“How did you get here?” Kira demanded, looking completely bewildered. “How did you cross the wasteland?”
“We were better prepared this time,” said Samm. “We knew what to expect, and Phan and Calix have lived in Denver long enough to be experts at finding clean food and water in the poison.”
As if on cue, Phan and Calix emerged from the storm, Calix barely even limping anymore. Heron had to admit she was impressed with the girl—she’d faced the journey without ever complaining; riding the horse, yes, but pulling her weight in other ways, leading them to water sources Heron would never have found on her own. Calix could read the weather in the wasteland’s pastel clouds as easily as if she were reading a book, and she had kept them free from the acid rain. She was a valuable asset.
Heron watched, and listened.
“A child was born healthy,” said Samm. “The pheromone you discovered, the one that cures RM, was already in her system. That’s all it takes, Kira—we lived in the Preserve for weeks, just part of the same community, and it worked. That’s all we have to do. We think it helped the Third Division, too.”
“Who’s that?” asked Kira.
“Vale’s comatose Partials,” said Samm. He gestured at the rugged man trudging through the storm beside them. “This is Ritter; he’s the acting sergeant. He’s twenty-two years old, Kira. He survived his expiration.
Kira peered at Ritter more closely. “Nice to meet you. You look like . . . I’m sorry, you’re not a model I’ve met before: you’re too old for infantry but too young to be an officer or medic.”
“That’s because I’m aging,” said Ritter, and though Heron couldn’t see it, she knew the man was smiling. The Third Division was stupidly proud of their new, human-like attributes. “When we first woke up we thought it was an effect of the muscle atrophy we experienced. Now we’re fully recovered, and I still look almost thirty years old.”
“It was Dr. Vale,” said Kira, and Heron rolled her eyes at the eager thrill in the girl’s voice. “Even with his gene mods he was still human, and it must have been his breath that set the reaction in motion. I thought it would stop expiration, but I didn’t realize it would restart the normal aging process as well. That’s amazing. I wonder if it also cured your sterility?”
“We haven’t exactly tested that yet,” said Ritter, “though Dwain was doing his best before we left.”
“Shut up,” said Dwain.
“It might be the human interaction,” said Samm, “but we’re still not sure.”
Heron moved slightly closer, for this was the key to the whole thing. Now that White Plains was gone, and Morgan with it, Heron had no chance of surviving expiration except this one, small hope.
“It’s possible,” Samm continued, “and even probable, that what happened to the Third Division was a one-time thing—that Vale did something to them, either directly or through Williams, to keep them alive.”
“Vale didn’t do it on purpose,” said Kira. “I spent weeks with him trying to cure expiration, and he was as clueless as I was.”
Heron held her breath, listening to every word, breathing them in.
“I thought I was right before,” said Kira, “but then I confirmed it firsthand. I talked to the man who designed the system, the leader of the Trust. This was his plan all along: If humans and Partials can coexist, they can live.”
Heron breathed again, slow and controlled. She could live. Everything she’d done, every risk she’d taken, every gamble of trust, had led to this moment. She could live.
“It can’t be that easy,” said Samm. “After everything we’ve been through, all the hell and the wars and the end of the world . . .”
“It’s not easy,” said Kira. “It never has been, and it never will be. Look at the hell we’ve gone through just to get this far—just to convince even a tiny portion of each species to work together. It’s always easier to die for your own side than to live for the other one. But that’s what we have to do: to live, day after day, solving every new problem and overcoming every new prejudice and building on every common ground we can find. Waging war was the easy part—making peace will be the hardest thing we’ve ever done.”
One of the East Meadow refugees spoke up; Heron thought she recognized him as the one called Marcus. “As important as it is that we, you know, stand around and breathe on each other, we should probably focus on getting the hell out of here. That little blown bridge isn’t going to hold them forever.”
“The rest of the humans are southwest of here,” said Samm, “on a narrow slip of land called Breezy Point.”
“That’s where we figured they’d go,” said Kira. “Have you talked to them?”
