Morningside Fall (15 page)

Painter slipped his shoes back on, took a moment to gather his thoughts and focus, and then slipped out into the courtyard. Not far now. Not far to the tunnel, and from there, to the outside. The outside. At night. A smile spread itself involuntarily.

Sky was tired. Not that tired was new or different, necessarily, tired was pretty much part of the job. He was just noticing it again, the way he did when there was a momentary lull. He was lying on his belly, four stories up, keeping watch for Swoop and Mouse while they searched a cluster of buildings not far from the wall. It was a clear night, with less than half a moon, and long shadows stretched from the buildings. The optic on his rifle could be set to amplify ambient light, but for the time being Sky had left it off, preferring to keep his eyes adjusted to the natural level of light. He suppressed a yawn.

The team had been going almost nonstop since the night before, prepping for security for the Governor’s big speech. And then afterwards, after the disturbance had threatened to turn into a full-blown riot, they’d sprung into action, plugging holes in the line and keeping a hard posture – to make sure anybody in the crowd that was thinking about firing that first shot knew good and clear they’d be dead before they got off a second.

Gamble and Swoop had done a masterful job of keeping the guard from breaking rank or popping off into the crowd, which was no small task. Fortunately the team’s reputation was intact, if a little overblown. At least, no one seemed to be up for testing it. Once they’d regrouped in front of the gate, the steam had gone out of most of the crowd, and they’d dispersed not too long after. A couple of kids got knocked around a bit – those that got all their bravery from the mob and realized soon after that individuals could still feel pain – but luckily everybody got to go home. Situations like that were ugly, no matter what, and they didn’t always turn out as well as that one had.

Still, something nagged at him about the way it had all unfolded. For all the reassurances of the Council, the disturbance hadn’t felt as spontaneous as they seemed to want to believe. Sky had been up high on overwatch and though he couldn’t point to any one detail as evidence, something about the big picture – the way the crowd had moved, or the number of simultaneous presentations of threat… it seemed coordinated. Orchestrated, even.

And they were out here now, instead of maintaining security for the Governor. Connor had been worried about another attack from the Weir, and most of the guard was busy enforcing the curfew. But sticking the team on the wrong side of the wall seemed like overkill. True, they’d ended up clearing one cell tonight already; three Weir had been prowling around close enough to Morningside that Gamble had decided to deal with them, just to be safe. But for the most part, the Weir were scattered and didn’t seem to be making any attempts at the city. And if something flared up on the inside, it was going to be tough to respond. Orders were orders. But things weren’t adding up the way they should’ve been.

“Sky, we’re clear in here,” Swoop said over the shared channel. “How’s topside?”

From his elevated position, Sky scanned the tops of the buildings Swoop and Mouse were moving through. No sign of trouble.

“Looks good,” he replied.

“Alright, check,” Swoop said. “We’re gonna push half a klick due west, then walk it back on the curve. You wanna go check on the boys?”

Sky said, “If you guys are good.”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Alright, Sky’s moving. I’ll be down for two minutes.”

“You can stay put,” Finn said, breaking in. “There’s only two things going on out our way.”

“Jack,” said Wick.

“And squat,” Finn finished.

“Keep the channel clear, gentlemen,” Gamble broke in, stern, serious, always on point. “Sky, move.”

“Yep, got it, Ace,” Sky answered. “Sky moving.”

Sky flicked his weapon to safe and got to his feet. He wasn’t on the roof, exactly, but since the top half of the building he was in had disappeared some time ago, he guessed it was close enough to count. Sky was headed for the stairs when he caught a tiny motion in his peripheral vision. Down there in the street. He instinctively brought his weapon to bear and dropped to a knee, scanning with both eyes open wide to see if he could pick up what had drawn his attention.

“Stand by,” Sky said. “Got some movement in the street.”

“You got eyes on?” Swoop said.

“Negative.”

“You need us to come out?”

“Negative.”

Sky surveyed the area below, slowly sweeping from right to left, and then back again. Nothing was immediately apparent. Maybe he’d imagined it. Tired eyes playing tricks. But patience was critical to his line of work, as was meticulous attention to detail. There was something about the corner of one building that kept drawing his eye. A slight bulge, where the outer wall sagged. Only he didn’t remember seeing it sagging before.

“Got eyes,” he said. “South of your position, two buildings down, south-west corner.”

