Free Three by Jay Posey Page B

but not crouched, scanning her. Cass reached behind her, felt for Wren, ensured he was there, shielded. At least there was no sign of the others. Cass just had to buy a little time. Just long enough for Three to catch up. She just didn’t know how she was going to do it.
    The Weir seemed uncertain, hesitant. It glanced quickly away down the stairs, as if noticing for the first time that it was alone. This one was different from the others: larger, more muscular. Still a corpse, but one better preserved. It looked back at Cass, opened its mouth and squawked at her. A vicious howl of circuitry and menace; an electric wolf. Cass tensed.
    “Come on,” she said internally, a silent plea for help. “Come on.”
    The Weir flexed its hands, nails green in the chemlight. Still no sound on the stair below. Cass hoped that was a good sign. But she wasn’t fool enough to count on hope alone. She dosed again. She’d have to deal with the consequences later. If there was a later.
    The Weir scanned her again. No, not her. Behind her. It was trying to get a bead on Wren. No more waiting.
    Cass pounced.
    T hree was aware. Aware that he was aware. That was a start. Not a great one, but a start nonetheless. The left side of his face felt like it was covered in dry paint, or plaster. His neck felt strange. Definitely crumpled into a corner. A corner made of something hard. His legs wouldn’t move.
    Bad sign. Broken neck, probably. He tried his fingers. They wiggled. Still had those, at least. He wondered how he would drag himself up all those stairs with just his fingers. After a thought, he tried his toes. Surprise. They wiggled too.
    Oh. Something heavy, on his legs. Heavy, wet, and unpleasant. He finally opened his eyes, only just realizing he hadn’t done that yet. In the darkness, he could make out the outlines of things. Not really details, but shapes, beginnings and endings; depth, movement. The thing on his legs definitely wasn’t moving. Hazy memories started coming back now. Weir. On the steps. He’d gotten the first one no problem. The second one, that’d been a problem. The thing on his legs was the second.
    The second. There had been three. Three. Another one, still alive, somewhere up above him. After the woman and the boy. The boy. Wren.
    With no small amount of effort, Three rolled the Weir off him, found his blade buried through its middle. All was quiet up the stairs. Three didn’t like that at all. He forced himself to his feet, hissed at a searing in his side, between his ribs. He felt around, found something hard that hadn’t been there before. With gritted teeth he pulled at it, worked it free. Nail from the Weir. Punctured his vest. Must’ve broken off in the fall.
    He left it with the Weir, and got his blade back, wiping it clean on the Weir’s ragged garment. His hands were sticky.
    Three forced his feet up the steps, a slow, painful plod at first. Feeling worked its way back through his legs, and not a good one. He pushed on, brought himself to a weary jog. As he climbed, he looked up, spotted the landing at the top. Three more flights. A yellow-green light glowed there.
    He hurried as best he could, reached the landing, stopped to take stock of the scene. The chemlight lay in the middle of the floor, showing it all.
    Too late. He was too late.
    The Weir was gone. Cass lay slumped against the wall, her shirt stained crimson from neckline to navel. A limp arm dangled over Wren, who sprawled motionless in her lap. The first graying light of morning slipped through the cracked door, and fell like a ribbon of mist over Cass’s pale form.
    Three clenched his jaw, swallowed what felt like emotion crawling up his throat. Foolish. Too risky, bringing a woman and her child out beyond the wall at night. He should’ve known better, should’ve thought it through. Seeing those first rays of morning made him angry, reminded him of just how close they’d been to making it. He thought back over what had happened,