Morningside Fall

TWENTY-THREE

Once they’d gotten a few minutes out from the refuge, Wren shared the route information he’d learned from Wick with Swoop. The path took them almost due east for a number of miles, to an old bridge called the Windspan. Wren didn’t know why it was named that, just that it was supposed to be big. Swoop didn’t like the idea.

Wick had mentioned that it wasn’t a good area, but he hadn’t specified why, and Wren had been too afraid to ask what he meant. After Swoop explained why, Wren was even more relieved that Swoop had come with them. The northern end of the bridge, where they’d be starting their journey across, was apparently a known thoroughfare for scrapers and other kinds of people that none of them wanted to meet.

Swoop wanted to find a different route, but it didn’t take long for him to realize the Windspan really was the best option. At least, in the sense that it seemed to be the only option if they wanted to make the trip in a single day. After that, they didn’t spend much time talking. Swoop took over leading the way, and Wren was glad to have someone else to follow.

Even though he had done his best to prepare himself for what the day would bring, Wren couldn’t stop thinking about having left Mama behind. He’d had to say goodbye to her once before, but he hadn’t had any choice back then. Now, with each step taking him further and further away from her, his throat and chest tightened. At least she would be safe, or safer anyway, apart from him. He guessed he himself would be the target of Asher’s fury, and maybe that would make everything OK for Mama. He was glad he had his hood up, so the others couldn’t see him cry.

And he hated himself for the tears. They made him feel stupid and weak. He wanted so desperately to be brave, and to never show emotions, like Swoop. Like Three. For all his ideas of returning to Morningside and fighting some battle against Asher, the reality of the cold, and the walk, and the growing loneliness were all so much harder to face than he’d expected. They’d only been gone maybe twenty minutes. Already he couldn’t believe he’d ever thought he could do it. It had seemed so much easier to picture his brave return when he’d been warm in bed, with Mama close at hand.

His weakness appalled him. Now he knew without a doubt that if he had been able to sneak out on his own, he would’ve turned back. But he wasn’t on his own. And if he wasn’t brave enough to go on, at least he was too ashamed to quit in front of Painter and Swoop.

He kept his head down and his eyes focused on Swoop’s feet in front of him.

Still they continued on in silence. Swoop set a hard enough pace that Wren didn’t feel like he’d be able to talk a whole lot while he tried to keep up anyway. But there was something else, too. The heavy sky, the stillness of the morning, the chill air that bit cheeks and fingers, all of it made speaking seem out of place. It was gradually becoming lighter, though the sun never appeared anywhere Wren could see it.

For the first hour or so, Wren kept thinking his body would warm up to all the walking and he wouldn’t feel so sluggish. But after a while he started to realize that he wasn’t feeling any better, and wasn’t likely to any time soon. The first journey out from Morningside had been tough enough. The trip out to Ninestory and back, with all of its fresh terror, was another matter. The anxiety and adrenaline of the fight, the flight back to the refuge under constant fear of pursuit, the death of Elan, and the close call with Wick. It had left Wren feeling completely empty.

And then there was Asher — he was like a great black storm cloud haunting Wren’s every thought. Wren still didn’t know what exactly he was going to do when he got to Morningside, what he expected to find inside the machine, or how he would even begin to challenge Asher. But Three had told Wren that whenever he didn’t know what to do, he should always trust his gut. And his gut said he should go to Morningside.

Even while everything else in him was screaming to turn around and go back.

Cass woke with a start and sat up, gasping for breath, heart hammering in her chest. She had no idea what had woken her. A dream maybe, though she couldn’t remember it. It took her a moment to recognize her surroundings and get her bearings. Once she did, though, she settled onto her back and tried to gather herself. She took a deep breath and let her shoulders relax and waited for her head to clear.

Everything felt just a little off. Soft around the edges. Blurred. Her vision, her thoughts, even her movement. Whatever Mouse had dosed her with had had plenty of time to clear. Maybe her injuries had been worse than Cass had initially thought.

A sudden paranoid thought leapt to her mind. What if that was how it began? What if Asher was already at work, trying to gain control over her? Regain control. He’d had it once. Would that make it easier for him to do again? She shuddered at the thought.

No. Her mind was her own. It was true that Asher had once directed her, when she had been enslaved by the Weir. But Wren had freed her. That connection had surely been severed. She closed her eyes for a few moments, steadied herself.

