Morningside Fall (23 page)

Painter awoke with the distinct feeling that someone had just called his name. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his forehead was covered with a light sweat. He lay still with his eyes open, listening for whoever it was to speak again. The lights were all out. He could hear Mouse on the lower bunk below him, breathing deeply. All else was quiet, still.

But the feeling remained. As if someone had been there, whispering his name right in his ear to wake him. And it almost felt like someone
was
standing there. When Painter looked around the room he saw nothing unusual. But there was a sense of presence, of someone else, close. It filled him with a creeping dread.

His sleep had been troubled by dark and twisted dreams, though he couldn’t remember any of the details when he tried. Maybe it was just a lingering sensation from those. His subconscious trying to process the unbelievable chaos and pain of the past few days. Painter tried to remind himself that he was safe here, that no matter what was going on outside, he was secure in here. He was with good people, people who were capable of protecting him, and who had even shown their willingness to do so. Even so, the darkness remained, clinging to his mind like an oily shadow.

There was a sudden flutter through Painter’s mind, a black tide of rippling thought. Foreign, incoherent, forced into his brain. He instinctively clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. Pressure grew, as if a band had been stretched around his skull and was being gradually drawn tighter, tighter, tighter until it was almost unbearable. Painter gritted his teeth and wanted to scream, but found he couldn’t even draw a breath.

And then just as suddenly as it had come, Painter felt an almost physical pop inside his head, and the pressure evaporated. And in its place was a tiny, quiet thought.

They should fear.

Painter opened his eyes and took his hands from his ears. He found he could breathe again. Everything was the same as it had been just moments before. Even Mouse’s breathing seemed completely undisturbed. And the feeling of a presence in the room was gone. Everything was fine. Except for Painter.

He sat up slowly in the bed, which turned out to be a good thing because his forehead touched the ceiling before he remembered how low it was. The room seemed smaller than it should have. A growing claustrophobia pressed in around Painter, almost to the point of overwhelming him. He slid off the bunk and crept out into the hall, trying to steady his breathing. There just didn’t seem to be enough air.

It would be an easy thing, to sneak out. He could be quiet when he wanted. But he shouldn’t. It might be dangerous. It might draw attention. And who knew how the others would react if they woke and found Painter gone.

Would they care?

Another stray thought that felt like it came from outside himself. But the question lingered in his mind. Would they? Protecting him wasn’t their job. He was just a tag-along. An accidental burden. Maybe it’d be easier for everyone if he just slipped away.

He crept further down the hall towards the staircase with careful footsteps. Past Wren and Cass, past Wick and Finn, past Sky and Gamble. Painter wouldn’t leave them. Not like this. But he needed to get out, out into the night air, where he could breathe and think – and get his mind back clear and under control. The night was drawing him, whether he wanted it to or not.

At the stairs Painter paused and looked back down the hall, wrestling with himself. It felt wrong somehow. But why should it? He wasn’t their prisoner, no matter how much they treated him like one. He wasn’t one of those weak citizens, either. They didn’t know what he was truly capable of, none of them did. If they had any idea, they would fear him. Maybe they
should
fear.

“Trouble sleeping?” The voice came from behind him, startling Painter, and he felt himself jump. He turned and found Swoop standing there, leaning against the wall, staring back at him without expression. And Painter came back to himself, and all his dark thoughts dissipated.

“Y-y-yeah,” he said.
Listen to yourself! You can’t even speak!
What had he been thinking? He felt almost as if he’d been sleepwalking. “Weird dreams.”

Swoop didn’t react in any noticeable way. He didn’t even blink. Just stared steadily right into Painter’s eyes.

“Just needed to mmm-mmm, to move a little,” Painter said. “But I’m OK now… I’m gonna, I’m gonna go b-back to buh-bed.”

Swoop dipped his head in a hint of a nod. Then after a heavy pause, he added, “Night.”

Painter turned and walked back down the hall to his bunk, feeling Swoop’s gaze on him the entire way. He stole a sidelong glance once he reached the stall, and caught a glimpse of Swoop out of the corner of his eye. Still standing there watching him.

