Morningside Fall (27 page)

“No, I mean I simply cannot believe North would betray us.”

“Sister, at this point it doesn’t matter,” Mouse said. He was calm, his tone of voice controlled, disarming. “However you slice it, our timetable’s changed. Right now, we need to focus on our next steps.”

“Next steps is I go back and burn him down,” Swoop said.

“Sure,” Mouse said. “We could do that, Swoop. And you know I’d be right there with you, dying in a hail of gunfire, if I thought it was the right thing to do. But I don’t think this problem is one we can shoot to fix.”

Swoop took a deep breath. “I didn’t say it’d fix anything,” he said as he sat down. “It’d just make me feel a whole lot better.”

We still need to find a place to set up for a while,
Able signed.

“Agreed,” Gamble said. “Let’s talk options.”

The group fell into a frank discussion of what lay ahead, and how best to tackle the immediate problem of finding a place to stay, possibly for a more extended period of time than they’d originally planned. They were a team, and as the conversation continued, Cass found herself slipping gradually out of the exchange. This time, however, she didn’t bristle at how little they asked her opinion.

They were in operational planning mode, and she was content to sit back and observe the unique capabilities that Gamble’s team possessed in action. Everyone had their specialties, and that always colored their approach to problem-solving, but even when tension seemed to be running high, the process never slowed down. Cass had never really seen this side of the team before, and she couldn’t help but be impressed. She let them carry on planning, trusting them in their element.

W
ren sat on the bed with his back against the wall, resting an arm resting on Painter’s pack next to him. Across from him, Painter was lying on the other bed on his back, with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling, his electric eyes casting the room in a faint and soft blue glow. Wren yawned so wide it made one of his eyes water. He shifted his position, sitting up straighter and crossing his legs in front of himself in an effort to keep from falling asleep.

They’d had a brief conversation after Mama had first left, but it hadn’t been about anything important and it’d felt strained. After that, they’d just been sitting quietly together. Wren kept wanting to ask Painter if he was OK, or about what had happened earlier at the compound, but he just couldn’t seem to find the right words. Or the courage. So they just sat together in silence, while Wren tried to figure out what was keeping him from just getting up and leaving.

“What are we d-d-doing, Wren?” Painter asked. His voice wasn’t loud, but it startled Wren anyway.

“How do you mean?” Wren said.

“Out here. On the rrrr, on the run. With these people. Any of it.”

“I’m sorry I got you into this, Painter. I really am. I was scared, and I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t think. I didn’t think about what might happen…”

“No, it’s not that,” Painter said. “I mean… it’s juh, just strange. Like the wrong people had to leave.”

“It wasn’t safe for us to stay.”

“Yeah, but it shhhh, it should’ve been. We’re the good guys, right?” he asked.

Wren thought about that for a moment, wondering what Painter was getting at. “I think so. I try to be.”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Painter said. “I just… I’m OK nnnn-now. I kind of fruh… freaked out.”

“It’s alright,” Wren said. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”

“So have you. And I’m ssss-still sorry,” Painter said. He pulled a hand out from behind his head and ran it over his face, briefly bathing the room in darkness. He returned to his original position. “Are you g-g-glad you got to ssss-see these people again?”

“Yes,” Wren said, though something pricked his heart. It had been a terrible shock, of course, to see the destruction and to find out about Chapel. But death and loss was nothing new to him, and he had already become numbed, somewhat. The grief seemed distant and faded. There was something else though, sharper, harder to understand. Disappointment. “I guess.”

“Not what you were exp… expecting.”

“Not at all.”

“I know what that’s like. To hope for ssss-ssss…” Painter paused, then took a breath. “To hope for something for so long. And then to fff-find out it’s gone forever.”

Wren nodded. “And… it’s different than I thought it’d be. I thought…” he paused too, searching for the words. What had he thought? The memories he’d had of Chapel’s village, and the way people had treated him then. The feeling that Wren had been part of their community. That he belonged, even if just for a little while. That was gone, too. “I guess it was stupid of me to think it could ever be like it had been before.”

“It’s not sss-stupid, Wren,” Painter said. “It’s human.”

Wren wished that made him feel better. Instead, he kept thinking about Lil sitting with that little girl, Thani. He wasn’t jealous, not really. But it bothered Wren for some reason, just the same. Like he’d been replaced. Like maybe all the memories he had of that time had been a lie.

“I just wanted th-th-things to be like before too. You know?” Painter said after a few moments. “I kept thinking maybe if I juh, just did nnn-normal things. Maybe normal things would mmm-make me feel normal again. And maybe… people would treat me like I was nnn-normal.”