Lil had graciously offered to let them stay at the refuge as long as they cared to, though she’d made no comment as to how much longer her own people were planning to stay.

Cass had decided they’d remain until Mouse was satisfied with Wick’s condition. Hopefully that would give them enough time to figure out their next move. There was little doubt they would have to confront the situation in Morningside at some point. But she didn’t want to walk blindly back into it.

When the news had first come of their exile, it had seemed earth-shattering. Now, in light of their uncovering of Asher, it was by comparison a petty distraction. A squabble in the face of doom. But Cass knew Asher far too well to pretend that Morningside would be safe from his vengeance. It had been the place of his destruction. He would bend all of his will to see pain revisited upon its populace, whether she and Wren were there or not.

Cass opened her eyes and then, with a deep breath, eased herself up to a sitting position and dropped her legs over the edge of the bed. The concrete was cold under her bare feet. She rolled her neck around, tested her shoulder. Every muscle felt tight. She’d probably spent more time in bed in the past two days than she had in the weeks previous.

The room was still gloomy in the weak morning light, though the sun had been up for a good couple of hours by that point. Cass got up and dressed. Might as well go see what everyone else was up to.

She opened the door and, just as she was about to pass through, something made her stop. She glanced down at the spot where Wren’s pack had been earlier that morning, before he’d taken it. There’d been something else there with it. Something Cass hadn’t paid attention to before, something that now seemed important.

His coat.

Cass glanced around the room quickly, at his bed, under it, on the table in the corner. There was no sign of anything of Wren’s. And her heart skipped.

“Wren,” she pimmed. Waited for a response. Tried again. “Wren!” Seconds ticked by. Plenty of time for a reply, if one was coming.

“Gamble,” Cass called as she stepped into the hall. “Gamble!”

A few moments later a door opened behind her, and Mouse poked his head out into the hall.

“Hey, Cass,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“Have you seen Wren?”

“Not this morning, no.”

“Where’s Gamble?”

Mouse shook his head and shrugged. “Something wrong?”

“Wren’s gone.” A flood of emotion hit her, as if her words had transformed it from suspicion to certainty.

“What do you mean gone?”

“I mean, gone, Mouse. He left.” Cass crossed the hall and knocked loudly on Painter’s closed door.

“I’m sure he’s around here somewhere…” Mouse said, coming out into the hall.

“Painter, you in there?” Cass said through the door. She didn’t really wait for a response before she threw it open. The room was empty. Even the bed was made.

“Gamble, this is Mouse. You got a sec?”

Cass’s mind started putting little pieces together that confirmed her fears. His comment the night before about how Wren might not see her much because he was going to spend some time with Elan’s son, Ephraim. The long hug he’d given her when he’d woken her this morning. The conversation she’d interrupted between him and Wick, discussing their current location relative to other places. She raced through the scenarios. Knowing Wren, knowing the situation… Cass left Painter’s room and went to Wick’s, swung the door open. He was still lying propped up on a pile of pillows, and his eyes sprang open when Cass came in.

“Did you plot a route to Morningside out for my son?” Cass asked. It sounded angrier coming out than she’d meant for it to, but given the circumstances, she didn’t really care.

Wick blinked back at her. “Do what now?”

“Did you give Wren a route to Morningside?”

He shook his head, confusion clear on his face. “No, of course not. Why? What’s going on?”

Cass couldn’t decide if that should be a relief or not. If he wasn’t headed to Morningside, that was better than she’d feared, but it also meant she had no idea where he might be going.

“She thinks Wren might’ve left,” Mouse said from the doorway.

“He’s with Swoop,” came Gamble’s voice from outside, somewhere down the hall.

“Well, he was asking about where we were…” Wick trailed off as he thought it through. “No, wait.” He looked up at Cass with sudden concern. “I thought he was just making conversation, keeping me company.”

“And what?” Cass asked.

“I did tell him the fastest way. Over the Windspan.”

Cass moved back towards the hall and found Gamble standing there with Sky and Finn. Mouse hovered nearby.

“Where’s Swoop?” Cass asked.

“I just talked to him a little bit ago,” Gamble said. “Wren’s with him and he’s fine. Painter’s with him too.”

“Where, Gamble?”