Samm shook his head. “We came in through Brooklyn, and since I didn’t know how else to find you, we went to the closest human stronghold, which was the JFK airport; there were a few stragglers there, and they told us where the humans were gathering. Sounds like most of the island managed to make it there—twenty thousand at least, maybe thirty. They didn’t know anything about you, though, so our plan was to go to East Meadow next, and that’s when we heard the gunfight. I didn’t know it was you until we found the front of your column and asked who was in charge.”
“We were glad to see you,” said Marcus, and Heron caught him glancing uncertainly at Kira. He didn’t sound as glad as he claimed to.
Heron dropped back, ignoring them as their conversation turned to the more mundane topic of what to do next, and how to do it. They had more than three hundred human refugees in Kira’s group, and seventeen miles to go before they could join the rest of the humans at Breezy Point. The Partial army would catch up to them, maybe not immediately, but inevitably. After this midnight chase had failed they were likely to wait before the next assault, gathering their forces and then coming down on the humans with overwhelming force. Kira’s little band was doomed, and every other human on this island, and Heron did not intend to be here when that doom arrived. Thirty thousand humans were impossible to hide, even with a handful of Partials to protect them.
But one Partial, and one human to protect her from expiration, could disappear forever.
Heron looked at the group, wondering who would be the best target. Calix was the obvious choice: she was capable, she was brave, and she could help Heron more than hinder her. She might put up a struggle at first, but she had the same fierce survivor’s instinct, and when all her other options were gone, she’d see the wisdom of their partnership. On the other hand, Samm seemed oddly attached to Calix, like she was a puppy, and if Heron chose her he might come after her, his stupid sense of loyalty overwhelming all his more logical priorities.
Marcus wasn’t an option either, for the same reason, this time thanks to Kira’s attachment, and Calix was attached to Phan.
It’s like a web of dependent obsessions,
she thought.
They’d kill themselves, and maybe everyone else, just to save their friends. What good does it do? There are so many humans, all virtually identical. Why risk so much for one person?
Heron quickened her pace, pressing forward into the long column of humans, looking for one that no one would miss. “Where’s she going?” she heard Kira ask behind her, but Heron ignored them. She looked closely at each human as she passed them, assessing which ones might be best prepared for a journey out into the wilderness—who had food and water, who was dressed for the weather, who was armed and looked like they knew how to use their weapons. None of the beleaguered travelers inspired much confidence, but Heron supposed that was understandable. These were the last stragglers, the ones who hadn’t dared to leave East Meadow until the bomb had actually gone off, and Kira had dragged them from their homes with dire warnings of the end of the world.
I might have to wait until we reach the others,
she thought.
Or simply take Calix and hope Samm’s smart enough not to chase me.
Someone was coming up behind her, and Heron put a hand on her sidearm, ready to pull if it turned out to be an enemy.
“I want to apologize,” said Kira.
Heron slowly lowered her hand and turned to glance at the girl keeping pace with her. “Apologize?”
“I was rude to you,” she said. “You came all this way, and risked your life to help me, and I treated you like . . . well, I’m sorry. You helped me, and I’m grateful.”
“I didn’t risk my life for you,” said Heron, looking forward again as they walked.
“For Samm, then,” said Kira. “The point is—”
“The point is that I didn’t risk my life,” said Heron. “I was always in control, and if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have done it.”
“Why can’t you just accept the apology?” said Kira, and Heron could hear the tension in her voice.
“When have I ever made anything easy for you?” asked Heron.
“Why are you here?”
“I told you to pay better attention—”
“You want to kidnap a human,” said Kira. Heron didn’t respond, and Kira didn’t falter a step. “You came back for the cure, and now that you’re sure it’s in humans, you want to take one and save yourself. I have been paying attention, better than you think, and that’s the only thing that makes sense. All you’ve ever cared about is your own survival—you were helping Morgan because you thought she could save you, and then you helped me for a while because you thought I could. When I failed, you went straight back to Morgan, and now that she’s failed you were completely out of options—until I confirmed the cure.”
“I don’t think you understand me half as well as you think you do,” said Heron. She paused. “But a little better than I’d like you to, at least in this case.”
