by Dan Wells
“She’ll still be able to find us,” said Samm.
Marcus looked up. “Who?”
“Heron. Special Ops. No matter what we do to cover our tracks, she’ll find us.”
The car made good time — not too speedy, because the roads were buckled and treacherous, but still faster than they could have gone on foot. Across the bridge they joined a major highway, taking the time to glance back for pursuers, but there was nothing they could see. Several miles later the road turned sharply north, and they left it to drive south through a rural, wooded suburb. The roads were narrow and twisty, curving back on themselves in unpredictable patterns, and soon they gave up on the car and left it on a side street nearly buried in overhanging foliage. Kira stopped to scour the closest house for clothing, but the area was thick with humidity, and everything inside was rotted and unusable.
Samm could smell the ocean, but none of the humans could; Kira swore she could smell it too, a salty bite on the edge of her perception. She didn’t tell anyone. They cut a path south and west, winding carefully through already sparse neighborhoods now almost fully reclaimed by nature. Saplings grew up not just around but in the houses, kudzu and mold and moisture breaking them down until their roofs were caved in and their walls were sagging with untended life. Flowers sprouted from porches; weeds sprang up from furniture half glimpsed through shattered windows. When they reached the harbor, Kira breathed deeply, as if freed from an airless cavern.
“We’re on the wrong side,” said Marcus, pointing. “Houses over here, wharf over there.”
“Looks like bigger houses to the south,” said Jayden. “One of them’s bound to have a private dock.” They skirted the waterfront, half searching for a boat and half watching behind for an ambush. Kira had seen Heron in action; she’d lost a fight to her in seconds. She didn’t want to have to fight her again.
“There,” said Xochi, and they broke into a run. A long white dock stretched out from the shore, beaten by the elements until it was practically driftwood, and at the end bobbed a wide motorboat with a tattered canvas awning. Jayden leaped in, looking in the dashboard compartments for a set of keys, while Samm searched the dock itself for extra tanks of gas. Neither found anything, and they cursed and ran to the next house along the shore. This one had a small sailboat, which none of them could pilot, but it had a small motor, and the keys were in the ignition. The engine turned over on the seventh try. Samm found gas cans, but they were empty.
“You’ll need extra just in case,” he said. “We’re much farther east than our last crossing, and the sound here is two or three times as wide.”
He took the cans toward the house, ready to take gas from the cars, but Kira stopped him. “What do you mean, you’ll need gas?” she asked. “You’re not coming?”
Samm shook his head, looking out at the water, up at the house, anywhere but at Kira. “Your people will kill me.”
“The Partials will kill you, too,” said Kira. “You’re a traitor now. At least with us you’ll have … something, friends, I don’t know. We can help each other.”
“You’re a wanted terrorist,” he said. “Lot of good we’d do each other.” He began moving toward the house.
She watched him, then looked back at the others. “I’m going to help him with the gas.” Marcus glowered at the dock but said nothing.
Samm and Kira trudged up the short hill to the house, which turned out to be some kind of beachhead resort. The parking lot was filled with cars, one of them even sporting a skeleton, and Samm got to work crawling underneath and puncturing their gas tanks with his knife, letting the degraded, sludgy fuel drip down into the cans. Kira wanted to talk to him, to ask him about what she was — just to say it aloud, I am a Partial, but she didn’t dare. She paced uselessly, hemming and hawing, starting and stopping, so afraid to talk that she could barely even think. Finally she gave up, and she let the old habits take over, eyeing the old cars for anything she could salvage. Most of the cars were packed with luggage — people fleeing the virus? Fleeing the country? — and the tightly sealed suitcases revealed clothes in much better condition than the rags she’d found before. She found clean underwear, rugged jeans that mostly fit, and an armful of shirts and socks that she brought with her just in case.
“So,” said Samm. He was sitting on the ground, the gas cans scattered around him.
Kira paused, holding the clothes. “So.”
Kira looked at him, at his face, at his eyes. She’d felt so close to him, and now… Was it the link? Maybe she really could do it, in some smaller way, and that’s what she’d been feeling. She shook her head, lost in conflicting emotions. Had their connection been nothing but some kind of Partial biological quirk, or had it been real?
If it was only the link, did that make it less real? And if she could connect that deeply with someone, did it really matter how?
“You really didn’t know?” He squinted at her in the fading sunlight. “You really thought you were…” He trailed off, and Kira felt grateful he hadn’t said it out loud.
“I had no idea. I’m still not convinced.”
“You’re definitely not like me,” he said, “but you’re”—he nodded at her friends—“not like them either. You can’t link, and yet I almost feel like you can, like there’s something between us that… I don’t know. I don’t know what you are.”
Kira opened her mouth to respond, but she didn’t know either. “I’m Kira Walker,” she said finally. “What else is there to know?”
Samm said nothing, merely gathered the gas cans.
“You can come with us,” she said. “We can hide you somewhere, in the farms or some little community. You’ll be safe there.”
Samm looked at her now, brown eyes as deep as wells. “Is that really what you want? To hide and be safe?”
Kira sighed. “I know even less about what I want right now than about who I am. I want to be safe. I want to know what’s going on.” She felt her resolve stiffen. “I want to find who did this, and why.”
