Morningside Fall (7 page)

“That one’s begging for it,” Sky said, sighting in. “Ace?”

“Hold on,” Gamble answered. She looked at Cass.

“What do you think, baby?” Cass asked.

“Something’s not right, Mama.”

“Can you wake any of them?”

Wren surveyed the group below, and then shook his head with a sad look. Too far gone. Gamble gave a sharp nod in Sky’s direction. A half-second later his rifle hummed quick and low, and the chanting Weir fell violently backwards.

The other Weir didn’t even react. Some just stood around aimlessly, but those that were moving continued to gather together, closer and closer. A little over half of them, maybe twenty-five, slowly pressed together.

“
Spshhhh. Naaaah
.”

A new one took up the call now. And then another. Then a third. Sky’s rifle hummed once and quickly again, and two of them fell. Still no effect.

“Looks like some of ’em are busted,” Wick said. “Look at that one just turning circles.”

Sure enough, one Weir, separated from the others, was turning a slow circle; turn thirty degrees, stop, thirty degrees, stop, thirty degrees, stop. It really did look like a system glitch.

“Is it just me, or are some of them missing?” Finn asked.

Now that he mentioned it, the crowd did seem smaller. Cass was just about to say so when Able tore past her and she heard Swoop draw his sword. She turned.

“Mama!”

The Weir were on the wall. On top of the wall. Rushing towards them. Cass dropped Wren to his feet, pulled him behind her, and the team switched on in an instant. Able and Swoop were already there, intercepting the first two. Gamble, Mouse, Wick, and Finn all snapped weapons up as they collapsed in a protective ring around Cass and Wren. Sky swung his rifle around, ready to drop any that got past Able and Swoop. To Cass’s surprise, she heard Sky’s weapon hum. One Weir fell further down the wall, a perfectly placed shot right between Swoop and Able.

It was over in almost the time it’d taken her to process it. Only three of them, quickly dispatched.

“How did they get up?” Gamble shouted. She leapt on top of the parapet and started leaning out, scanning back and forth, checking the wall. “How did they get up here?” Sky instinctively grabbed her by the belt with his left hand, still keeping his weapon shouldered, up and ready, with his right.

“Mouse,” Cass called. Mouse came quickly to her side, his weapon down but shouldered in case any other targets presented.

“Yes, ma’am?” he asked.

“Take Wren back to the compound, please. Wick, Finn, you too.”

“But, Mama–” Wren started to protest, but Cass wasn’t having it.

“No buts, Wren. You shouldn’t have been here in the first place.” She pushed Wren towards Mouse. The big man drew Wren in close, protectively. “Straight to the compound,” she added. “Lock it up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Mouse said. He slung his weapon, and gathered Wren up. “Wick, Finn, let’s move it out.” Only then did the two brothers roll fluidly out of formation and take up defensive positions on either side of Mouse.

“Don’t worry, Cass, we’ll get him there, no sweat,” Wick said as he moved by.

“I know,” she said. The three men departed swiftly with her son, and for a moment Cass felt an almost overwhelming desire to go with them. But Gamble let out a startled cry, and Cass knew she had to stay.

“Look at this!” Gamble said. “Sky, let go, I’m not gonna fall. You gotta see this.”

Sky lowered his weapon and leaned out over the wall as best he could. He didn’t take his hand off his wife. “Yep. Jibblies.”

Cass climbed cautiously up on the parapet next to Gamble and followed the other woman’s arm to where she was pointing with her jittergun, about thirty yards further down the wall. At first, Cass couldn’t tell what she was seeing. It looked almost like an enormously thick rope dangling the wrong way, from the ground up and not quite long enough to reach the top. Then her eyes picked up an arm here, a leg there. With horror it all clicked in her mind. Some number of the Weir had piled on top of one another, clinging together to form something like a pillar of flesh; a grotesque circus act, or twisted sculpture of the dead. It might have been comical if it hadn’t been so horrifying. Another Weir was climbing, using its claws and mindlessly shredding its companions as it made its way up.

“Cut it down,” Cass said.

