Ruins

“That would be useless,” said Gorman. “You’ve seen what that thing did to us. Even if it gives us thirteen new years, is that really a solution? We’ll still die after twenty, plus a massive stretch of physical and mental torture in the middle of it.”

“Different usage could have different effects,” said Heron. “Use it in small doses and it’s just a really good sleep aid that helps keep you alive longer.”

“He’s not a sleep aid,” said Dwain, “he’s a member of our squad, and you can’t use him like this.”

“That can’t be it anyway,” said Samm. “Dr. Morgan took Vale specifically to look for a cure for expiration. If he already had one, he would have said something.”

“Saying something would have forced him to reveal what he’d done to these ten,” said Heron. “Morgan would have flayed him alive, and half the humans in the Preserve.”

“I have half a mind to do the same,” said Gorman.

“They’ve done nothing to you,” Samm snapped.

Gorman waved his hands in a feeble gesture that included the respirator, the gurney, and the entire room full of sickly, crippled Partials. “You call this nothing?”

“I call it Dr. Vale’s work,” said Samm, “not theirs.”

“We’re not just talking about the coma,” said Gorman. “What about everything else? We started a war to get away from human oppression—a war that you’re telling us literally ended the world—and now, thirteen years, later we wake up to what: more oppression. Worse oppression. Our entire species is dying, and you come in here like somebody’s pet Partial trying to tell us how bad the humans have it. Do you have any spine, soldier? Do you have any self-respect at all?”

Samm said nothing. He didn’t even have to look at them to feel their disgust, their anger, their pity filling the air like a poison cloud. He’d tried to be their friend, their guide to the new world they’d woken into, but all they saw him as was a traitor. He opened his mouth to protest, to tell them that he wasn’t just a human tool, to explain everything that had happened and all his reasons, but it was . . . It was too much. He looked at Gorman, but shouted to the hall.

“Calix!”

He waited, wondering if she’d wandered away, praying that she hadn’t locked the door. It felt like a lifetime, but it was barely a second before the door opened. Calix stood in the doorway, balancing on her good leg.

“You need anything?”

He kept her in his peripheral vision, his eyes on Gorman. Listen closely, he thought, hoping that the soldiers were paying close attention. “Have the hunters reported back yet?”

She blinked, a tic Samm had come to recognize in her as confusion. It wasn’t the question she’d expected, but she answered it. “Phan bagged a deer; he and Frank are bringing it back. Should be here soon.”

“And the harvest?”

She blinked again. Her voice was more hesitant this time, probing him for answers. “Everything’s picked, they’re still . . . canning the fruits and beans and stuff, is . . . everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” said Samm, watching Gorman closely. “How about the beehives? We getting enough honey?”

If she was still confused by his questioning, she kept it to herself this time. “Yields aren’t as high as last year, but we’re doing okay,” she said. She paused a moment, then added, “Certainly enough to feed ten extra mouths.”

“Great.” Samm phrased his next sentence carefully—not a request, but not a command. “I know I told you to keep these guys’ diets light and bland for the first little bit, but they’ve been through a lot, and I think they deserve a little something extra. That honey candy Laura makes is amazing. Let’s get them some.”

Calix grinned; she’d helped Laura make the most recent batches and loved showing them off. “Lemon or mint?”

Samm looked at the Partials. “Lemon or mint?”

Dwain shook his head in disbelief. “You’re bribing us with candy?”

“We’ll take mint,” said Gorman. Calix nodded and closed the door, and Gorman scowled at Dwain. “That wasn’t a bribe, it was a demonstration.” He shot a hard glance at Samm. “He’s showing us they’re equals.”

“We’re working together,” said Samm. “Partners, friends, whatever you want to call it.”

“What do you want to call it?” asked Heron. Samm gave her a quick glance but didn’t answer.

“But why?” asked Gorman. “After everything that’s happened, after everything you’ve told us about the humans and the world and all the million things wrong with it . . . Why?”

Samm was still looking at Heron when he answered. “If you want to survive in this world, you need to stop asking why people work together, and just start working together.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kira crouched in the shade, surveying the destruction before her. She guessed the ashes were at least a month old, maybe more. Animals—maybe foxes, probably cats, and by the looks of it at least one wild pig—had already ravaged the site, dragging clothes and backpacks through the dirt, scattering the remnants of old, weathered equipment. Picking clean the bones.