“ParaGen,” said Samm. “They made us, they made you, and if your theory’s right about the pheromone, they made RM too.”
Kira smirked. “You always said you didn’t do it.”
The corner of Samm’s mouth turned up, just a bit, in the tiniest hint of a smile. “When did you start to believe me?”
Kira looked at the ground, kicking at a rock with the toe of her shoe. “I said what I want.” She looked up. “What about you?”
“What do I want?” Samm paused, considering the question with his typical solemnity. “The same thing as you, I guess. I want to know what’s going on, and why. And I want to fix it. After everything that’s happened, I’m more convinced than ever that peace—”
“Isn’t possible?”
“I was going to say that it’s the only chance we have.”
Kira laughed dryly. “You really do have an amazing knack for saying exactly what I want to hear.”
“You learn what you can,” said Samm, “and I’ll do the same. If we ever see each other again, we’ll share.”
“We’ll share what we’ve learned.”
“Yeah.”
They waited a moment longer, watching each other, remembering each other, and Kira thought for a moment she could even feel the link tying them together like an invisible wire. They walked back below, lugging the clothes and gas. Samm set them heavily in the boat.
“This should get you across,” he said, “assuming the motor holds.”
Jayden fired it up again, and the boat roared to life. He shook Samm’s hand. “Thanks for your help. I’m sorry for the way I treated you before.”
“Not necessary, but thanks.”
Xochi shook his hand as well, and then Marcus, though he never met his eyes. Kira climbed into the boat and offered around the shirts and socks to anyone who wanted a change. Marcus stepped in last, untying the ropes as he came.
“Where are you going from here?” he asked.
“I tho
ught I’d try to hide,” said Samm, “but I figure it’s too late for that now.” He glanced back at the trees. “Heron’s right there.” Kira and her friends started, reaching for their weapons, but Samm shrugged. “She hasn’t attacked, so I don’t know what her game is.”
“You’re sure you’ll be okay?” asked Kira.
“If she wanted me dead, she’d have done it by now.”
Jayden gunned the motor and pulled away from the dock.
Kira watched Samm as he slipped into the distance and slowly disappeared from view.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Their motor gave out more quickly now than on the first crossing, and despite their extra gas, they found themselves rowing most of the way across. The currents carried them east, and they saw the island long before they managed to pull in close and land the boat. Night had fallen, and they took shelter in an old beach house, grabbing a few hours of sleep before moving on. At first light Kira scoured the place for food, but the cans in the pantry were bloated, and the food inside smelled rank when they opened them up. They set them aside and searched instead for a map, eventually finding an atlas near a collapsed bookshelf. There was no detailed section for Long Island, just a larger map of New York in general, but it was better than nothing — she recognized enough of the names to know where they were going, and hoped that some of the road signs outside would help them discover where they were.
They parceled out the guns they had left — a rifle, a shotgun, and two pistols — and traveled quietly, wary of the Voice and Defense Grid patrols. Kira cradled the syringe as carefully as she could, wrapping it in a ball of extra shirts and strapping it around her waist for protection. She said a silent prayer that there would still be time to save Arwen, and watched the shadows for danger.
After barely an hour of walking, Kira began to recognize the terrain — so much of the island looked alike, crumbling houses buried in kudzu and surrounded by trees, but something about the road itself seemed familiar. The way it curved, or rose, or fell; she couldn’t place it. After a moment she stopped scanning the forested road with a frown.
“We’ve been here before.”
“We haven’t even turned,” said Jayden. “How could we have been here before?”
“Not this morning,” said Kira. “I just … there.” She pointed to a house set back from the road. “Do you recognize it?”
The others peered at it, and Marcus’s eyes went wide with surprise when the realization hit him. “Is that the drifter’s hideout? Tovar?”
“I’m pretty sure,” said Kira. “Maybe he has some food stashed in there.”
As they approached, it became more obvious — they’d only seen the front at night, in the rain, but they’d seen the back more clearly, and they recognized it immediately. Kira tried the doors, trying to remember which one the old drifter had left unblocked, but froze in place when she heard the click of a gun hammer.
“Just stop right there,” said a voice. It was definitely him. Kira took her hands from the doorknob and held them up to show they were empty.
“Owen Tovar,” said Kira. The others were standing silently, guns raised, searching for wherever the voice could be coming from. The drifter had a knack for staying hidden. “It’s me, Kira Walker. Do you recognize us?”
“The four most wanted criminals in Long Island?” he said. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure we recognize you.”
We, thought Kira. Who else is in there?
“‘Most wanted,’ huh?” asked Marcus. “My mother always said I’d be famous one day. Or at least I assume she did.”
“I’m going to ask you to set your weapons down now,” said Tovar. “Nice and easy, right at your feet.”
“We came here because we thought you were a friend,” said Kira. “We need food — we’re not here to rob you.”
Tovar’s voice was lean and cold. “Is that why you drew your weapons and tried the door without knocking?”
“We didn’t want to wake Dolly,” said Marcus. There was a pause, and Tovar laughed; Kira thought it was coming from a vent near the top of the wall, but she couldn’t be sure.