It was unsettling. Painter climbed back up onto the bunk and, as he tried to get comfortable again, he wondered if maybe he’d been wrong to think he wasn’t a prisoner.

Swoop gave it another minute or so, after the kid had gone back to his bunk. Just to be sure. And when he was sure, and only then, he holstered the sidearm he’d been holding behind his back.

The sounds of people moving around drifted into Wren’s consciousness well before he opened his eyes. For a time he lay there listening, half-pretending to be asleep – just to see how long he could get away with it. The bunk hadn’t been particularly comfortable and he’d gotten cold in the middle of the night, but, knowing another long day of walking was ahead, it felt good to just lie there. Wren wished he could store up that feeling, so he could draw on it later after he’d been on his feet for hours, and still had more to go.

It would be hard work. Even if his legs hadn’t still been tired and sore from the day before, it would’ve been tough. But he was excited about getting to see Chapel and Lil and all their people again. To finally show Mama the compound, and to eat real food, and to live in a community without walls, even if it was just for a few days. That excitement, though, was mixed with nervousness.

Wren had always meant to go back before now. But after Mister Carter had died… well, it hadn’t seemed right somehow, for Wren to go back when that great man could never return. He didn’t know how everyone would react. There was no doubt they would welcome him, and everyone with him. It was Chapel’s way to be welcoming. But Wren wondered how different their relationship would be.

And Mama. He hadn’t thought about that until now. How would he explain Painter and Mama to Chapel? Most likely, he’d have to go ahead of them and prepare everyone. He’d have to mention that to Gamble and Wick, to make sure they didn’t get too close before they had a chance to announce themselves.

Wren opened his eyes and lay still. The overhead light was still off, though lights were on elsewhere in the wayhouse, enough for him to see. His mama was crouched down, quietly rummaging through her pack. He couldn’t tell if she was putting things in or taking them out, but she was taking care not to wake him.

“Hi, Mama,” he said. She glanced up at him and smiled.

“Hi, sweetheart. Did I wake you?” she asked.

Wren shook his head. “What time is it?”

“Early still.”

“Is everyone else up?”

“Everyone but Painter. We thought we’d let you two sleep as long as you could. Did you sleep well?”

“I slept OK. Not as good as at home.” It seemed strange to him that he thought of Morningside as home. He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

Cass nodded. “I always have trouble sleeping in new places. Hungry?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Let’s see what we can find for you to eat.” She stood and picked him up off the bed and held him for a few seconds. Wren squeezed her shoulders. “Want me to carry you?” she asked.

“No, I’ll walk.”

She gave him a final squeeze and then eased him to his feet. They walked together down the long corridor back to the eating area. Sky was sitting on the lower bunk in his stall, checking his rifle. He gave a little wave as they passed.

When they reached the dining area, they found Swoop and Gamble there talking in low voices. Wren didn’t catch what they were saying, but he noticed they were quick to end the conversation and change the subject when he came in the room.

“Morning, Governor,” Gamble said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Sleepy.”

“Sleepy?” she said with a smile. “You slept almost twelve hours!”

“Didn’t feel like that much.”

She winked. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m gonna check on Wick and Finn,” Swoop said. Gamble gave him a little nod, and he bent forward in a partial bow. “Governor. Lady.”

Wren slid into a seat at the table and rested his head in his hands while Cass found some food and water. To eat, there was some kind of dark-colored bar that was tough to chew and slightly gritty, that supposedly was going to give him lots of energy for the day. It didn’t taste very good. But Mister Sun had snuck one of his pastries in too, and they’d saved it for him.

“Do you want to split it with me?” Wren asked his mama. She was just sitting there watching him eat.

“Thanks, sweetheart, but no, it’s for you.”

“I don’t mind.”

“No, baby, you go ahead.”

He ate part of it, and Cass kept sitting there, watching him with a little smile on her face.

“Are you sure? It’s tasty.”

“Oh, OK,” she said. “Just a bite.”

