.
“Move your hands, Cass! Move them!”
“Three, it’s OK.”
And then she lifted her soaked hands and took his. He felt the hot gush, and she squeezed his hands with such strength, with such warmth, and his heart shattered in his chest.
“Cass, don’t. Come on, girl, come on, we’re gonna get out of here. We’re all going to get out of here.”
She smiled, and shook her head.
“Not all. Take Wren, Three. Take Wren and go. Right now.”
“No, Cass. I’m not going to leave you here.”
“More will come, Three. More will come, and we’ll all die. But not if you take my son and go.”
He ripped his hands away from her then, and pulled her shirt up, expecting to staunch the wound. And stopped cold. He understood now. The gashes were severe; deep, and black with blood, which meant her liver was torn. But worse, her receptor was destroyed. Only a few fragments and thin cables remained, the rest lay scattered across the floor. Her supply of quint was gone, permanently. And there was no telling how much she’d just burned through in the fight.
“Just take him and go. Tell him I’m right behind you.”
“No, Cass. I’m gonna save your life.”
“Wren is my life, Three.”
Three looked at her hard then. So much to say. So much he should’ve said before now. Her golden-brown eyes already fading. And he realized, looking into those eyes, how badly he’d wanted to let himself love her. And how much he loved her now. Now, at the end. He grit his teeth then, turned his heart to stone. It was dead now anyway. But there was one more thing to be done.
“Wren, come here.”
Her eyes went wide.
“Three, no, don’t…”
“You let him say his goodbyes. Only chance he’s gonna get.”
Wren crept to his side, laid his hand on Cass’s hands. A cry sounded from not far enough away. They were coming.
“Wren, we have to go, and your mama’s not coming with us. So you go on and say goodbye.”
Cass couldn’t hold it together then, and the tears sprang forth.
“Mama?”
“We don’t have much time, Wren,” Three said firmly. Lock the feelings away. Lock them away, deal with them when it’s safe. “Kiss your mama goodbye, we’ve got to go.”
“Mama?” Wren exploded in a sob now, and wrapped his arms tight around her neck. “Mama!”