He said
people
but Wren picked up what he’d left unsaid. His sister, Snow.

“But then… when I c-c-came in that room, and I th-thought they were hurting you… I got angry. And…” He paused. And then, “…I felt alive.
Alive,
Wren.” Painter turned and looked over at Wren then. “That’s tuh, tuh… that’s terrible, isn’t it?”

A sharp electric chill raced down Wren’s spine, and he shivered once, but violently. “No, it’s not terrible,” he said, but even as he said it, Wren felt that maybe it might be something very terrible indeed. Painter continued to look at him for a long moment. Wren sat very still. Then Painter finally returned his gaze to the ceiling.

“Before…” Painter said. “You know, when I was sssss-still a… you know. I only remember bits and puh, pieces. Little shattered memories. But one thing I remember, I had a p-p-p…” he stopped and shook his head, “a
purpose
.”

Wren got the feeling that Painter was building up to something. Or rather was trying to confess something, without actually having to say it.

“It’s not like I… don’t… I’m not ssss-saying I want to go back or anything. But, you know, sometimes… parts of it… I miss having a purpose.”

Wren didn’t say anything. But he felt something at work in his mind. Something just behind his conscious thought was nagging at him, threatening to find some kind of hidden connection between Painter’s words that Wren couldn’t identify – but even so, he knew he didn’t want to make.

“It’s unbearable, to have no purpose…” Painter said quietly. “And no hope.”

Against his will, something in Wren’s subconscious put the pieces together, and a sudden black thought erupted to the front of his mind.

“Painter…” he said slowly, fearing he knew the answer, and dreading even more the thought of hearing it confirmed as true. “Where did you bury your sister?”

Painter looked at him sharply. “What? What mmm-made you think of that?”

“I don’t know,” Wren said. He scooted forward on the bed, so he could put his feet on the floor. “Where did you bury her?”

“Why are you asking mmmmm-me this?” Painter leaned up on an elbow.

“Where is Snow?”

“I t-t-t-told you. Outside. In our sss-secret place.” He said it forcefully as he sat up fully, but his eyes gave him away. Painter wasn’t angered by the question. He was scared by it.

“Oh no, Painter…” Wren said. “Painter, no…” He stood up and took a couple of steps towards the door, though he didn’t really know why. “Please tell me you didn’t leave her out there for the Weir.”

Painter opened his mouth to answer, but after a moment his eyes softened and he dropped his gaze to the floor. Wren felt sick, and he put his hand over his mouth. He backed up and leaned against the door.

“How did you know?” Painter asked, practically whispering.

“I didn’t,” Wren said.

“But you understand, d-d-don’t you?” Painter said, looking back up at him. “If you had a ch-chance, no matter how small… what if you c-c-could bring your friends back? Wouldn’t you try?”

Wren shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to even let the smallest hint of that idea into his head, it seemed so terrible.

“She’s your sister, Painter,” Wren said.

“Exactly,” he said. “My baby sister. I would do anything ffff-for her, Wren. I know it’s a luh, a long shhhh-shot. But what if, Wren? What if? If I could ffff-find her again, you’d bring her back, wouldn’t you?”

Wren stared back at his friend. His poor broken friend, who had lost so much. Who had lost everything. But as terrible as it all seemed, almost too horrible to comprehend, Wren found he couldn’t lie to Painter or to himself.

“I can’t promise that,” he said. He saw Painter’s expression change, and realized Painter thought Wren was just refusing outright. How could he explain that if Snow had been dead for days before she’d been taken, there was no chance that he’d be able to help her find her way back? He didn’t even know if that was completely true himself, no matter how much he suspected it. And Wren remembered all too well what it was like to live a life without hope. “I would
try
, Painter. But…” Wren trailed off.

“That’s all I c-c-could ask, Wren,” Painter said.

There was a light knock at the door, and Wren jerked away from it, with his heart hammering. Then, muffled through the door, he heard his mama gently call his name.

“My mom,” Wren said.

“You won’t tuh, tell anyone, will you?”

Wren just stood there, the words not really registering with him.

“D-d-don’t tell anyone, OK? Please?”

“I won’t,” Wren answered before he had time to think it through.

“You undersss-, understand, right?”

The knock came again, a little louder this time.

“I have to go,” Wren said. He turned around and opened the door. The light from the hallway dazzled his eyes, and he had to squint against the glare. The lights in the hall weren’t that bright, but his eyes struggled to adjust after sitting in the dark for so long.

“Hey, baby,” Cass said. “Hi, Painter.”

“Hi, Miss Cass,” Painter said. “Everything going OK?”