Wren held it up for her, and she took a bite off the corner of it.

“Save anything ffff-for me?” Painter said from the hall.

“Oh, hey Painter,” Cass said. “No, sorry. We ate all our rations first thing this morning.”

He stood in the hall staring with a slightly puzzled look on his face. Painter still had the circles under his eyes, Wren noticed.

“I’m joking,” Cass added. “Are you OK?”

“Oh,” Painter said. “Yeah. Just tuh, tuh, just tired.”

“Here, have a seat,” she said. She got up from the table and went to get him some food. Painter eased himself onto one of the other chairs, almost like it hurt him to do it.

“Sore?” Wren asked.

Painter nodded, but he kept his eyes on the table in front of him. Wren got an uneasy feeling. Painter seemed different somehow. Or he
felt
different. Wren couldn’t figure out what it was, though. It’d been a tough few days for all of them, but maybe Painter most of all. Maybe that’s all there was to it. Or maybe it was nothing more than Wren’s own frazzled nerves, making him worry about things that weren’t there.

“I think you’re really going to like Chapel’s place,” Wren said. “It’s different from anywhere else. And the people are really nice.”

Painter nodded again. After that, Wren stopped trying to make any conversation. Cass reappeared with food and water for Painter, and then left them on their own while she helped the others prepare to leave. It wasn’t unusual for Painter to keep to himself, but as they sat together in silence, Wren couldn’t escape the feeling that Painter was purposely shutting him out.

It was only a few minutes after Painter had finished eating that Gamble popped her head in and told them to get ready to move again. The boys went back to their stalls and gathered their things. Within ten minutes, they were all heading back down the stairs together and back out into the open.

A heavy fog waited for them when they stepped outside. It was cool, not cold, but the mist seemed to go right through Wren’s coat and straight to his bones. He pulled his hood up and drew it down around his face. Everything was shrouded in a gentle rolling grey and as they pushed out into it, Wren felt almost like they were intruding on some sacred ground. As if the broken city had finally found rest in the misted silence, and every one of their magnified footsteps threatened to disturb its peace.

The others seemed to sense it too. They hardly ever talked, and when they did it was in near whispers. Wick led them on, occasionally disappearing briefly from view in the swirling mist.

By midday much of the fog had melted away, but the sky remained grey and heavily overcast, in the all-day sort of way where it might rain any moment, or not at all. Mama wasn’t wearing her veil, and Painter didn’t even need his goggles. They stopped for lunch and a brief rest. Gamble had them up and moving again well before Wren was ready.

It was hard to keep track of time on the colorless march. But Wren guessed it was midafternoon when he found himself recognizing parts of their surroundings, without being able to remember ever having noticed them in the first place. A buckled overpass, a series of cracked and crumbling concrete pillars, a sunken building. Landmarks from some forgotten corner of his mind.

“We’re close,” Wren said. “I think you should wait here, Mama.”

Gamble called for the team to halt and conferred with everyone. Wick guessed they had about a five-minute walk left to reach the compound. It was decided that Gamble, Wick, and Able would escort Wren to the compound to scout it out. Once they’d explained everything to Chapel, they’d notify the others to join them. The two groups split up and Wren’s team headed towards the compound.

Wren was more tired than he could remember being in a long time, but he felt excitement the closer they got. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Chapel, and Lil too – until the idea of seeing them again had become more than a dream, and was moments away from becoming a reality.

It was quieter than he’d expected. Much quieter. A distant sense of dread pricked his mind. Wren tried to ignore it. The compound was just ahead, beyond a little rise in the terrain. Probably the wind was carrying the normal sounds of life away in the other direction. Chapel would be there. Chapel and Lil. Everything would be just as he remembered.

But as they crested the rise, even as his mind denied it, Wren’s heart went sharply cold and he found himself running, running towards those low walls, with Gamble shouting after him to stop. And then Able caught him, but Wren barely felt it because he was screaming in wordless agony, with tears soaking his face and blinding his eyes.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, but it was.

Chapel’s compound lay before them in ruins.