Fragments

by Dan Wells

  They heard noise in the lobby, and Samm had his gun in his hand before Kira even realized he’d brought it over with him. He lowered it quickly, though, when Heron appeared. She paused for a moment in the doorway as she saw them together, but only for a moment.

  “Pack up,” she said. “We move out now.”

  Samm looked at her, silent, then quickly rose to finish packing the food. Kira followed Heron from the kitchen to the main room of the restaurant, where she began saddling Oddjob. “You saw something?” asked Kira.

  Heron pulled the buckles tight on Oddjob’s saddle and moved on to Bobo. “Green.”

  “What do you mean ‘green’?”

  “The color,” said Heron. “I assume you’re familiar with it?”

  “You saw the color green?” asked Kira. “You mean, like, grass?” Heron nodded, and Kira’s jaw fell open. “How far did you go?”

  “Twenty stories,” said Heron, finishing with Bobo’s saddle. “You gonna help?”

  “Sure,” said Kira, jogging to her bedroll and packing her sparse gear as quickly as she could. “Just keep explaining things so I don’t have to stop every five seconds to ask another question.”

  “This is one of the tallest buildings in the area,” said Heron, “so instead of scouting out into the city I climbed to the top to see what I could see. And I saw green—grass, trees, everything—in the direction of Rocky Flats. A little patch of it pressed up into the foothills of the mountains.”

  “Right where the ParaGen building is supposed to be?” asked Samm.

  “I couldn’t tell,” said Heron, throwing her gear onto her back. “But I’m pretty sure I saw smoke over there as well.”

  “There’s smoke everywhere,” said Kira. “Half this city’s on fire.”

  “Those are chemical fires,” said Heron. “This one looked suspiciously like a cooking fire. That’s why I want to make sure I get there before dark—if there’s someone there, they might find us before we find them, and that could be a problem. You can try to catch up, but I’m not waiting for you.” She slipped out the door, rifle in hand, and ran through the lobby to the city beyond.

  Kira looked at Samm. “People?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then let’s go find out.”

  They finished packing in a frenzy, wincing with stiff, ragged muscles as they secured their final pieces on the horses’ backs and raced out into the city. It had rained in the night, and the city was even more treacherous because of it: Showers of acid dripped off the roofs, and twisted, alien plants had bloomed like tumors from the cracks in the street, soaking in the poison like sponges and streaking it in painful burns against the legs of anyone who stepped too close.

  They followed the best landmark they could find—a tall, dark building that seemed to rise up more or less in the right direction. As the day wore on, they began to suspect that the black skyscraper might actually be the ParaGen building—nestled at the base of the mountains, a lonely spire beckoning them onward. Samm and Kira made the best time they could, pushing the horses beyond their limit, but when night fell again, they had only reached the outskirts of Arvada. The city here was as acid-washed and desolate as the rest.

  “We can’t just stop,” said Kira. “It’s, like, right there.” She pointed at the black spire and the mountains beyond, now so close that they towered over them. “I can’t just camp down for the night if the thing we’ve been looking for is right there, just . . . We have to keep going.”

  “We can barely see,” said Samm, glancing at the myriad streetlights, useless in a world without electricity. “It’s dark, the horses are beat, and that much cloud cover means rain.”

  Kira growled in frustration, clenching her hands into fists as she turned, casting around for anything she could find that might solve her problem. She spied a grocery store and pulled Bobo toward it. “There. We’ll leave the horses and go on foot.” They unsaddled the horses in a break room in the back of the store, filling a plastic tub with as much bottled water as they could scrounge, and closed the door to keep them from wandering away. Kira emptied most of her pack as well, bringing only the essentials: water, a heavy tarp for protection, and the depowered computer screen with all the information they’d downloaded at the Chicago data center; she didn’t want to go anywhere without it. Samm brought his rifle and several clips of ammunition, and Kira realized she should do the same. Prepped and ready, they stole out into the night. The sky was clearing, and the starlight made the city look blank and colorless.