He wasn’t usually one to make conversation, and Wren couldn’t help but feel that Painter was doing his best to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“For now,” she answered, with a slight smile. Wren could tell something was off from the look on her face. She looked down at him. “Did you sleep?”

Wren shook his head. Her expression changed. He never really could hide anything from his mama.

“Are you OK?” Cass asked.

“Just tired,” he said. “I want to go to bed now.”

“Alright,” she said. She looked back up at Painter. “Thanks for letting him stay with you, Painter. I appreciate it.”

“Ssssh-sure, no problem,” he replied.

“Good night,” said Cass.

“Night,” Painter said.

Wren started across the hall, but Cass stopped him with a light hand on his shoulder. He glanced back at Painter, who was staring out of that dark room at him with those eyes. Wren found it was hard to think of him as a friend just then. “Good night, Painter.”

Wren crossed the hall and went into his own room, followed closely by his mother. She flicked on the light. He went straight to his bed and started taking off his shoes.

“Are you sure you’re OK, Wren?” Cass asked.

He nodded without looking at her. There was nothing he wanted more than to just crawl into his bed and hide his face from the world. He’d never wanted things to be like this.

“Did something happen?”

He shook his head and pulled the covers back.

“Is Painter OK?”

“He’s fine, Mom,” Wren said, and it came out more sharply than he meant for it to. “I really want to go to sleep.” He climbed into his bed and lay on his side, facing the wall, pulled the covers up under his chin. Footsteps approached, and Wren closed his eyes so that he didn’t have to look at his mama. He knew she’d be able to read him, and he just couldn’t face the conversation. There was no telling how anyone would react if they found out what Painter had done.

He felt Mama sit down on the edge of the bed. She stroked his hair, and then rubbed his back in silence. Wren tried to even out his breathing and pretended to be asleep, hoping that would keep her from trying to talk to him anymore. He just needed some time to think through everything. Maybe it didn’t really matter what Painter had done. Maybe it mattered very much.

“We’ve been here before, baby,” Cass whispered after a few minutes. “We’ll figure this out, too.” She leaned over him and kissed the side of his head gently. Then she got up and switched off the light, and left the room. Wren was certain she thought he was asleep, and that made him wonder all the more exactly what she’d meant.

“Seems risky to me,” Finn said, as Cass rejoined the team. They were still discussing their options, and it didn’t sound like they were any closer to a decision.

“Risky’s all we’ve got, Finn,” Swoop answered.

“Yeah, but there’s no way we could roll up there heavy as we are and think they’re going to let us in without asking questions. And no way I’m going up there unless we’re rolling heavy.”

“Well, we can’t stay here,” Gamble said, “and it seems the best option of few. Question is can we make it work?”

“Why not?” asked Wick.

“Why not what?” said Swoop.

“Why can’t we stay here?”

“This place is an emergency shelter, Wick, not a long-term solution. Every day we’re here, we’re pullin’ on resources they can’t spare. I don’t care how friendly they are, that ain’t good for them or us.”

Wick shrugged. “Ninestory just seems like a stretch to me. Hard people up that way. Not likely to look too kindly on a war party coming up in their midst.”

“Then again,” Mouse said, “if there are people who won’t think twice about a bunch of roughnecks wandering around, it’s probably them.”

“I’m sorry,” Cass interrupted. “Ninestory?”

Gamble nodded. “Midsized enclave. Not the nicest place, but it’s hardened. Figure we could set up for a good couple of weeks there.”

“If we can get in the door,” Finn said.

“You’ve been before?” Cass asked.

“A few of us passed through once,” Sky said.

“Didn’t leave on great terms, though,” Swoop added. He and Sky shared a meaningful look.

“I doubt anyone would remember us.”

“Hope not.”

“I think it’s our best shot,” Gamble said. “It’s close; we have more firsthand experience with it than anywhere else. And they’re the type that might actually appreciate having a few extra steely-eyed shooters around.”

“Or, you know, they’ll open fire as soon as they see us and strip our gear,” Finn said.

“What do you think, Lady Cass?” Gamble asked.

“It’s what you would advise?”

“It is.”

Cass surveyed the others gathered there, intent on her. Hard men led by a hard woman. She had bristled at their dismissal of her before. Now it seemed foolish that she had ever doubted.

“When do we leave?” she asked.

Cass was up before the sun, checking and double-checking their gear to make sure nothing was left behind. She kept as quiet as she could to let Wren sleep as long as he was able. It felt strange preparing to leave so soon after they’d arrived, but Swoop had been right. They’d done what they could for the wounded. Any more time spent in the refuge was just a drain on people who couldn’t afford it. She’d felt it was only proper for her to be the one to break the news.