Gamble held up her hand as if to calm Cass, and Cass knew then without a doubt that Wren was making his way back to Morningside. It seemed to Cass that Gamble and her team were ringing her in on purpose.

“They left early this morning,” Gamble said. “Wren thinks there’s something he can do to stop Asher. Something with Underdown’s machine.”

That was a twofold blow. Not only was he returning to the city without her, he was going back to the governor’s compound, back to the very heart of all the madness in the city. All to confront his brother, no less.

“And you let him go?” Cass asked.

“We didn’t have a choice, Cass. By the time Swoop called it in, they were already miles out.”

“You should’ve woken me!”

Gamble shook her head. “There was no reason to.”

“No reason? I’m his mother! I would never have let him go!”

“Exactly. But he had to.”

“That’s not your decision to make!”

“It’s not yours either,” Gamble answered, with force. Her voice was becoming harder, more direct, but no louder.

“He’s just a boy!”

“No, Cass, he’s not. He’s the Governor. Like it or not, you don’t get to ignore his authority just because you’re his mother.” The words stung.

“You’re telling me he ordered you to let him go, and you allowed it?”

“He was trying to sneak out on his own. Swoop went with him. He’s thinking about you, Cass. He’s worried for your safety. And so are we.”

Cass started forward into the hall. “I’m going after him.”

“Cass, no, you can’t.”

Gamble put her hand on Cass’s shoulder to stop her. In a flash of rage and reflex, Cass snatched Gamble by her vest — using both hands — and flung her. She didn’t mean to throw her that hard.

As it was, Gamble’s feet left the ground as she catapulted into the wall. Her back impacted flat, her arms spread to catch herself, but she was tilted at an awkward angle and off balance, and crashed down hard on one knee. In a blink Gamble was on her feet and headed straight at Cass — but Mouse caught her, and Finn grabbed Sky, who looked like he was about to take Cass’s head off himself.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mouse said. “Let’s not eat our own here. We’re all on the same side.”

“Are we?” Cass asked. “Your job is to protect my son, our governor. And you’re all here — doing what?”

“Protecting you,” Finn said.

“Well, I don’t need it.”

Gamble controlled herself, and Mouse released her, though he kept himself angled between the two women.

“We’re not going to let you go on your own,” Gamble said.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” Cass answered. “But I am going. I doubt you’d be able to keep up anyway.”

Gamble stared back at Cass for a long span. Cass held herself ready, uncertain about anyone else’s intent at that point. If anyone else grabbed her, though, she wasn’t going to hold back. Gamble’s shoulders finally lowered, and she took a step towards the wall, clearing the way for Cass to pass by. Cass pushed through to her room without another word.

Wren felt a soft touch on his cheek just under his eye that made him flinch and brought his attention back to the world around him. He’d lost himself in the rhythm of their ceaseless steps, for some unknown amount of time. It took him several seconds to figure out what had touched him, but as he glanced around at their surroundings, he finally got a glimpse of something drifting on the meager wind.

A snowflake.

Once he noticed the first, it was easier to see the others, like dust or ash, gently settling around them. The flakes were small and widely spaced at first. Even when he looked directly up into the grey sky, it was several seconds before he felt another flake fall to his face.

Now that his awareness of his surroundings had been reawakened, however, he was startled by the marked change. Wren had traveled enough of the open to understand that most of the sprawling urban wasteland looked like a bad place to be. But somehow the shattered former city around them now made him feel powerfully threatened far beyond the usual.

“Swoop, where are we?” Wren asked, and his voice seemed harsh, though he’d barely spoken louder than a whisper.

Swoop’s head snapped around and he bounced his index finger off his mouth, motioning for Wren to keep quiet. They stopped moving and Swoop swept his eyes across the space around them. Then he bent low and put his face beside Wren’s head, so close Wren could smell the sweat coming from him. “About five klicks from the bridge, if we go straight through,” he whispered. “Gettin’ into the badlands now.”

He glanced up at the sky, watching the snow fall. The flakes were already bigger than they’d been a minute before. Swoop shook his head, and then looked back to Wren. “Eyes sharp, OK?”

Wren nodded. Swoop straightened again with one more look at the sky, and then turned and led them onwards.

