Ruins

She heard voices, dim and distant over the howling wind, and listened closely. She thought maybe she could detect something on the link, but it was too weak to tell for sure—or she was simply too unpracticed. She closed her eyes instead and tried to rely on her ears.

They’re coming in the window, thought Ariel, listening to the sound of scuffling feet, thumping boots, and low, muttering voices. I could open this door right now and take them by surprise, kill two or maybe three before they know I’m here. Except . . . Except she didn’t want to. Every Partial she’d ever met had been an enemy, like Xochi had said, but for all she knew, they were evil. They’d never done anything to show her otherwise. They’d invaded her home, killed her friends, and hunted them like animals; they’d harried Ariel and the rest of them at every turn, and for no reason she could possibly guess. What do they gain from attacking us? What do they want, and how does rounding us up like prisoners possibly help them to get it? They used to want Kira, but they found her, and they haven’t left, they’ve just . . . stayed. Like robots, or trained dogs, mindlessly following their last known orders.

I’m one of you, she thought. I’m a Partial, but I don’t want to be a robot. I don’t want to be evil. Show me you can be good.

I don’t want to be alone.

“This is the worst storm yet,” said one of the Partials. His voice was muffled by the door and bore the same odd passivity that marked the other Partials she’d listened to. Without the link to convey their emotions, they really did sound like robots.

“We’re due to report back in an hour,” said another. “With the radio down, the sergeant’s going to think something’s happened.”

“Something has happened,” said a third voice. “At least we get to wait it out in style. Who knew this place was here?”

They weren’t searching for us, thought Ariel. They were just getting out of the storm. In the middle of that blizzard, they might not even have seen our footprints. She looked at the others, noting from their expressions that they’d heard the same thing and come to the same conclusions. All we have to do is wait it out, thought Ariel. Eventually they’ll leave, and if we’re quiet, they’ll never even know we were here.

“Do you have anything to eat besides this crap?” asked one. “I’ve had enough smoked fish to last me till expiration. It’s like the only thing the humans ever ate in that town.”

So they’re based out of Riverhead, thought Ariel. Just like we thought. Once we get farther east, we might be—

“Check the kitchen,” said another. Ariel froze, her fingers clutching her rifle in terror. “There might be some canned . . . I don’t know, what did rich humans eat out of cans? Caviar?”

She heard footsteps and took a silent step backward, training her rifle on the door. Xochi and Hobb stood beside her. How many are there? she thought frantically, trying to sort out how many voices she’d heard. Three? Four? Could there have been more that hadn’t spoken?

“Caviar sounds worse than fish,” said another. “Artichokes, though. I think those come in cans.”

The door pushed forward half an inch. Ariel poised her finger over the trigger, ready to fire, but the door stopped moving.

“Wait a minute,” said a voice. “You’re going to love this.”

“Nothing in the bar will still be good,” said another voice. “It’ll all be separated, like the gasoline.”

“Not all of it,” said the first voice. The door closed again. “Stashed behind the bar they’ve got two unopened bottles of wine, completely sealed.”

“Don’t taunt me.”

“I’m not.”

Ariel heard a clink of glass, followed by a cheer. Definitely more than three voices, she thought, but she couldn’t tell how many.

Xochi lowered her rifle. After a long pause, Hobb did the same. Ariel stepped quietly backward to Isolde and pressed her cheek to the other girl’s ear, whispering as softly as she could. “Can you keep walking?”

“If I have to.”