Ruins

Despite the early morning light indicating the new day, her exhausted body told her she’d only been asleep a few hours. Kira forced herself up and over to the meager fire, where she held her freezing hands up to the scant heat, wondering if she would ever feel truly warm again, then sought out the leader of the outpost. He was an older man, grizzled and weary, who introduced himself as David.

“Kira Walker,” said Kira, shaking his hand. She saw the shadow of recognition in his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, that one. Has the Partial army caught up to us?”

David shook his head. “We’ve been watching all night for them, and we have snipers and IEDs—improvised explosive devices—along the peninsula, but there’s no sign.”

“They’re probably massing for a major assault,” said Kira.

“Or defending their rear flank,” said David. “Tovar and Mkele are still out there, with whatever’s left of the resistance, and they might still be buying us the time to escape.”

“Tovar’s dead,” said Kira. “I don’t know about Mkele.” She rubbed her eyes, feeling no more rested than when she’d fallen asleep. “Tovar was killed by a man named . . . well, they call him the Blood Man.” She felt a sudden, irrational need to hide his identity, even though nobody knew who he was or that he had any connection to her. “He has a rotor and leads a group of genetically modified Partials, killing people to steal their DNA. You haven’t heard of him?”

“Nothing like that,” said David, shaking his head. “Some of the refugees have talked about a rotor out over Long Beach and Brosewere Bay, but none of the messengers from Breezy Point have said anything. If he’s out there, he’s still east of us.”

“And picking off loners so they can’t spread the tale,” said Kira. “Keep an eye on the skies; if he does decide to come here, it’s going to be trouble.” She rubbed her temples, leaning wearily against a wall for support. “How about the rest of the humans? Do you know how the evacuation’s going?”

“Slow but steady. Another week at least before everyone’s across. This outpost was scheduled to fall back today, but I don’t know if your group can make the journey.”

“You have more outposts like this?”

David nodded. “Two more choke points along the peninsula, one at each bridge into Brooklyn. We’ve kept the bridges open in case more refugees make it across. Our plan for today was to arm our traps, rig our explosives, and fall back seven miles to the Marine Parkway—let the Cross Bay Bridge folks be the front line for a while.”

“Do it,” said Kira, and put up her hands to stop his protest. “We’re pretty beat up, but we can make it at least as far as the next outpost. If we stop moving, we’re as good as dead.”

“Then we’d better get going while there’s still some daylight left,” said David. “Gather your people; I’ll send word to mine. We can be ready in two hours, but you’re welcome to get a head start.”

Kira walked back to the gym full of refugees, wincing with each step. That doesn’t bode well for the day. She picked up a bottle of water to bring to Green, but saw that someone was already talking to him.

It was Heron.

“You’re still here,” said Kira, unscrewing the bottle to take a swig herself.

Heron nodded. “So are you,” she said, “though I suppose that’s not as surprising.”

“I think she was talking about me,” wheezed Green, his voice almost too weak to hear. “She thinks I’m going to die.”

Kira grabbed his hand but didn’t correct him, looking at Heron with tired eyes. “He’s too stubborn to die.”

“I know the feeling,” said Heron.

Kira nodded. “We’re moving out again. They have another outpost, sounds like it’s about three miles away. With a break in the snow and some daylight to walk in, we should be able to make it in just a few hours.”

“Two more frostbite cases this morning,” said Heron, and pointed to Green, “including him. It’s the people on stretchers; we have to make them walk and keep their circulation high, or they’re going to lose more limbs.”

“Think you can convince them?” asked Kira.

Heron smiled wickedly, walked to the nearest stretcher, and overturned it with a grunt, spilling the sleeping occupant out on the floor. He woke up spluttering, still trying to figure out where he was, when Heron tossed his stretcher onto the nearest fire.

“What are you doing?” he cried.

“She’s saving your extremities,” said Kira. “Find something to eat. We’re leaving in an hour.” The man worked his jaw wordlessly, too exhausted to argue, then walked unsteadily to the dwindling pile of emergency rations, rubbing his legs as he went. Kira nodded to Heron, who nodded back before assaulting another stretcher. Kira looked back at Green. “She’s direct.”

“And smoking hot,” wheezed Green. “She attached?”

“You’ve already fought your way through Candlewood and the winter from hell and a nuclear explosion and your own body trying to kill you,” said Kira. “Quit while you’re ahead.”