“I forgot how much I liked you,” he said. “Looks like you’re not being followed, so go ahead and put down those guns, and you can come on in for a chat.”
Kira looked at Jayden, who shrugged and set down his rifle carefully by his feet. Marcus and Xochi followed, and Kira did the same. If we’re about to get robbed…, she thought, then shook her head. We have nothing — surely he can see that. The only valuable we have is the cure, and nobody knows about it.
“There you go,” said Tovar. “Now, say hello to my friends.” A bush moved to the left and Kira flinched, and then another bush moved, and a boarded-up window swung open, and suddenly the backyard was filled with men and women in various forms of camouflage and homemade armor, all of them armed.
“Easy,” said the woman in front, and Kira thought she recognized the voice. “Keep your hands in the air and step away from the guns.”
“Gianna,” said Kira, realization dawning. “You were with us last time we came here — you were on the salvage run that found the bomb.”
“Kira Walker,” said Gianna with a smile. She glanced at Jayden, and her expression soured. “And the fascist plague baby. Keep those hands where I can see them.”
“What is this?” demanded Kira. “Are you … the Voice?”
“The very same,” said Tovar, stepping out of the back door with his fat black shotgun on his hip. “The new regime is out in force, rounding up refugees and runaways. I don’t know if it’s good luck or bad that we found you first.”
“You’re the Voice,” said Marcus, as if still trying to get his head around it. He laughed. “That might be the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard — and you,” he said, turning to Gianna. “Were you the Voice back then, too?”
“Not until after,” she said. “I get testy when I’m detained without cause.”
“Still, though,” said Jayden, “you were a sympathizer. I was right not to trust you.”
“Even a paranoid clock is being followed twice a day,” said Tovar. He gestured to the open door. “Come inside so we can reset our trap. If the Grid does drop by, I don’t want to be caught in the open flapping my gums.”
They filed inside while the Voice went back into hiding. Tovar led them down one hall while Gianna locked the door and took their guns down another. Inside, the house was more or less as Kira remembered it, including the laconic camel in the living room.
“Hello, Dolly,” said Marcus. “Long time no see.”
Xochi offered her hand to Tovar. “Looks like you know everyone else. I’m Xochi.”
“Xochi Kessler,” said Tovar, ignoring her hand as he searched in his wagon for food. “Or should I say ‘the infamous Xochi Kessler.’ Your poor mother is worried sick.”
“My poor mother can go and hang herself.”
“She’d much rather hang you,” said Tovar, handing her a can of ravioli. “I’m still looking for the can opener.” He turned back to the wagon. “I did mention that you’re wanted criminals, yes? Bounties on your heads, posters in the town square, the whole bit. Here it is.” He turned back to them, pointing at Kira with a rubber-handled can opener. “She’s the great betrayer, the Partial-lover, the ringleader of the whole thing. These two are the dupes who went along with it.” He pointed back at Xochi. “You’re the ungrateful daughter: the symbol of how anyone can believe the Voice lies and go traitor.” He handed her the can opener. “I’ll look for spoons.”
“Who’s in charge now?” asked Kira. “What happened after we left?”
“After you personally threw the island into anarchy, you mean,” said Tovar, handing her a set of mismatched silverware.
“How much did they say about us?” asked Kira.
“That you were in league with the Voice, who are in turn in league with the Partials. That you broke into the hospital and broke a Partial agent out of Grid imprisonment, and are currently either h
iding in the wild or escaping to the mainland to aid in a Partial invasion. How much of it should I believe?”
Kira spoke carefully. “I guess that depends on how you feel about Partials.”
Tovar sat on the couch across from her, watching Kira carefully. “Aside from murdering everyone I know, the Partials haven’t really been a big part of my life. Consider my opinion ‘generally very poor.’ That said, I figure if they wanted us dead, we’d be dead, so if you have another perspective, I’m listening.”
Kira nodded. “Do you consider yourself an open-minded man, Mr. Tovar?”
“I’d like to think so.”
“It’s going to have to open really wide to swallow what we’ve got to tell you,” said Marcus. “Number one: The Partials didn’t create RM.”
“And they’re not looking to destroy us. At least not all of them,” said Kira. “At least not yet. Which leads us to number two: Yes, we were in league with a Partial. We broke him out and took him off the island, and then he helped us get back here.”
“Mother of mercy,” said Tovar. “And that caused the riot?”
“It’s the other way around,” said Kira sheepishly. “We started the riot as a distraction for the jailbreak.”
Tovar whistled. “You don’t mess around.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Is that everything?” he asked.
“For now,” said Jayden. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Where to start,” Tovar mused. “Two nights ago you spread your rumor, started your riot, and left right when it was getting interesting. The coliseum burned, though not to the ground; the town hall also burned, with more than a handful of senators inside it.”
Kira went white, thinking of Isolde. We thought it would be safe there. Did she die inside it? “What about the hospital?”
“The hospital was never set on fire, though I can’t say as much for the houses across the turnpike. The hospital was, on the other hand, the home of the biggest riot of the night, and the body count was, shall we say, high.”
“Are the mothers okay? How many people died?”