Cass had stripped everything out of her pack and was reloading her smaller lighter slingpack. She didn’t know what, if anything, she’d need for this trip, and she wasn’t in much of a planning mood. She grabbed what looked best and tossed it in her go-bag.

“Some of us can come with you,” came Mouse’s voice from the door. Cass shook her head without looking at him. “Wick still needs a couple of more days, else we’d all be coming along, whether you wanted us to or not.”

“I’ll be moving fast, Mouse.”

“I’m not going to try to change your mind, Cass, but I hope you know we’re trying to do the right thing by you and your boy. All of us are.”

Cass just focused on her packing. Good enough. She closed it up and slung the strap over her shoulder. Cinched it tight against her body. She turned and faced the door, where Mouse was standing.

“Let us know when you get there,” Mouse said.

“I will.”

Mouse nodded and backed out of the door reluctantly. “Watch yourself out there,” he said as she passed by. She stopped next to him.

“This isn’t how I wanted things to go,” Cass said.

“I know.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too. We’ll catch up when we can.”

Lil was waiting for her by the front entrance. They exchanged a few brief words, warm but hurried. Lil led her out through the gates and, unexpectedly, embraced Cass before they parted ways. Cass thanked her a final time and started off at run, trusting that her body would perform what she demanded of it. East to the bridge, and then south.

The snow was falling steadily in big wet flakes, coating the ground in a thin layer of slick grey slush. Just deep enough to leave footprints. It looked pretty as it fell, though, and made everything feel more peaceful to Wren. It seemed somehow less likely that anything bad could happen when it was snowing.

“Alright, check,” Swoop whispered. He stopped walking and turned towards the boys, motioned them close. “Mama’s on the way.”

“I thought Guh, Gamble was going to keep her there,” Painter said.

“Said she’d try.”

“Is she mad?” Wren asked.

“I’d count on it.”

“Are we going to wuh, wuh… to wait for her?”

Swoop shook his head. “We can’t sit in one place for long. She’ll have to catch up on her own.”

He paused and scanned their surroundings, intensely, like he was looking for something in particular. He’d been leading them in a fairly predictable path for the first several miles, mostly straight ahead. But for the past half hour or so, Wren had noticed a change in their pace and their pattern of movement. Their progress had been inconsistent, with more pauses, and they’d taken to winding through different alleys, sometimes even doubling back.

Wren knew they weren’t lost, but it almost felt like that. For all the walking, they hadn’t made nearly as much progress towards the bridge as Wren would’ve expected. Wren was briefly tempted to check their location, but he’d decided it was too risky. If Asher was out there looking for him, he might be able to locate Wren’s signal.

Swoop lowered his head and leaned towards them again.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t want to scare you, but it’s best if you know. We picked up a couple of stragglers. Been trailin’ us about fifteen minutes now.”

“Who are they?” Painter asked.

“Nobody we want to meet. Keep your eyes up.”

They nodded, and then Swoop turned and led them forward. As they moved, Wren glanced behind them, looking for any sign of the people Swoop had seen. He didn’t notice anyone, but he understood in a flash why Swoop had been shaking his head at the sky earlier. Their trail was clearly marked; three sets of slushy footprints, highlighted by the edges with crusted white. The snow would cover it up eventually, but definitely not soon enough to hide their tracks from their pursuers. He hoped they wouldn’t have to fight anyone. But he checked his knife in his belt anyway.

Swoop took them through narrow streets and alleys, hemmed in on both sides by sagging tenements with holes through the walls. The amount of debris and rubble in the streets was more than Wren could ever remember seeing. It was almost like someone had picked up each of the surrounding buildings and shaken their contents out all over the street. Most of the junk had been transformed by the snow into white lumps with the occasional jagged edge or frayed cable poking out. Wren could hardly believe that anyone would be living out here. But he couldn’t escape the feeling that others were around them. And not just behind them. He felt sure they were on all sides.

The snowfall had lightened, the flakes smaller and swirling on the wind. But it was starting to accumulate in a thin sheet of white, almost like frost on top of the slush. Wren glanced to his left as they passed an alley and caught a glimpse of two figures at the far end. They seemed to have just been standing there, and Wren got the feeling that maybe they’d been waiting there.

Off to his right, a loud squawking call went up, echoed through the side streets. Further ahead on their left, it was answered by a screech. They sounded more like animal noises than any kind of human.