  Arvada was less industrial than much of the city they’d walked through, though this only made it more depressing in the toxic fallout—instead of bleached buildings, they walked through dry, dusty parks and residential streets full of drooping houses and stunted, misshapen trees. Samm seemed more nervous than eager, but his mood turned when they came upon a wide lake of fresh water—not just saltless but literally fresh, completely clean of the poisons and chemicals that had plagued all water they’d passed in a month. A breeze blew gently from the mountains, and Kira smelled clean air for the first time in weeks: green leaves, fresh fruit, and . . . Yes, she thought, just a hint of baked bread.

  What’s going on here?

  The land beyond the lake was green—they couldn’t see it, but they could smell it in the air, and feel it in the soft give of the healthy grass beneath their feet. Somehow, against all logic, there was a patch of healthy grass at the base of the mountain, stretching out from the fence that marked the borders of the Rocky Flats Preserve. Kira frowned and approached the fence carefully. It was old and rusty, but the land beyond it was rich and verdant, even in the darkness. An oasis of life, thriving in the midst of desolation. The black spire rose up like a gash in the sky. Lights flickered through the trees, and Kira raised her gun protectively.

  Samm nodded to the right, and they followed the fence as quietly as they could, slipping through the healthy grass and bushes that surrounded the mysterious complex. Soon they came upon a wide gate, open and empty, and they watched it from the shadows for nearly ten minutes before determining that it was, indeed, unguarded. Thick undergrowth around the base of the gate made Kira suspect it hadn’t been closed in years.

  “Does somebody live here?” Kira whispered.

  “I . . .” Samm seemed lost for words. “I have no idea.”

  “Is there an outpost here?” she asked. “Some kind of . . . Partial base or . . .”

  “I would have said something if I’d known.”

  “Well, who else could it be?”

  They stared at the open gate, trying to work up the nerve to enter.

  “We still haven’t found Heron,” said Samm. “She could be in there, or she could be hiding and waiting for us.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Kira crept forward, gun ready. She wasn’t about to stall, not when they were so close, not if there was a Partial settlement here. After a moment, Samm seemed to agree and follow her.

  They walked past the fence into the bizarre paradise beyond. Kira marveled, awestruck by the vibrant plant life that surrounded them, and again they saw the lights—fires, Kira was certain, but unlike the smoldering disasters in the city, these seemed small and controlled, just as Heron had said. Campfires, or bonfires. They crept through the darkness, and soon they heard them.

  Voices. Happy voices, laughing and singing, with another sound in the midst of it, something Kira had thought she’d never hear again. She broke into a run, all caution forgotten, and when she saw them she dropped to her knees, too overcome with emotion to run or speak or even think.

  Children.

  The bonfire leapt and crackled in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by low buildings and a crowd of dancing people, and dancing through the midst of them were children—infants and preteens, ten-year-olds and toddlers. Dozens of children of every age and size, laughing and whooping and clapping their hands, singing as a small band played pipes and fiddles in the firelight. Kira sank into the grass and cried, weepin
g and sobbing and trying to talk, but there were no words. Samm knelt beside her and she clung to him, holding him, pointing to the children, and Samm was trying to pull her away but all she wanted to do was get closer, to see them for herself, to touch them and hold them. They had seen her now, the children and the adults and everyone; the music had stopped, and the singing, and they were rising to their feet in shock and surprise. Samm tried again to pull Kira to her feet, and she finally managed to speak to the crowd of strangers inching toward them.

  “You have children.”

  A semicircle of strangers spread loosely in front of them, and Kira noticed now that they were holding spears and bows and here and there a gun. A young woman about Kira’s age stepped forward with a hunting rifle, aiming it with practiced expertise at Kira’s chest.

  “Drop your weapons.”

  PART 4

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Who are you?” asked Samm.

  The girl with the rifle kept a perfect bead on Kira’s chest. “I said drop your weapons.”