“Can you ID?”

Sky adjusted the optic on his rifle, dialed the zoom in tighter. Even zoomed in, he couldn’t tell what exactly he was looking at. Maybe he was wrong, and it really was just debris. But his gut told him otherwise. A moment later, his eyes confirmed his instincts. The lump shifted and two pin-pricks of blue light peered around the corner of the building.

“Yep, it’s a Weir.”

As he watched, the Weir slinked along the outer wall of the building, moving towards Swoop and Mouse. It was cautious in its movements, moving only a few feet forward before stopping again. The Weir was so still that whenever it turned its eyes away from Sky’s direction, he had to keep blinking to keep it from melting into the background.

“Heading your way, real careful. Might have a read on you. You want me to take it?” Sky asked.

“How many?”

“Just one, as far as I can tell.”

The Weir shifted forward again, halving the distance to Swoop’s building. Sky tracked it, keeping the aimpoint steady on its center of mass. If they’d all been inside the city, safe behind the wall, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal to take the shot. But it was at range, and if he didn’t kill it instantly on the first shot, it was going to get loud. The team was used to running low profile, and they couldn’t afford to draw any more attention than they absolutely had to. Of course, if the Weir in the street had a line on Swoop and Mouse, others might be on the way already.

“It’s closing,” he warned. It moved again, faster this time. Stopped again. It had to know they were in there. Sky flicked his weapon off safe but kept his finger off the trigger. For now.

“How far?”

“Twenty meters from the door.”

The Weir scanned its surroundings again. It looked up, but not high enough. It didn’t spot Sky. There was something unusual about this one; an uncertainty of purpose, a hesitancy in its movement. But their behavior had been growing stranger and stranger of late. Maybe this was just another malfunctioning stray.

“We’re up a floor,” Swoop said.

“It gets inside, I won’t be able to track it.”

The Weir slipped forward again, and paused at the corner of the building. Even as Sky calculated the distance and the wind, something prickled in a corner of his mind. Was this one of the Weir he’d seen the night of their attack on the gate?

“Three meters,” Sky said. “I’m gonna lose it.”

“Alright, take it,” Swoop said. “Don’t miss.”

“Yep.” Sky moved his finger to the trigger, drew in the slack on it so the slightest bit of additional pressure would fire. Just under four hundred meters. Easy. He inhaled smoothly. Exhaled. Held. Waited for the moment between heartbeats.

“Hold that,” Gamble said. “I’m almost to your position.”

Sky allowed himself a breath, let the slack back out of the trigger, but kept his finger in contact and the Weir dead center in his optic. “You sure, Ace? I got the shot.”

“Yeah, I got it, babe. Ten seconds.”

The Weir down below moved to the door, but paused. So strange. Sky dialed in further, magnifying his target. Something about the silhouette. Familiarity out of context.

And then – like lightning from a clear sky – recognition. Gamble flashed into view almost at the same time that Sky called out, “Hold! Hold! It’s the kid! It’s Painter!”

The collision lifted the Weir…
Painter –
up off the ground, Gamble’s momentum rocketing him skyward and depriving him of any ability to counter her attack. Not a clumsy tackle; this was a relentlessly practiced technique to ensure a sudden and definite kill. Sky’s optic was zoomed in too close to track the outcome, but he didn’t need to see it to know what happened. He went numb. Why hadn’t he realized it sooner? And what was the kid doing outside the wall?

“You sure?” Swoop asked.

“Positive,” Sky answered.

After a few moments, Gamble said, “Yeah, I confirm. It’s Painter.” Swoop cursed. Sky backed his optic out and found his wife, crouched on top of Painter’s sprawled form.

“Is he dead?”

“Oughta be,” Gamble said. “But no, he’s not dead. Ain’t happy either.”

“What’s going on?” Wick asked.

“Hold on.”

“We’re on the way out,” Mouse said.

“Check,” Gamble said. “Able, I need you on security. Sky, sit tight.”

“Alright, check,” Sky said. The kid had been anxious lately, agitated, and with good reason. Seemed like a real bad time to be out stretching his legs, though.

There was movement in an alley near Gamble. Sky recognized Able’s fluid stride as he moved into position about five yards behind Gamble. He dropped to a knee, facing away from her, his head up and scanning for threats. A few moments later, Swoop and Mouse appeared in the building’s entryway. Swoop flowed out onto the street and mirrored Able, watching the other direction, while Mouse went directly to assess Painter.

