“So you’ve kissed him, too,” said Marcus. “This is becoming an intensely confusing and uncomfortable conversation.”
“I’m so sorry, Marcus. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” said Marcus, though he was obviously struggling to find the right words. “We’re both pretty flawless specimens—I can barely choose between us either.”
Kira laughed. “My choices were so much easier to make when I thought the apocalypse was making them for me.”
“The apocalypse is still young,” said Marcus dryly. “Do you honestly think we’re all going to live through the next few days? Maybe you’ll die and I’ll end up with Samm.”
“Better him than Heron,” said Kira. “Whatever you do, stay away from her.”
“Done and done,” said Marcus. “I’ve only met her once, but . . . holy crap. If anyone does die in the next few days, I won’t be surprised if she’s the one pulling the trigger.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The Partial army didn’t arrive that day, and Kira’s refugees made it to the second outpost at Cross Bay Bridge without trouble. They lit their fires and huddled together through the night, listening for the sound of the Grid’s defensive traps and explosives, but they heard nothing.
“They’re not coming,” said Samm.
“Or they found the traps and disarmed them,” said Heron. She grinned at the nearby humans wolfishly. “Sorry, I’m a bit of an optimist.”
“Whose side are you on?” asked Marcus.
“This close to the end,” said Kira, “we all have to be on everyone’s side. We’re running from them because they’re trying to kill us, but we can’t survive without them. That’s how this works.”
“So how do we reconcile that with the ‘trying to kill us’ part?” asked Calix. “That’s going to make peaceful coexistence pretty impossible, by definition.”
“We’ll talk to them,” said Kira. “But we’ll get everyone to safety first. They’re angry—they think we blew up their home and murdered eighty percent of their species. We’ll get everyone clear—of them and of the fallout—and then when they don’t have anyone left to shoot at, we can talk to them.”
“They can still shoot whoever tries to talk to them,” said Marcus.
Kira nodded. “Here’s hoping that they don’t.”
The next day they loaded up with more dry clothes and walked the four miles to the third outpost. Kira was surprised to find that she’d been there before, on her first trip into Manhattan; they’d gone the long way around to hide, from both the Senate and the Voice, and crossed this bridge into Brooklyn. She hadn’t recognized the city in the snow, but the bridge was unmistakable. Beyond the outpost it was just three miles to the tip of the promontory, to Breezy Point itself, and Kira could already see the vast group of refugees—the entire human population—swarming over the land ahead. It filled her heart to see so many still alive, after living so long alone in the wilderness, but at the same time it chilled her, more profoundly than even the storm.
Every human on the island, she thought. I’ve never seen them all in one place before.
There’s so few of us.
Breezy Point consisted of a short forest, about as narrow as the rest of the peninsula had been, terminating in a more bulbous point that seemed to be covered beach to beach in thousands of houses, packed together with nothing but narrow roads—and sometimes simply narrow sand pathways—between them. The air over the city was a gray pall of smoke from hundreds of chimneys, and the snow beneath was almost black from the ash and churned mud. The southern beach was thronged with people, and the ocean was dotted with a thin line of white sailboats, stretching out toward the distant line of the Jersey shore. Kira could see cook-fire smoke there, too, and she clenched her jaw, grateful. Even if the rest of us die, some of them have already gotten away.
Kira made sure her refugees had food and shelter, then left them in the outpost and struck out the last few miles with Marcus, Samm, and the rest of the group from the Preserve. She wanted to take Green as well, but he was in and out of consciousness, and the best she could do for him at this point was to keep him warm and surrounded by humans. If the interactive cure was going to kick in, this was its last chance. It occurred to her that with less than three days left until the next batch of expirations, that might explain the Partial army’s sudden lack of pursuit. She was caring for one failing soldier with the dim hope that he would recover; they were caring for thousands, with no hope at all.
Will that calm them? she wondered. Force them to slow down and take stock and reevaluate their attack?