“Then you know—”
“Did you ever stop to consider,” said Heron, cutting her off, “that getting in my way is a bad idea?”
“I’m trying to save us
all
,” said Kira. “You know that. Even you, if you’ll let me, but I can’t let you hurt anyone else.”
“In the absolutely best-case scenario,” said Heron, “I kill you, grab one of these humans, and no one ever sees me again. That’s how things will play out if you keep trying to question me. Take it further—put up a fight, try to stop me, call for help—and I’ll end up causing a lot more death and destruction before I, yes, still get away. It’s not worth it. Go to Breezy Point, get on your little boat, and count the minutes until that army finally catches up and kills every last one of you. I will be safe, and whoever goes with me. It’s not worth it to try to stop me.”
Kira put a hand on Heron’s arm; Heron stiffened but didn’t pull away. Kira’s voice was softer than she expected. “Survival is important,” said Kira, “but not if you lose yourself in the process. Surviving just to survive is . . . empty. That’s not a life, it’s a feedback loop.”
Heron expected her to say more, to go on and on, moralizing in classic Kira style, but she let go of Heron’s arm and stepped back into the night, returning to Samm and Marcus and the others. Heron stopped, watching the line of refugees march past her in the snow, and then she turned and walked away into the city.
The buildings were dreamlike in the darkness—dull, black shapes, their outlines softened by snow and dim moonlight. Heron moved through them silently, haunting the world like a living ghost. Her stealth training was so ingrained, her skills so perfectly honed, that she left no footprints as she walked, no signs, no traces whatsoever of her passing.
If she didn’t choose to leave a mark, no one would ever be able to tell that she’d been there at all.
Another shape appeared in the falling snow, low and lean. A wolf or a wild dog, sniffing hungrily through the dim gray void in a desperate search for sustenance. Heron raised her rifle silently, ready to kill it on instinct as a potential threat. Her finger hovered over the trigger. She watched the wolf stop, tense as a spring, and then burst into motion, racing through the street after a tiny white target—a cat or a rabbit, both hunter and hunted kicking up a frenzied spray of snow in their wake. The wolf pounced, shook its head three times, and the rabbit was dead in its jaws. Dark blood dripped down to the snow.
This is life,
thought Heron.
Not a peace treaty, not an idealistic dream, but a grim dance of death and survival. The strong live on while the weak—the ones too small or too foolish to fight back—die in agony and blood. Kira wants a world of rabbits, safe in their warren, happy and communal and oblivious to reality, but the real world is out here. A hunter in the snow. Life is a lone wolf, scratching out a living with teeth and claws and a heart of stone.
The wolf shook its prey again, ensuring the kill, but didn’t stop to feast right there in the street. It looked up, still oblivious to Heron’s ghostly presence, and padded off between the drooping houses and the snow-covered boulders of old, sagging cars. Heron followed it, curious to see where the wolf deemed it safe enough to pause and eat its kill. It slipped through holes in fences, jumped over fallen trees and power lines, and all the while she followed it, watching, waiting. At last it came to its den, a crawl space below a dilapidated house, and crawled through the narrow tunnel it had dug through the snow. Heron crept up behind it, peering in softly.
The wolf laid the rabbit on the floor and watched in maternal silence as four small cubs yipped and snapped at it, eager for a meal. The mother turned toward the entrance, looking straight at Heron, and her dark eyes gleamed green in the dim, reflected light.
Heron watched the children eat, and she cried.
K
ira struggled through the snow, clinging to the stretcher they’d rigged to help carry Green. The Partial army was too close, and the night too cold; if they stopped they’d be cut down, or freeze to death, and so they kept walking, step after step, inch after inch, while their feet bled in their shoes and their hands froze in their gloves and the relentless storm howled around them. One mile. Two miles. Five miles. Soon almost everyone was pulling a stretcher, each one cobbled together from whatever they could find in the frozen houses on the side of the road: brooms and mops and shirts and dresses. They draped the stretchers with blankets, trying to keep the injured from freezing, and relied on their own exertion to save themselves.