It looked like the kid was sitting up now, at least. Sky surveyed the surrounding area from his perch, watching for any sign of danger. Several minutes passed amidst the cold night air and the occasional croak or call from a distant Weir, but nothing seemed to be heading their way

“Finn,” Gamble said. “Location.” Her words were clipped, direct.

“Want me to ping it?” he responded.

“Negative, comms only.”

“North-west of you, six hundred meters. About fifty meters east of the wall.”

“Stay put, we’re coming to.”

“Alrighty.”

“Sky, you OK to move on your own?” she asked.

Sky chuckled. If anyone on the team was used to moving alone, it was Sky. “Yes,
Mom
,” he said. She hated when he called her that, but a little dig seemed appropriate after the question she’d asked.

“Alright, rally on Finn,” she answered. Her tone was flat, all business, like Gamble hadn’t even noticed the
Mom
.

Sky asked, “What’s going on?”

“Just move, Sky.”

Something was definitely wrong. Down below, Sky saw his wife helping Painter to his feet while the other three formed a protective triangle around them. As soon as Painter was up, they started moving as a unit. Sky kept watch over them until they disappeared down a distant alley. Once they were out of sight, he slung his rifle and headed down the exposed staircase. Down one flight, he drew his sidearm. Just in case.

The whole left side of Painter’s face throbbed and burned, and any time he took too deep a breath, it felt like every muscle in his back went into spasm. He was sitting on the floor, trying to track Mouse’s finger by moving only his eyes. The whole team had gathered and taken shelter in a nearby one-floor building, and Mouse had insisted on giving Painter a thorough once-over. Gamble had apologized five or six times, which had been nice. But it didn’t make his body hurt any less.

“Well, that sly son,” Finn said, almost to himself. And then louder, “Check this out. It’s a siphon. They hid it in a co-routine, off our secure channel.”

“For stupid people, Finn,” Sky said from the door, where he was keeping watch.

“The kid’s right. They’ve got a trace on. Never would’ve noticed it if I hadn’t gone looking.”

“Custom job?” Wick asked.

“Nah, it’s really not that sophisticated. Only clever bit was where they stuck it, which makes sense if Connor’s involved. Otherwise, it just looks like an off-the-shelf solution.”

“Aww,” Wick said, “and I was about to start feeling special.”

“Can you kill it without anyone noticing?” Gamble asked.

“Sure, easy,” Finn answered. “Now that I know it’s there. I can spin it off, let it run isolated.”

“What about following it back?” Swoop said.

Finn went quiet, eyes staring up into the corner of the room, as though he was seeing something else entirely.

“Alright,” Mouse said, patting Painter on the shoulder. “I don’t think there’s any permanent damage. How do you feel?”

“Like I fell out a fifth-story window,” Painter said.

“She must’ve held back on you, then,” Mouse said, winking.

“Yeah,” Finn said. “Yeah, I think I could follow it back, Swoop. Only problem is whoever’s on the other end might be watching. Could tip ’em off.”

“Any way to tell?” Gamble said.

Finn shook his head. “Looks like it’s got two listeners running. I can run ’em back, but no way to tell what might be waiting until I get there.”

“C-c-connor, and Aron, I bbb-bet,” Painter said.

“Not if they’re dead,” Finn said.

“So, could’ve been as many as four, then,” Gamble said.

“Yeah, I guess so,” said Finn.

“Kill it.”

“You got it.”

Gamble approached Painter, and knelt in front of him. “How you feeling, Painter?”

“Still brrr, still breathing.”

“We need to get back to Cass and Wren, and we need to do it quickly. If you don’t think you can make it, I can leave a couple of the boys with you.”

“I c-c-can do it.”

“This isn’t a time to tell me what you think I want to hear.”

Painter answered by getting to his feet.

“Alright, then,” Gamble said, standing. “Pack it up, gentlemen, we’re moving out. Finn, are we scrubbed?”

“Yeah, channel’s clean.”

“Then I’ve got point. Swoop, Mouse, you’ve got the cargo.”

The team snapped into go-mode, wordlessly forming up. Swoop and Mouse took positions on Painter’s left and right. And a few seconds later, they were pushing out into the open, headed from a known danger into one unknown.