“Security,” she said. Then for some reason, she continued. “At first, anyway. I was just a kid when we started, I didn’t know what it was going to turn into—”
Three cut her off.
“Look, I don’t care about who you are, where you’re from, or whose pocket you picked in your youth. All I want to know is what I’m up against. Get me?”
Cass nodded, hoping he didn’t see how much his words had stung her.
“What kind of security? Sec/Net?”
If he hadn’t offered it, she would never have thought he’d buy that, but since he’d said it first, she just nodded.
“Awful lot of muscle just for tapping Sec/Net.”
“You wouldn’t think that if you’d met our clients.”
Three grunted. Then sat in tense silence. He stared into her eyes so intensely it almost hurt, but Cass didn’t dare look away. It was almost unbearable. At any second, she was certain she would tell him everything, and he would do what anyone with even a hint of brain would. Run.
Instead, he was the first to break the silence.
“You’ve been masking?”
She nodded.
“And you taught the boy how to?”
Cass shook her head, and for the first time saw Three surprised, almost lose control. He raised his voice in frustration.
“So what’s the point of hiding you, if they can track your kid—”
She interrupted.
“He taught me.”
Again, they returned to silence. Three looked away, down at the floor, processing. Cass just sat there, afraid to move for fear of attracting his attention again. Finally, he spoke, though now he didn’t look at her.
“When you’re ready, we’ll push on north. I know a spot, pretty off-grid,” he said, standing to his feet. “If we make it, we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
Three started to leave, but Cass reached up and touched his hand, stopping him. Still he didn’t look to her.
“How long was I… have we been here?”
“Six days,” he answered.
He lingered for a moment, but when she said nothing else, he walked off, around to where Wren had gone. Moments later, Wren bounded back and curled up beside her, a wolf cub nestling against his mother. Cass hugged him tightly, letting his warmth and touch soothe her. She felt tired, but healthily so, as if she’d fought a long battle, and deserved respite. She lay back, and Wren repositioned, snuggled on her shoulder, and together they slept a deep, restful, dreamless sleep.
Three sat on an overturned plasticrate in the supply room, rocked back on one edge with his feet up on a low shelf. Methodically, meticulously, he ran a gritstone along an edge of an eight-inch piece of scrap metal he’d found on some dusty shelf. Shaping it. Sharpening it. His hands moved with practiced precision.
Three small piles lay neatly arranged on the floor: supplies collected and carefully assessed for their weight, durability, and usefulness. He’d taken only what they’d need. Inwardly, he chuckled humorlessly. This wasn’t his way. Hopelessly entangled with the weak and wounded. He’d already done what he could for the woman. Another day or two, and she’d be strong enough to walk. And he’d done what he’d said he’d do. He’d gotten them safely out of the enclave, away from the crew that was chasing them. For now.
He looked at the back wall, where the hidden pressure plates waited. So simple. Stand up, walk down those stairs, move on. On to the next thing. Like always. This wasn’t his way.
He set the gritstone and scrap metal on the shelf behind him and stood. Silently moved to the main room, crept to the bed, stood over the woman and boy. Her color was better, her breathing steady. Both lay on their sides, the mother with a protective arm draped over the son. Peaceful.
They’d have everything they needed. He moved back to the supply room, quietly packed a harness with a few traveling essentials: water, food, an extra chemlight or two. As was the custom, honor code of travelers, he’d exchanged some of his own valuables for those he took. Not one, but two of his shells. Exorbitant for what he’d taken for himself, but he felt it only right to pay for the woman and her kid. He’d brought them in, after all. That left him three in the cylinder, one in the pocket. Three shook his head. He’d have to do something about that soon.
He leaned his head to the side, left ear almost touching his shoulder, and cracked his neck out of habit. He didn’t know why he was still standing there. In his gut, he already knew he’d made his decision. With a full exhalation, he reached down and picked up the harness, slung the straps over each shoulder, adjusted the weight of the two broad pockets that rested on either hip.
Move on. To the next thing. He’d done enough.
Three strode to the shelf at the back wall, fingered the secret plates, stepped back as the floor opened up and offered his escape. The blackness beneath him seemed inviting. His chance to return to a life in the background, in the shadows, without notice. And he stared into it. What was he waiting for?
He glanced back at the door to the supply room. Listened. Heard the deep and steady breath of Cass and Wren. A woman and a boy. Just some other people trapped in the same dying world.
With a silent and half-hearted goodbye, Three slipped like a wraith into the darkness below, and disappeared.
Eight
Cass stirred, shifted awake, let her eyes float open slowly, watched as they focused the haze into clarity. The first thing she noticed was Wren’s absence. The blanket was still compressed and rumpled from where he’d been curled next to her, but he was nowhere to be seen. She lay still for a moment longer, listening for the usual sounds of her son. Though there was no obvious reason to think so, she knew with a cold certainty that something was very wrong.
She rolled herself up silently, slipped her feet to the floor, tested her strength. About fifty percent. Quietly she stood, and crept stiffly around the wayhouse.
When Cass found him, he was standing in the supply room towards the back, in the dark, hand nearly to his face. Fist tightly balled. Staring. She’d seen him that way before; terror seized her.
“Wren?”
Blood ran freely from his palm, down to the elbow, where it dripped in a spatter on the concrete. He didn’t seem to notice her. She rushed to him, swept him into her arms, felt his hair damp with clammy sweat.
“Wren, baby, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Tears welled in her eyes. Still cradling him against her, Cass seized his hand, pried its stiff fingers open to reveal a blade, gently curved, one solid piece: a length of scrap metal crafted into a deadly thing. Cass took it and placed it on the ground, then reached for a nearby garment from a shelf and tore it, fashioning a makeshift bandage. Wren just stood, injured hand limp in hers, never looking to her.
Finally, as Cass tied off the bandage, Wren rasped, barely audible.
“He’s gone.”
Cass stopped, tried to absorb that.
“And they’re here.”
Terror and despair collided, with Cass caught in between. She felt her breath escape, her heart icy cold as it leapt and pounded in her chest. She squeezed him tighter still.
Somehow, by some unholy miracle, they had found her. Asher, or at least some of his crew, prowled somewhere just above them, undoubtedly searching for a way in, and most certainly capable of finding it. It was just a matter of time, and not much at that.
Her mind raced, tried to find an explanation. Maybe Three had sold them out. Kept them here until Asher could reach them. It made some sense, but not much. Her nightmare flashed back. Asher, grinning over her. It clicked. In her fevered torment, her digital mask had cracked. He had found her signal.