Swoop halted, and quickly scanned the narrow street ahead. Further down on the corner, a five-story building had collapsed in the center, looking as if some titanic fist had smashed the roof all the way to the foundation. Somewhere near the third or fourth floor, Wren could see a red door frame with the door still intact, right at the edge of the gaping hole. It was a strange detail to notice just then.

Swoop turned and grabbed Wren by the shoulder, and dragged him into a narrow space between two buildings. Not really an alley, it was barely wide enough for Swoop to walk down without his broad shoulders touching both sides. When they reached the midpoint, Swoop stopped and dropped to a knee.

“I gotta get out in front of these guys, see how many we’re dealin’ with. Wait here, stay low.”

“What if th-th-they find us?” Painter whispered in a harsh tone. “What do we do?”

“Fight. With everything you got. Be right back.”

Swoop continued down the alley and disappeared to the right. Wren drew his knife and gripped it tightly.

“Lean back against me,” he whispered to Painter. “You watch the way we came, I’ll watch this way.”

Painter scooted closer, so their backs were touching. It was some comfort knowing his back wasn’t completely exposed, but not much. There was a sharp noise from above them, like sheet metal falling flat — and then quickly silenced. It sounded like it came from a rooftop somewhere, but the way the noise carried made it impossible to pinpoint.

They waited in that narrow space for three terrible minutes. Wren’s heart leapt in fright when a silhouette appeared at his end of the alley, but it was just Swoop coming back. He only came part of the way towards them, and then motioned with his hand for them to follow quickly.

Wren reached back and patted Painter’s arm, and they rejoined Swoop.

Swoop bent close and whispered, “Looks like eight, maybe nine total. Trying to ring us in. We need to keep movin’.”

“Can’t you just shoot ’em?” Painter asked.

Swoop shook his head. “Last resort. Real low on ammo, and there’s no telling what else that much noise might bring. Come on.”

He didn’t wait for a response before turning back around and leading them out. They paused at the end for a second while Swoop scanned, and then he stepped out and grabbed Wren’s coat again.

“There,” Swoop said in an intense whisper, and he pointed across an open stretch to a wider alley on the other side. “Run there.” He gave Wren a little shove, and then walked out into lane with his weapon up and ready. Wren ran to the alley as he was told, with Painter right behind him. As he ran, he noticed there were already footprints in the snow. A bunch of them.

They made it to the alley and stopped. A few moments later Swoop followed them in, and then passed by.

“Come on, with me,” he said.

They kept moving like that, leapfrogging from alley to alley. Every time Swoop wanted them to start, stop, or reposition, he’d grab some part of Wren or his coat and drag him around: an arm, a shoulder, once behind his neck. It hurt a little. But Swoop knew right where he wanted everyone to be, and he had no problem putting them there. Wren still hadn’t seen who was chasing them, but he could hear their strange calls back and forth.

Swoop held them in place for a moment, and leaned out weapon first to check if it was clear. He kept his gun up and shouldered, but he let go of it with his left hand to reach for Wren. Just as he did so, there was a funny tonk sound, and Swoop grunted and fell back hard against the wall of the alley. He slid part way down, but caught himself, and managed to push Wren and Painter back away from the entrance. He motioned for them to go back the way they’d come.

But Wren noticed Swoop wasn’t standing up straight, he was kind of hunched over to his left, and when Wren looked down, he gasped. There was what looked like a six-inch-long steel rod sticking out of Swoop’s middle, about two inches below and to the left of his heart.

“Go, go,” Swoop said.

They backtracked, but as they came out into the open space, there were three figures further down the street. Scrapers. One of them let out a high-pitched whoop.

They were too far away for Wren to make out many details, but he saw enough to know he would rather fight to the death than be caught by them.

Swoop forced Painter and Wren to cut to their right, but as they crossed the mouth of another alley, they saw two more scrapers heading their way. Swoop drove them towards another gap between buildings, but when they entered it, they saw the far end was blocked by a wall of debris.

Instead of turning around, though, Swoop pushed them further in. Wren didn’t understand why, unless he was just trying to get distance between them. He was going to have to gun them down as they entered. But then Wren understood. He hadn’t seen it from the other end, but as they got closer, he saw a gap in the ground.