Gamble didn’t even reply. She just pulled Sky’s hand free and jogged down the length of the parapet. By the time she made it to the Weir-pillar, the climbing Weir had nearly reached the top. Cass heard the jittergun buzz as Gamble opened up with it. The climbing Weir fell back and plummeted to the ground, followed closely by its collapsing companions; their bodies
thumped
, dull and wet far below.

“I sure hope I wake up in a couple minutes and find out this was all a bad dream,” Sky said. After a moment, he added, “
Real
bad.”

Gamble’s gun ripped the air in two more short bursts, and then it was quiet. It was only then Cass realized the Weir had stopped making their eerie call. She turned back to where the crowd had once been and found all but one had disappeared. The last of the three chanters now stood alone, utterly still and staring. Staring at Cass. As if it had been waiting for her attention.

“
Spshhhh. Naaaah.”

Sky’s rifle hummed again, and the Weir collapsed in a pile.

“I’m about done with that,” he said. Cass couldn’t help but agree. But she knew that sound would haunt her for a long time to come.

About halfway between Cass and Gamble, Able and Swoop were working together to dump the dead Weir over the wall, outside the city. They’d take care of it in the morning, if the bodies were still there. More than likely, other Weir would come and reclaim them, as was their way. Gamble, walking back along the top of the parapet, stopped and crouched by them for a moment and exchanged a few words.

“I sure wish she’d get away from that edge,” said Sky.

“I think she does it just to make you nervous,” Cass replied.

“She does. And it does.”

Gamble hopped down off the parapet and returned to Cass and Sky. She slid in next to her husband, and wrapped an arm around his waist, looking softer. He kissed the top of her head in such a casual motion it almost looked like reflex.

“Bad news, Cass,” she said. Sky leaned his rifle against the wall and dropped an easy arm around her shoulders. The two of them just seemed to fit together. “The kid at the post…”

“Espin?”

Gamble nodded. “They must’ve gotten him on his way back from shutting down the alarm.”

Cass closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. That was on her. She’d sent him off by himself. Careless. More blood on her hands.

“Hey, no way you could’ve known,” Gamble said, reading her thoughts. “For as long as this city’s stood, I have never known them to top the wall. They just don’t do that.”

“Until now,” Cass answered.

“Yeah.”

Cass felt unspeakably weary. Heavy arms, heavy legs, heavy heart. There was still so much to do.

“Miss Cass, you go on back to the compound,” Sky said. “We’ll finish up here, and we’ll take good care of Espin.”

“No, I should handle that. He’s my responsibility.”

“Go on, Cass,” Gamble said. “Go take care of your boy. You should be together right now.”

Cass leaned around to check on Able and Swoop, but Sky put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“We’ve got this.”

Cass thought it over. It didn’t feel right to leave these people here on the wall without her. But nothing felt right about this night anyway. “Alright. Thank you.”

Gamble reached out and squeezed her arm, and then smiled, warm and understanding. Cass nodded to the couple, and then turned and headed down the stairs with leaden legs. The way back to the compound seemed twice as far, the air twice as cold, as she made her way through the still empty streets of Morningside. An entire city slumbering under an illusion of safety.

Her mind raced with the mounting threats she had to face, both within the city and without. They were no closer to solving the mystery of Wren’s attacker, and Luck’s murderers were still unidentified. The Weir were changing. The regular guardsmen had never shown up. Not a single one. Discipline had crumbled. No doubt that too would change, come morning. Morning. The whole way back, Cass couldn’t help but wonder what new terror the dawn would bring.

S
omething had changed. And it was very, very wrong.

Wren could feel a heaviness about him, an impenetrable grey quietness that seemed to descend from the sky and envelop him as he sat on his mother’s bed. It was an almost violent stillness, and full of dread. It reminded him of being woken in the night by a sound that he couldn’t be sure if he’d heard or just dreamt. Reminded him of those long, sweaty moments, lying in darkness, straining to hear, and being met by nothing but an oppressive silence. It was almost a living thing, beyond hearing.