  Samm dumped his rifle on the ground. Kira was too shocked to move, still staring at the children, and Samm pulled her rifle from her shoulder and threw it down in the grass. “We’re not here to hurt you,” he said. “We just want to know who you are.”

  The girl lowered the hunting rifle slightly, no longer sighting down the barrel but keeping it pointed in their general direction. She had long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, and her leather vest seemed rough and homemade. “You first,” she said. “Where’d you come from? No one’s crossed the mountains in twelve years.”

  Kira shook her head, finally finding her voice. “Not the mountains, the wasteland. We’re from New York.”

  The blond girl raised her eyebrow, and the crowd of people around her murmured in disbelief. An older woman stepped forward, holding a small child in her arms, and Kira stared at the little boy like he was a miracle in human form: three years old, plump and rosy-cheeked, his face streaked with dirt and whatever sticky food he’d had for dinner. He stared back at Kira in perfect innocence, studying her as if she were the most normal thing in the world, and then smiling as he caught her eye. Kira couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Well?” the woman demanded. “Are you going to answer?”

  “What?” asked Kira.

  “I said that you couldn’t have come from the Badlands,” said the woman, “because the wasteland is all that’s left.”

  Samm put a hand on Kira’s shoulder. “I think you tuned out, staring at the child.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Kira, and rose to her feet. The crowd stepped back, but kept their weapons ready. Samm stood beside her, and she gripped his hand for support. “It’s just that . . . it looks like we have a lot of explaining to do. On both sides. Let’s start over.” She looked at the blond girl. “Start with the basics—are you humans or Partials?”

  The older woman narrowed her eyes, and there was no mistaking the anger in them. Kira knew at once that this woman was human. Best to pretend we are, too, thought Kira.

  “My name is Kira Walker, and this is Samm. I’m a medic from the human settlement on Long Island, on the East Coast—up until five minutes ago we thought it was the last human settlement in the world, and from the way you’re talking, I bet you used to think more or less the same thing about this place. We had no way of knowing there were survivors out here, but . . . here you are. And here we are.” She held her hand out, ready to shake. “Greetings from—” She stopped herself right before saying another human being, and felt a sudden pang of loss deep in her gut. She couldn’t say that anymore. She swallowed and mumbled out an alternate end to the sentence. “—another human community.”

  Kira kept her hand out, wiping her eyes with her other hand. The armed settlers stared at her in silence. After a moment the blond girl jerked her head toward the east. “You crossed the Badlands?”

  Kira nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You must be starving.” She lowered the rifle completely and took Kira’s hand; it was just as rough and calloused as her own. “My name’s Calix. Come over to the fire and have some food.”

  Samm collected their rifles, and he and Kira followed Calix back toward the bonfire; some of the locals were still watching them warily, but they seemed more curious than scared. Kira couldn’t help but reach for the nearest child, a girl of about nine, but pulled her hand back before touching her curly black hair. The girl saw her, smiled, and grabbed Kira’s hand.

  “My name’s Bayley,” said the girl.

  Kira laughed, too overcome with joy to know how to respond. “It’s very nice to meet you, Bayley. You remind me of my sister. Her name is Ariel.”

  “That’s a pretty name,” said Bayley. “I don’t have a sister, just brothers.”

  Everything about this place seemed magical—that Kira was talking to a child, and that the child had brothers. “How many?” asked Kira, barely able to contain her excitement.

  “Three,” said Bayley. “Roland’s the oldest, but Mama says I’m more responsible.”

  “I don’t doubt that for a minute,” said Kira, and sat down on a low bench by the bonfire. A handful of children ran up to gawk at the newcomers, then scampered off, too full of energy to stop for more than a second. A portly man in a greasy apron handed her a plate of mashed potatoes liberally whipped together with garlic and chives and covered with a gob of smoky white cheese, and before she could thank him, he ladled on a pile of rich, meaty chili. The smell of hot peppers tickled her nose, and her mouth watered, but she was too overwhelmed to eat a single bite. Another little girl poured her a glass of cool water, and Kira guzzled it gratefully. Samm thanked everyone softly, nibbling politely on the food, but kept his focus on the people and the area around them, ever wary.