Or will it just make them more vengeful?
A pair of men met them on the outskirts of the town, wrapped in ponchos made from blankets and carrying a well-worn ledger. “We didn’t think anyone else was going to make it. I’m Gage.” The leader of the men shook Kira’s hand. “Come on back to the border post; we’ll get you warmed up and figure out where to put you while you wait for a boat.”
“Who’s in charge?” asked Kira. “We need to talk to . . . the Senate, I guess? Is Kessler here? Hobb?”
“Neither have checked in,” said Gage. “Haru Sato’s been organizing everything.”
“Perfect,” said Marcus. “I was hoping we’d get to deal with someone talky and self-important, so this works out great.”
“You know him?” asked Gage.
“We’re old friends,” said Kira. “I’m Kira Walker.” She saw the same glimmer of surprise and recognition, and nodded. Is this going to be a thing now? “Yes,” she said, “that one. Can you take us to Haru?”
“Let me get you squared away first,” said Gage, scanning his ledger as they walked. “Looks like . . . ten of you?”
“With three hundred more in the outpost behind us,” said Kira. “They’ll be arriving tomorrow.”
“Wow.” Gage flipped more pages, studied one for a moment, then gestured to his companion. “Tell Kyle to get the West Twelfth open, we’ll start putting them there.” The man ran ahead, and Gage asked them more questions: how much food they’d brought with them; how many injured; how many who could care for the sick or crew a boat. Kira was reassured to see the evacuation being managed so efficiently, but it didn’t lessen her concerns—efficient wasn’t the same as safe. She walked faster, spurring Gage to hurry, and he led them through the snowy, soot-stained streets to an old construction warehouse in the center of town, which the refugees had converted to a command center. Haru was inside.
“Kira! Marcus!” He ran to them, wrapping them in a hug. “Madison will be so glad you’re alive. She’s already crossed with Arwen—we didn’t want to risk losing our little girl, she’s practically the species mascot at this point.” He looked at Heron and the others, and his voice became more serious. “I don’t know the rest of you, but welcome to Breezy Point. We think we have another good four days before we’re all across, and there are already scouts pushing south and west, looking for the best routes to—don’t move!” He barked the command abruptly, drawing his handgun so fast Kira barely even saw it. Haru was staring at Samm, pointing the gun straight at his chest. “Dammit, Kira, you brought a Partial?”
“I brought several,” said Kira firmly, watching a group of surprised local guards draw their weapons. “Haru, this group has more Partials in it than not—including me.”
He stepped back, giving himself a wider angle on the group as a whole, but his grim face faltered. “I . . . heard as much from Nandita.”
“Nandita’s alive?”
“She was traveling east, before the snow, trying to save Isolde’s baby—”
“Isolde had her baby?” Kira cried. “Where are they?”
“They were headed east, to Plum Island,” said Haru. “Hobb and Kessler and Xochi were with them. Nandita thought she could save the baby, but we haven’t heard anything since. I . . . At this point we have to assume they didn’t make it.”
“Three minutes ago you didn?
??t think I’d made it either,” said Kira. “They’re resourceful; they’ll make it through.”
“Can we have this conversation when they’re no longer pointing guns at us?” asked Marcus. “I am just as fascinated as you are, but it’s hard to concentrate with a gun in my face.”
“How many of you are Partials?” asked Haru. Samm, Ritter, and the three others raised their hands. Calix stepped forward, directly in the line of Haru’s fire.
“My name is Calix,” she said, “and I can personally vouch that these men have saved my life more times than I can count. They are not a threat; they are probably your biggest asset trying to protect these people.”
“They’re Partials,” said Haru. “Kira grew up human, so I trust her, but these four could be spies, they could be assassins—they could be anything.”
“Then consider for a moment that they could be friends,” said Calix. “It was hard for me at first, too, but I’ve trusted my life to them, and they’ve never let me down.”
