Ruins

“I’m single, you’re attractive, and we’re both stuck in this hospital anyway. What do you say?”

“I just lost the love of my life,” said Marcus. “Could you give me some time to . . . breathe, or recover, or something?”

“You lost her years ago.”

“Ouch,” said Marcus, and shook his head. “You know, you’re very direct.”

“To my frequent detriment,” she said, glancing back at Samm.

Marcus laughed dryly. “That sounds like a story I need to hear.”

“Then it’s a date,” said Calix. “Come on: It’s the least you could do after fondling my leg for the last hour.”

“It’s a date,” said Marcus, “but the first order of business is to teach you the difference between fondling and surgery. Mixing those two up could get you into trouble.”

Kira stood on the shore, waiting for a ship to return for the last of the survivors. She’d insisted that she be in the last group off the island, sending everyone else to safety first. Samm stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her in perfect, comforting silence. Before them the sea stretched out, wide and open and limitless. The crumbling remains of an old wooden dock disappeared into the waves, and she longed simply to follow it—straight out and gone, the first step onto a new path and a new horizon. White snow covered the ground like a blank parchment, wiping out the old world and waiting for them to write a new one on its pages.

“Boat!” called the lookout, and the gathered refugees looked toward Sandy Hook, but the boat wasn’t there. “East,” the lookout shouted, and Kira turned her head, peering into the distance. A white boat with a tall sail was hugging the coast, tacking toward them past Jones Beach.

“Did Mkele send for more?” asked Samm.

“We already have more of them than we can sail,” said Kira. “Maybe it’s another fisherman, finally joining the rest of us?”

They watched the boat closely, and soon Kira saw three women standing at the bow, hair whipping in the wind, one more woman behind them at the rudder.

Ariel, Isolde, Xochi, and Nandita.

Kira ran toward them, wading hip deep into the freezing Atlantic and waving to them with tears of joy streaming down her face. “You’re here!” she shouted, over and over, too happy to think of anything else to say. “You’re here! You’re here!”

Ariel turned a sail and slowed the boat, aiming toward the dock. Kira ran back toward it and threw them a line as they bumped against it. Xochi smiled. “Want a lift?”

“I didn’t know you guys could sail,” said Kira.

“I spent a year in a fishing village,” said Ariel. “I’d better be able to sail.”

“You’re alive,” said Kira, so happy she was hugging herself, heedless of the freezing waves. “I love you so much.” She looked at their faces: her sisters and her adopted mother. Armin may have been her father, but this was her family, real and close and wonderful. Samm walked out next to her, taking her hand. She squeezed it tightly before pulling him onto the boat with her, only letting go to hug her sisters. “Let’s go somewhere.”

“It’s a big world,” said Isolde. “We can go anywhere you want.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book owes so much to so many people. My editor, Jordan Brown, and my agent, Sara Crowe. The amazing crew at HarperCollins and Balzer + Bray. My assistant, Chersti Nieveen, and my brother, Robison Wells, both excellent writers in their own right and amazing sources of help and inspiration. My readers, who are many and varied: Steve Diamond, Nick Dianatkhah, Mary Robinette Kowal, Ben Olsen, Maija-Liisa Phipps, Brandon Sanderson, Howard Tayler, and the many others I undoubtedly forgot.

This book owes another huge debt to my wife, Dawn, who supports me more than I could ever hope for, and then some. She gives me time, ideas, advice, encouragement, food, and the freedom to do whatever I need, whenever I need to, to bring this and every other book to you. Without her I’d be flipping burgers somewhere. Thank you, Dawn, for being amazing.

Last of all, this book owes perhaps its biggest debt to the ultimate models for Kira and Heron and every other awesome girl in the Partials series: my two daughters. May you always have heroines to inspire you, role models to look up to, and the freedom and courage to make your own choices, no matter how simple or scary or hard or eternal they may be.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DAN WELLS is the author of Partials and Fragments as well as the John Cleaver series: I Am Not a Serial Killer, Mr. Monster, and I Don’t Want to Kill You. He has been nominated for both the Hugo and the Campbell Award and has won two Parsec Awards for his podcast Writing Excuses. He plays a lot of games, reads a lot of books, and eats a lot of food, which is pretty much the ideal life he imagined for himself as a child. You can find out more online at www.thedanwells.com.

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