The Weir had changed. Wren had felt it the previous night, in the cold morning hours, before Mama had gone running from her room. Remembering it now, he wished he’d warned her earlier. But even now, in the light of day, it was still such a distant feeling and hard to put into words; like the hour before the fever comes when you know you’re going to be sick, even though nothing hurts yet.

He couldn’t just ignore it, though. Something was definitely different about the Weir, something dangerous and terrible. But Wren had no idea what that difference
was
. Not exactly. There was no doubt they had coordinated during last night’s attack. And not just in the way they’d scaled the wall. The others near the gate had been a distraction, and Wren couldn’t escape the feeling that it had been deliberate; an organized misdirection, to enable the others’ assault.

Then there was the call, or chant, or whatever it had been. Even as young as he was, Wren had spent more time than most out in the open, and had heard the usual cries of the Weir. As frightening and unnatural as they were, still they were not so unearthly as the sound they’d made last night.

A knock sounded at the door, with a gentle familiarity. Wren knew it was Able, so instead of saying “Come in,” he just slid off the bed and opened the door himself.

“Hi, Able,” Wren said.

Hello, Wren
, Able signed.
You have a visitor.

“Does my mom know?”

Able nodded.
She’s with him now. It’s Painter.

Without knowing why, Wren felt a little jolt of anxiety, an unusual reluctance to see his friend. He found himself hoping to find an excuse to delay the meeting. “How long until the address?” he asked.

Half an hour,
Able signed, and then added a shake of his hand afterwards to indicate the uncertainty… could be sooner, could be later.

Wren was already dreading facing the crowds. And he really did want more time to prepare. “Maybe I should tell him to come back another time?”

From Able’s expression, Wren could tell he must’ve picked up on his own uneasiness. Able gave a slow shake of the head.

You should see him now.

Wren sighed before he could catch himself, and felt bad about it. “OK.”

He stepped out into the hallway and closed the door to his mother’s room behind him;
their
room, at least for the past few nights. Able turned and walked down the hall, and Wren followed behind with a flutter in his stomach. Why was he so reluctant to see Painter? Maybe it was just that he hadn’t been prepared. An unexpected situation, while his mind was busy with other things. An unwanted interruption. And, he realized, he’d kind of forgotten about Painter. Just for the time being. He was still sorry for his friend, but he’d wanted to deal with it before. Now there were other things to worry about. Wren felt bad for thinking that way. But it didn’t change the fact that he was annoyed by Painter’s selfishness.

Able led the way to the eastern side of the building, down a flight of stairs, which suggested that Painter had probably come in through a side entrance. They found him in a side room, a sort of sitting room that had mostly gone unused. Cass was there as well, evidently keeping him company. Wren gasped when he saw him.

Wren asked, “Painter, what happened to your face?” His right eye was puffy and mottled with bruises, his upper lip split and swollen.

“Hey, I cuh-can’t help it if, if, if – I was born uh-ugly,” Painter said with a shrug and a strained smile. It made Wren feel terrible for being annoyed at him.

“No, really, are you OK?”

Painter nodded. “Took a tum – a tumble in the street. Caught myself with mmmm- my fuh- with my face.” He held up his hands like it was no big deal, but behind it all his eyes seemed sad, even with their moonlight glow. Maybe a little angry.

“Painter came to talk to us about the girl,” Cass said carefully. “He’d like to see her.”

“Oh. OK. Does Mouse know?” Wren asked.

“He’s all set. We’ll go whenever you’re ready, Painter.”

Painter looked at Cass and drew a deep breath. His gaze dropped to the floor as he absent-mindedly scratched his cheek and then ran his fingers over his mouth. Finally, he nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Alright then. This way,” Cass said. They all left the room and walked the long halls to the compound’s clinic in a heavy kind of silence. It seemed awkward not to say anything, but it seemed like it’d be even more awkward to say something inappropriate. And Wren couldn’t think of anything that seemed appropriate for such a time.

Mouse was waiting for them when they arrived. He had a kind expression on his face, and a quiet way of welcoming that seemed mismatched with his size, a gentleness that made Wren feel calm and safe.

