Morningside Fall(143)

The Windspan actually climbed up and over the sprawling urban ruins. There’d be no twisting or turning alleyways, no navigating unfamiliar territory. Just a long, straight shot to the other side.

Swoop halted for a moment, maybe fifty yards from the bridge.

“There it is, boys,” he said. “The Windspan.”

Wren noticed he kept pressing his arm into his side, and he seemed a little unsteady on his feet.

“There’s s-s-suh, someone on it,” Painter said.

“What?” Swoop said.

“There,” Painter answered, stepping forward and pointing. Sure enough, there seemed to be someone on one side of the bridge. Just sitting there.

“Do you think he’s dangerous?” Wren asked.

“Dunno,” Swoop said. “But I wouldn’t trust anyone just sittin’ around out here.” Swoop blinked a few times and squinted, like he was trying to clear spots out of his eyes. “What’s on his face?”

Wren looked as carefully as he could. It was tough to make out from this distance.

Painter answered, “I th-think it’s a… a… blindfold.”





TWENTY FOUR


Runners were a rare breed. Even under the best conditions, with a well-known route cleared ahead of time, it took a certain kind of person to risk all the dangers the open offered at that pace. A bad step, a rolled ankle or a twisted knee, and runners could find themselves a dozen or more miles from their destination when night came. And that didn’t take into account the number of traps that evil or wretched people sometimes laid for the unwary. A shortcut through the wrong alley, or even the right one taken too fast, could lead straight to the grave.



Some called runners bold. Others, reckless. Cass had a new term for them.

Desperate.

She’d managed to keep her pace steady – despite the snow, which had made the terrain even more treacherous. Her lungs ached from the chill air, and her legs were increasingly leaden, but still she pushed herself. The wound on her thigh had seeped through her pant leg. About the only positive to the situation was that the route itself hadn’t been a difficult one to follow.

Cass got the impression that the remains of the city around her had grown more broken and jagged. The snow now enshrouding it covered but did not hide what lay beneath, a white sheet draped over a corpse. Surely this was a deadly place. But she refused the warning thoughts that tried to pry into her mind and force her to slow.

She wasn’t far from the Windspan now, and she felt confident that she could overtake Wren and the others there. If she could reach it. If they had reached it. Cass hadn’t really considered what she’d do if she’d overshot them, if she reached Morningside before they arrived. Wren was masking his location again, and there was no way she’d be able to track him if he didn’t want her to.

A fork led her to a narrow street and as she saw the scene that lay ahead, fear pierced her heart. She slowed and slid to a stop. There was a man lying face down, frosted with a thin layer of white, surrounded by a sludgy pool of deep maroon. Part of her wanted to rush to him, while the other told her to stay away. Cass lingered, panting, afraid of how she might react if she discovered the body was Swoop’s. She glanced around for any signs of combat, but saw none.

After a moment she crept towards the body, keeping her eyes up and watching in case it was some kind of trap. About eight feet away she stopped, and saw enough to know it wasn’t Swoop. The relief was tempered with the anxiety of not knowing what had happened. There was a good chance that Wren had passed this way, but no way to know whether they had encountered the dead man. She considered checking the corpse to see if she could determine how the man had died. It didn’t seem to matter though. He didn’t look like he’d been shot, at least not by Swoop’s weapon. Maybe the poor man had fallen victim to some unseen device.

Cass didn’t like the implications of that thought – that she might be running through a minefield, literally or figuratively. She set off again, doing her best to ignore the anxiety that tried to beset her mind and the fatigue that dragged at her body.





Swoop led the way to the bridge, and Wren could tell from his stride that something was definitely wrong. Usually his stride was aggressive and direct, but now, every so often, his feet seemed to splay to the side.



“Swoop, are you OK?” Wren asked.

“Fine, Governor,” he said.

They were coming up on the bridge now, and the man ahead was still just sitting there. Or maybe he was on his knees. Wren had assumed it was a man, though he supposed it could be a woman. It was hard to know for sure. The person’s hair was long and grey and swirled about his face. If it was a he, his eyes were definitely covered by a blindfold.