It was a stairwell that led down to a door a few feet below street level. Swoop shepherded them down the steps.

“There, back against the door. Make yourselves as small as you can.”

Wren did as he was told, and balled himself up in the corner. Painter squatted down beside him.

Swoop sprawled on his back in what seemed like a terribly uncomfortable position on the stairs, with his legs kicked wide for support. Across his body he laid his weapon, pointed back down the alley and braced on his right fist, which he rested on the lip where the ground met the stairwell. Very little of Swoop would be visible from the opening of the alley, but Wren had no doubt that Swoop had a clear and deadly view. The rod was still jutting out of his ribcage, and it made Wren feel sick to see it, but Swoop didn’t seem to be paying any attention to it.

Wren pressed his hands over his ears, knowing at any second one or more of their pursuers would round the corner, and Swoop would open fire. Every pounding heartbeat seemed like the last one before the fight would start. But Swoop didn’t shoot.

Wren uncovered his ears and listened. Painter was panting next to him. Swoop might’ve been holding his breath for all the sound he was making. And there was the soft patter of snow falling. There was a cry from one of the scrapers, and another several seconds later. And then all was still.

They waited ten maybe fifteen minutes there in that alley, waiting for the end to come. But nothing ever happened. Swoop finally took the time to glance down at the thing sticking out of him. He grunted again, like he was unimpressed.

He sat up part way, and shifted position so he was seated on one of the stairs, with his weapon still pointed at the entrance. He transferred the grip back over to his right hand, and then with his left, he took hold of the rod and waggled it back and forth with a grimace. It didn’t budge.

“Well,” he said. “Don’t that beat all. Painter, come gimme a hand here.”

Painter looked at Wren with a pained expression, but he reluctantly went to Swoop.

“Get a good hold on the end there,” Swoop said, indicating the rod. “And pull it straight back. Pull, don’t yank. And straight. Nothin’ side-to-side, alright?”

Painter nodded and took hold of the tail end. “Ready?” he asked.

“Do it.”

Painter strained for a moment, which made the wound seem even more terrible to Wren, but then it came free with a metallic pop.

“Figures,” Swoop said. “Of all the places it could go.”

Wren looked more closely and could see now that whatever the thing was that had been sticking out of Swoop moments ago, it’d actually gone through one of the magazine pouches on his chest harness first. Whatever was inside was surely destroyed, but it’d very likely saved Swoop’s life.

“So we’re real low on ammo now,” he said, taking the damaged magazines out and looking at them briefly. “But I’m only a little nicked.” He pulled his harness away from his body and Wren saw a wet crimson spot on the garment beneath.

“Guess that’s a good tr-trade?” Painter said, still holding the rod. Some kind of projectile, though Wren didn’t know what kind of weapon it had come from. It was about eight inches long, cylindrical, and sharpened to a stake-like point. About an inch of the point was bloody.

“Would’ve rather taken the hit and had the ammo,” Swoop said.

“Are you OK?” Wren asked.

“Yeah. Burns a little, but I’ll be fine.”

“What happened to the scrapers?” Wren asked Swoop.

“Let’s go see.” Swoop got to his feet, and started moving cautiously towards the end of the alley, weapon up and ready. “Stay close behind me.”

Wren fell in behind Swoop and put his hand on the man’s back. Painter came along right behind Wren, with his hand on Wren’s shoulder. Together the trio edged their way to the end of the alley.

“Well, that’s something,” Swoop said. He paused and lowered his weapon. Wren peered around Swoop, and then immediately wished he hadn’t.

Two of the scrapers were lying in the street. One on his back, the other face down. Both in puddles bright red upon the snow.

“What h-h-happened to them?” Painter whispered.

Swoop shook his head. “No idea. Don’t think we want to find out, either.”

He didn’t waste time moving out. There were several more scrapers lying in the snow in both directions, and as they made their way towards the bridge, they came across yet more. More than eight or nine, though Wren wasn’t really keeping count by then. He mostly tried not to look at any of them.

It was another half hour or so before they came within sight of the Windspan. Calling it a large bridge had been a massive understatement. It didn’t seem especially wide, no more than maybe two normal streets side-by-side. But it looked like it was miles long. And now that he saw it, Wren understood why it was so much of a time-saver on the way to Morningside. And too, he guessed at how it’d gotten its name.

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.”