“Mouse, this is Painter,” Cass said. Mouse reached out his massive hands and shook Painter’s hand with both of his.

“Painter,” he said with a nod. “I’m sorry we haven’t met before now.”

“That’s alright,” Painter replied. “Wren’s muh-muh-mentioned you en-en-nough, I forgot we hadn’t.”

“We’re ready to see the girl,” Cass said, her voice even and cool.

“Sure,” Mouse answered. “Wren, why don’t you wait here with Able?”

For a moment, Wren felt relief at the idea of avoiding seeing the dead girl again. But if it really was Snow, if it really
was
Painter’s sister… it just didn’t seem right to take the easy way out. He knew he’d regret it if he didn’t stand there by Painter’s side.

“No, I want to come too,” Wren said.

“You d-d-don’t have to, Wruh-Wren,” Painter said.

“I want to.”

“Alright,” said Mouse. “She’s this way.”

Able waited in the front room while the others followed Mouse through the clinic and into a room in the back. Wren had never been in the compound’s morgue before. It was small, and there were a couple of steel tables and some things that looked like tools, but not the kind of tools Wren would ever want to have to use. He didn’t know what they were for and really didn’t want to.

There was something under a white cloth on one of the tables, and Mouse moved next to it. He put his hand on the covering and paused. Wren took a deep breath, tried to prepare himself. Painter nodded, and Mouse drew back the cover.

She was there, the girl that had attacked Wren, looking calm and peaceful and lovely, and so very young. Apart from her absolute paleness, it was hard to believe she was dead and not just sound asleep. The breath caught in Wren’s throat and everything came flashing back, and it seemed so impossible that such a beautiful and fragile creature could have ever tried to do him any harm.

Painter didn’t react at all. He just stared at the girl, emotionless, expressionless. They waited in strained silence for him to identify her, to acknowledge it was his sister – or to confirm that it wasn’t, to give some sign of recognition. Anything. But he just stood there.

Mouse watched him for a few moments, and then slowly slid his eyes over to Cass.

“Painter, sweetheart,” she said in soothing tones.

He rubbed his nose with the back of his fingers, and then abruptly turned and walked out of the room. Wren could hear him sit heavily down in the room next door. The three others stood in silence for a moment, watching, and then Cass finally turned to look back at Mouse. He covered the body again.

“What do you think?” Cass asked.

“I think that’s a confirmation,” Mouse said. “But someone ought to talk to him.”

“I’ll do it,” Wren said.

“We’ll go together,” Cass replied.

“No, Mama. Just me. To start.”

She chewed her bottom lip for a second, the way she did when she was nervous, or thinking, or both. But finally she nodded. “OK, baby. To start.”

Wren walked to the room next door, feeling hot and cold at the same time. His palms were all sweaty, and he felt a little bit like he might throw up. He didn’t know if it was from having seen the girl again, or from fear of what Painter might say. Or do.

When he entered the room, Painter was sitting in a chair with his hands on his knees, looking at the floor. He didn’t look up when Wren came in. Didn’t show any signs of knowing Wren was even there. Wren stood in the door, wondering what to do next. An empty chair was next to Painter, so eventually Wren just went over and lowered himself carefully onto it.

They sat in silence for several minutes. Or at least what seemed like minutes. Finally Painter started moving again, just running his hands along his legs, back and forth, like maybe he was trying to dry his palms on his pantlegs.

“That’s alright,” he said. “That’s alright. She’ll be alright.” And then he laughed, a short bark that made Wren jump. “I ffff-ffff… I forgot to bring her coat. I have a cuh-cuh-coat. She left it. I was suh-suh-ssss… supposed to give it back t-t-to her.”

“I’m so sorry, Painter. I was hoping it wasn’t her.”

“It’s not – it’s nnn – it’s not
her
,” Painter said. He was still looking at the floor, still running his hands back and forth, back and forth. “Not r-r-really.”

Wren felt a chill race down his back, felt vulnerable. He glanced at the other room where Mouse and Able were with his mama.

“That isn’t your sister?” he asked.