  Calix and the older woman who’d spoken before pulled up a bench and sat in front of them. The three-year-old boy in her arms wriggled to the ground and ran off to play. “Eat,” said the woman, “but talk between bites. Your arrival is . . . well, like you said. We didn’t think there were any other humans left. And giving you dinner doesn’t mean we trust you. At least, not yet.” She gave a tight smile. “My name’s Laura; I’m kind of the mayor around here.”

  Kira set down her food. “I’m so sorry about before, Laura—I didn’t mean to ignore you, it’s just that—how do you have children?”

  Laura laughed. “Same way everybody does.”

  “But that’s the thing,” said Kira, “none of us can.” She had a sudden thought and leapt to her feet in terror, afraid of what she might have brought into the settlement with her. “Do you not have RM?”

  “Of course we have RM,” said Calix. “Everybody does.” She paused, frowning at Kira. “Are you saying you don’t have the cure?”

  “You have a cure?”

  Calix seemed just as surprised as Kira. “How can you survive without the cure?”

  “How did you do it?” asked Kira. “Is it the pheromone—have you been able to synthesize it?”

  “What pheromone?”

  “The Partial pheromone,” said Kira, “that was our best lead. Is that not how you do it? Please, you have to tell me—we have to get this back to East Meadow—”

  “Of course it’s not a Partial pheromone,” said Laura. “The Partials are all dead, too.” She paused, glancing back and forth nervously from Samm to Kira. “Unless you’ve got some bad news to go with the good stuff.”

  “I wouldn’t necessary call it ‘bad,’” said Samm, but Kira cut him off before he could say any more; the people here were suspicious enough already, there was no point in telling them their newcomers were Partials until they’d built up a little more trust.

  “The Partials are still alive,” said Kira. “Not all of them, maybe half a million, give or take. Some are . . . nicer than others.”

  “Half a million,” said Calix, obviously shocked by the sheer size of the number. “That’s . . .” She sat back as if she didn’t know what to say.


  “How many humans?” asked Laura.

  “I used to know exactly,” said Kira, “but these days I’d guess about thirty-five thousand.”

  “Thank God,” said Laura, and Kira saw tears streaming down the woman’s face. Even Calix seemed pleased, as if the second number was a match for the first. Kira grew suspicious—it was almost as if the girl didn’t really understand the size of either number.

  Kira leaned forward. “How many of you are here?”

  “Almost two thousand,” said Laura, and smiled with bittersweet pride. “We expect to pass it in the next few months, but . . . thirty-five thousand. I’ve never dreamed there would be so many.”

  “What’s it like?” asked Calix. She addressed the question to Kira, but kept stealing glances at Samm. “The world outside the Preserve? We’ve explored some of the mountains, and we’ve tried to explore the Badlands, but it’s too big. We thought it covered the whole world.”

  “Just the Midwest,” said Samm, “and not even all of it. From here to the Mississippi River, more or less.”

  “Tell me about the cure,” said Kira, trying to steer the conversation back to this most important element. “If you didn’t get it from Partials, what is it? How do you make it? How did any of you survive the Break in the first place?”

  “That’s Dr. Vale’s work,” said Laura. “Calix, run and see if he’s still up, he’ll want to meet our visitors.” Calix stood, taking a last look at Samm, and ran into the darkness. Laura turned back to Kira. “He’s the one who saved us when RM first hit—well, not right away. It was a few weeks later, about the time everyone started to realize that this was really the end. He grabbed as many of us as he could, friends of friends and whoever we could find that was still alive. And he gave us the cure, which I guess he must have synthesized himself, somehow. Then we holed up here in the Preserve.”

  “You’ve had the cure that long?” asked Kira. She stammered for a minute, uncertain how to ask the next question politely, then gave up and asked directly. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? Why didn’t you save as many people as you could?”