Haru stared at the Partials, tightening his grip on the pistol. After a moment he spoke again. “Kira, you saved my daughter’s life—whatever else you’ve done, you did that. If you tell me we can trust these men, I’ll believe you.”
“You can,” said Kira. “And the woman behind you, too.”
Haru lowered his gun. “Who?” He turned around and Heron stepped out of a shadow, lowering her own gun with a blank expression. Haru considered her carefully. “After that, why should I trust you?”
Heron smiled. “Because you’re still alive.”
Haru glowered, but after a moment he reholstered his pistol and waved away the guards. “The world has changed, and I’m not quite used to the new one yet. Kira and Marcus consider you friends, so you’re welcome here.”
“We understand,” said Samm. “I’m glad to hear that your daughter is safe.”
Haru glowered again, clearly conflicted about receiving good wishes from a Partial, but he didn’t say anything out loud. Kira stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Tell me about Isolde and her baby,” she said. “How did—she?—survive the initial symptoms of RM?”
“It’s a boy,” said Haru, “named Mohammad Khan. And the baby never had RM. He’s a hybrid.”
Kira frowned. “What does that mean?”
Haru shook his head. “So you don’t know. Well, we have a lot to talk about.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“I still can’t believe it,” said Kira. Darkness was falling, and they were sitting in their assigned house: Kira tending the fire while Samm and the Third Division soldiers insulated the windows with couch cushions and mattresses. “Ariel and Isolde are Partials, like me—my sisters are my actual sisters, in some giant, cosmic sense.”
“If they’re still alive,” said Marcus. “I’m not trying to kill the buzz, but the odds are against it.”
“They’re alive,” said Kira. “Screw the snow, screw the nuke, screw the island full of revenge-fueled super-soldiers, they’re alive.”
Marcus held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “Okay, they’re alive.”
“Four more days of ferrying people in boats,” said Calix. “You really think we can do it?”
“You mean get off the island?” asked Kira.
“I mean stay alive for four days.”
Kira poked at the fire. “I hope so. Even if we do, it’s not going to mean anything if we can’t convince the Partial army to join us.”
“There hasn’t been any sign of them,” said Marcus. “None of the explosive traps have gone off, none of the outposts have been attacked, nothing.”
“Rotor,” said Heron, sitting by the wide front window they’d left open for smoke. She was staring outside, and as Kira looked over, Heron pointed up at the sky. “It’s running dark, but you can see its shape blocking out the stars in the background.”
Samm walked over to look, the rest of the group close behind him. “Does the invasion force have rotors? They weren’t using them when they were chasing us.”
“The storm was too strong,” said Ritter. “They wouldn’t have been useful.”
“It’s not the army,” said Kira, “it’s the Blood Man.”
Samm peered at the sky. “You mean your—”
“He’s not my father,” said Kira. “Get your gear. If he’s here, he’ll be looking for ‘donors.’ Phan, run to the command center and warn Haru, tell him to put everyone on alert.” She pulled on her weather-beaten jacket and picked up her rifle, the others already scrambling for their own weapons. “The rest of you get outside, and get up on the rooftops where you can see. We’re going to find where he lands, and we’re going to stop him.”
“There’s no way we can do it while he’s got that rotor,” said Samm. “He can drop, kill, and take off again before we can catch him.”
“We don’t have to catch him,” said Kira, slapping a magazine home in her rifle. “We’re going to get his attention, and he’s going to come for me.”
The group raced outside; Kira was dimly aware that Heron was watching her intently, but she didn’t have time to wonder why. Samm helped Calix onto the roof, and she shouted out directions, sending them running down Twelfth Avenue to Rockaway Point Boulevard, pelting through the dirty snow toward the eastern edge of the town. The night was clear, the first clear night in days, and Kira wondered if that was what had finally lured Armin out of hiding. Maybe they couldn’t fly well in the snow, like Ritter had said? She tried to think of how that could help her now, some way to use that knowledge to stop him, but she couldn’t control the weather. They reached Ocean Avenue, sprinting through the night, when suddenly the black shape in the sky darted south, high over the houses. It was barely visible, but Kira could hear the bass rumble echoing between the buildings. Shouts were already going up from the command center, too early for Phan to have raised the alarm; had they already seen the rotor, or was something else happening? She swerved south, following the rotor’s path, and the rest of her group swerved with her.