“No,” Painter answered, shaking his head, his voice calm and even. “No, Snuh-Snow’s not… she’s not… Snow dances, Wren. She’s a duh-duh, a dancer. Best dancer you ever saw. She g-g-g-glides. That grrrr – that g-g-girl, she’s just lying there.”

“Painter…”

“Just luh-luh… just lying there,” he said, still rubbing his legs. Wren looked down and inhaled sharply. Painter’s pant legs had grown dark and torn, his fingertips blotched and spattered. Wren only now realized that Painter’s claws were out and he was cutting into his own flesh.

“Painter, your legs…” Wren said, too terrified to move. Painter stopped and slowly lifted his hands, turned them over. He watched them as if they belonged to someone else.

“That’s my baby sister,” he said quietly. “My… baby…
sister
!” He flashed up out of his chair and in a single motion whipped it off the floor and across the room. The chair shattered against the wall, and Painter let out an inhuman howl of rage.

Mouse was there in an instant, grabbing at Painter, and Wren saw Painter’s hands flailing, thrashing in Mouse’s powerful grip. Able materialized seconds later and grabbed Painter from behind. Cass skidded into the room and put herself between Wren and the others, while the two men struggled to pin Painter’s arms down and control him. Finally their combined strength overpowered Painter’s, and he dropped to his knees, his fury giving way to bitter anguish. Able held on to him as he shook with soul-deep sobs.

“Snow,” Painter said, “Snow, Snow, Snow.”

Cass knelt next to him, and put her hand on his head, consoling him. Wren couldn’t stop his own tears, and no one seemed to mind. Gradually Able released his hold. Painter slumped further forward until his face was almost on the floor, his hands slack in front of him. Cass gently pulled him over until his head was on her lap, and there she held him like a child.

Able remained crouched next to them, ever watchful, but all the fight seemed to have gone out of Painter. Mouse motioned for Able’s attention, and when Able looked up, Mouse said, “If you’ve got this under control, I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

Wren noticed the cuts across Mouse’s arms, and chest, and face. Bright blood ran freely from a cut along his cheekbone.

How bad?
Able signed.

Mouse shook his head. “Stings a little, but they’re not deep. He wasn’t trying to hurt anybody.”

Able nodded, and Mouse disappeared. Painter’s loud weeping eventually dwindled to an exhausted sort of despair, and he sat up with his hands in his lap.

“Sorry about… the, the, the, sorry about the chair,” he said quietly. He wiped his nose on his sleeve and stared at the floor.

“It’s nothing to worry about, OK?” Cass answered.

“Can I be a-a-alone for a few minutes?” he asked. “I woh-woh- won’t go crazy.”

“Sure, Painter. Whatever you need.”

“Th-th-thanks.”

Cass motioned to Wren and together with Able they left the room and returned to the front of the clinic.

“What do you think?” Cass asked in a low voice.

Keep him here for a couple of days,
Able signed.

Wren collapsed into a chair in the corner by the door, exhausted and overwhelmed. Cass and Able carried on a quiet conversation, whispering and signing, but Wren didn’t care to try to follow any of it. The scene that had just played out before him had been more terrible than he had imagined it would be. Death was nothing new to him, unfortunately, and he had seen the many different ways loss could affect the grieving. But Painter’s unrestrained fury had surprised him. Since his Awakening, Painter had never been anything but softly spoken, humble, and kind. To see him tormented so fully broke Wren’s heart.

“Do you think I should take him some water?” Wren asked across the room.

Cass stopped her conversation and looked over her shoulder at him. She smiled gently and then nodded. “Sure, baby. That’d be very thoughtful. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Wren rummaged around and found several empty steel drinking canisters in a cabinet. He took one and filled it with water from a nearby tap. The water ran cold and clear, drawing from a reservoir deep within the ground. Mouse had once explained how the compound’s system worked, but all Wren remembered clearly was that it was a combination of natural water collected mostly from rainfall and water recycled from other sources. The fact that Mouse had stressed how many times the water was filtered and sterilized made Wren uneasy about what exactly “other sources” might have meant.