Morningside Fall(22)

“Thank you,” Painter said. He wiped the spittle off his face and handed the handkerchief back. As the man took it, they both noticed a dark spot on it, and the man hesitated. “I’m sorry, I’ll cuh- cuh-, I’ll clean it.”

“No, no,” the man said, smiling graciously as he took the handkerchief. “It’s alright. That’s what they’re for after all. You sure you’re OK?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Mmmm- ma’am.”

“Alright. Well. You take care, Painter.”

“You too.”

They smiled again, a little sadly, and turned away towards their home. As they disappeared down the street, Painter reflected on Gap-tooth’s posse and the couple walking away from him now.

And he couldn’t decide which of them he hated more.





FIVE


Cass could feel the pressure building in the city, an emotional power grid straining under the load of fear, tension, and long-harbored mistrust never resolved. She looked out over Morningside in its troubled sleep, the night air around her almost brittle with cold. From her balcony she could see down the long, wide street, almost all the way to the western gate. The roadway was warmly lit by its innumerable lamp posts, though the walks were all deserted this deep in the night. It was still hard for her to sleep at any time, but most especially at night, the time for which her body had been rewired for optimal performance.



She had had great hopes once, in the early days of her Awakening. There had been horror from some, a hatred born of a lifetime of terror. That was to be expected. But kindness had surprised her, and compassion. And after she had taken to wearing the veil, she’d found more and more people were able to overcome their instinctive reactions and Cass had begun to believe that one day she might be accepted as human again.

And when Wren began rescuing others, a network of support had formed almost without any real effort; good, honest men and women of Morningside came forward and gave of their time and money to help the survivors build some sense of a new life, and maybe even come to terms with who they had become. People like Aron, and Mister Sun, and others throughout the city who’d offered places to stay, clothes to wear, jobs to do.

Of course it couldn’t have lasted. One or two, maybe the city could’ve absorbed them, thought of them as poor, wretched anomalies. But there were nearly thirty of them now. Too many to be ignored. Now, in some circles, they were seen more like wild animals that had strayed into civilization; no longer just a handful of damaged people looking for shelter.

Damaged. Rae had called them that once, in passing. Funny. Cass didn’t feel damaged. Different, certainly. But vibrant. Alive. Alive in a way she’d never felt before the change. Before the change, she’d relied on chems to speed her reaction times, to make herself faster, stronger. Now she felt all these things without needing the chemicals. Sometimes she wondered if the pathways that had been forged by her use of quint had been exploited by the Weir’s tampering.

There had been adjustments to be sure, new normals to learn, like how to see the world through her new eyes – or how to process the way Cass felt the presence of the people around her, sometimes even through walls – or how they exploded in light and… and something she didn’t even have a word for, whenever they accessed the digital. No, she didn’t feel damaged at all.

Out beyond the wall, Cass heard a Weir cry; a howl somewhere between a scream and a burst of static through organic vocal cords. At one time she would’ve been able to interpret it. Now it was just noise again. Even so, the sound had a different quality that she noticed but couldn’t quite identify. Another Weir answered the first, somewhere off to her left. But not far. And a third, closely following the second. Cass felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle, found herself alert. There was an attack coming. She knew it without knowing why.

As she turned back into the compound, her brain started peppering her with all the reasons she was wrong. There hadn’t been an organized attack in almost a year, not since they’d brought everyone inside the wall. The Weir had been scattered. Without Underdown’s control, they’d reverted back to their pack behavior; no longer a collaborative entity. They were more like scavengers than predators. They would never assault the city directly.

Except they would, and Cass knew it.

She streaked through her room and sprinted down the hallway towards the front entry, pimming Gamble, the captain of the governor’s Personal Guard, as she ran.

“Gamble,” Cass pimmed, sending the message through the digital directly to her, wherever Gamble was. “The Weir are at the west gate!”