“It’s dropping!” yelled Samm, and the black shape swooped down against the field of stars, punching through the cloud of smoke that hung over the village. Kira heard shouts, and the pop of a gun, but she was too far away. A spotlight shone down, probing the ground like the proboscis of a fly, searching. She pushed herself, running faster than she thought she could, but the rotor didn’t land—it simply circled a few times, then turned off its light and surged back up into the darkness.
“He’s looking for me,” said Kira. “We have to make sure he finds me before he gives up and starts taking civilians.”
The streets here were narrow, revealing only a slim strip of stars, so Ritter vaulted to the top of a car, and from there to the top of a house, scanning the sky in a slow, wide circle. He found the rotor and shouted, sending the group west, and Kira took off again, determined to be there when Armin dropped back down for another look.
“He’s going down!” Samm shouted again, too soon for Kira to have run more than a few blocks. She screamed her frustration, stumbling through the snow; Samm steadied her and they ran, breaking out of the narrow street into the wide central square in the middle of town. The command center was in front of them, swarming now with an armed militia, and Haru shouted to Kira as she bolted past.
“The army’s here!” Haru pointed the other way, back east toward the Grid outposts. Kira could barely hear him as she ran away, his voice fading in the background. “The Partial army! They’ve reached the third outpost!”
Kira swore as she ran, tripping on the frozen, sooty drifts. She stopped a moment, listening, and there it was, buried underneath the deep, chopping rhythm of the rotor: distant gunfire. Enough to carry three miles through the wilderness.
“Our group is still there,” she said. “All the refugees we brought out of East Meadow, people we almost died trying to save—all caught now.”
“They won’t kill them,” said Samm.
“Of course they’ll k
ill them!” said Kira. “You heard what they said—that humans are vermin, and every Partial who works with them. Green’s back there, Samm—they’re going to execute him as a traitor.”
“Not tonight,” said Samm. “We have time to talk to them, to make them see reason.”
“Are you so sure?”
Samm didn’t answer.
“Keep running,” snarled Heron. “He’s back up again.”
Kira looked up, trying to follow the line of Heron’s finger, and spotted the black patch of nothingness streaking slowly above the smoke. “South,” said Kira. “Toward the beach.” She took off again, running through the crowd. The streets south of the command center were the narrowest yet, skinny footpaths between close-packed houses, but Phan had rejoined them now and climbed to the top of the nearest house to shout directions.
“Four rows over!” he shouted. “No, the next one!”
Kira reached the next row and dove left, watching the rotor swoop down over an open lot between houses. The spinning blades in the wings threw up a flurry of ice and mud and shingles, cloaking the landing zone in a deadly maelstrom of debris. Kira covered her face with her arm and surged forward.
DOWN, Heron linked, then followed it by shouting out loud, warning the humans of the same thing. “Get down! Stay inside and get in cover, it’s too dangerous!”
Kira ignored him, desperate to make sure Armin saw her. She gritted her teeth and charged into the swirling cloud of debris, deafened by the noise of the engines. A spotlight flared to life, probing the ground before quickly settling on her. Her arm shielded her face from the glare and the debris, but this was what she was here for. She needed him to see her, to come closer so the others could catch him. She closed her eyes and pulled her arms away, baring her face to the spotlight. Dust and ice swirled around her, stinging her face; her hair whipped frantically in the wind. The rotor hovered in place, the light streaming down, studying her, until suddenly a powerful burst of wind threw her to the ground, and she shielded her eyes as she watched the rotor lift up again into the sky.