“And you didn’t think that maybe somebody else could benefit from all this information you’re putting together?”
Afa stood up. “I have to go to sleep now.”
“Wait,” said Kira, abashed by his discomfort. She’d been arguing with the brilliant IT director, almost yelling at him in her frustration, but here she was confronted with the child again, awkward and slow, a tiny mind in a giant body. She sighed, and realized how tired she was, as well. “I’m sorry, Afa. I’m sorry I got upset.” She reached toward his hand, hesitating as she watched his eyes. They had never touched, Afa always keeping his shy distance, and she realized with a rush of emotion that she hadn’t touched anyone—not a single human contact—in weeks. Afa, if she understood his situation correctly, hadn’t touched anyone in years. Her hand hovered over his, and she saw in his eyes the same mixture of fear and longing that she felt in herself. She lowered her palm, resting it on his knuckles, and he flinched but didn’t move away. She felt the pressure of his bones, the softness of his flesh, the leathery texture of his skin, the warm beat of his pulse.
She felt a tear in the corner of her eye and blinked it away. Afa began to cry, more like a lost child than anyone she’d met in ten years, and Kira drew him into an embrace. He hugged her back tightly, sobbing like a baby, nearly crushing her with his massive arms, and Kira let her own tears run freely. She patted him softly on the back, soothing him gently, luxuriating in the sheer presence of another person, real and warm and alive.
“He’s gone,” Haru shouted. “Keep running!”
More shots flew past them, whistling through the leaves and exploding against trunks and old boards. This part of Long Island had been heavily wooded even before the Break, and in the twelve years since then, nature had reclaimed the neighborhood, tearing down rotten fences and collapsing old roofs and walls, filling the lawns and gardens with new growth. Even the sidewalks and streets were cracked and split by a dozen years of freezes and thaws, and trees had sprung up in every gap and rift and crevice. Marcus leapt over a crumbling brick retaining wall and followed Haru through a living room so filled with vines and brush it was almost indistinguishable from the world outside. He dodged a sapling sprouting up through the floorboards, and cringed as another Partial bullet whooshed past his ear and shattered the glass in a picture frame not ten feet in front of him. Haru turned down a sagging hallway, dropping a live grenade just around the corner, and Marcus’s eyes went wide in terror as he leapt over it, putting on an extra burst of speed he didn’t know he had. He tumbled out the far side of the house just as it exploded. Haru hauled him to his feet again with an urgent grunt.
“If they’re as close behind as I think they are, that got at least one of them,” said Haru, puffing as he ran. “Either way it’s going to slow down anyone who followed us into the house, and it’s going to make them think twice about following us into the next one.”
“Sato, you all right?” A woman’s voice cut sharply through the trees, and Marcus recognized it as Grant, the sergeant of this squad of Grid soldiers. Haru ran a little faster to catch up, and Marcus snarled with exhaustion as he struggled to keep up.
“Just dropped a frag in that last house,” said Haru. “Medic and I are fine.”
“Grenades are fun, but you’re gonna miss ’em when they’re gone,” said Grant.
“It didn’t go to waste,” Haru insisted. Another soldier beside them twisted and fell in midstride, claimed by another bullet, and Marcus ducked involuntarily before sprinting forward again. They’d been running like this for nearly an hour, and the forest had become a nightmare of death unmoored from the familiar rules of cause and effect. Bullets came from nowhere, people lived one second and died the next, and all they could do was run.
“We need to make a stand,” said Haru. He was in better shape than Marcus, but fatigue was more than evident in his voice.
Grant shook her head almost imperceptibly, conserving her energy as they ran. “We tried that, remember? We lost half the squad.”
“We didn’t have a good ambush point,” said Haru. “If we can find a good spot, or if we can regroup with more soldiers, we might have a chance. The one thing we did accomplish was to get a good look at their forces, and they’re not very big. We outnumber them, and we know the terrain better—there’s got to be a way to make this work.”
Another bullet flew past, and Marcus stifled a scream. “You have an absolutely heartwarming level of optimism.”
“There’s a work farm near here,” said Grant, “on the grounds of an old golf course. We can make a stand there.”
They redoubled their efforts, discarding grenades here and there as they ran, hoping the erratic explosions would deter their pursuers enough to buy a few precious extra seconds. Marcus saw a sign for a golf course and marveled at Grant’s presence of mind—he was too scared and frantic even to notice their environment, let alone recognize it. A voice from the trees called out for them to halt, but they barreled forward as Grant shouted back, “Partials behind us! Hold your positions and fire!” Marcus followed the soldiers past the line of cars that marked the edge of the parking lot, and dove to the ground behind the largest truck he could find.
A man in rough farming clothes crouched next to them, clutching a shotgun. “We heard the reports on the radio. Is it true?” His eyes were wild with fear. “Are they invading?”
Grant readied her assault rifle as she answered, checking the clip for ammo and then slapping it back into place. “Full-scale. The Grid base in Queens is gone, and the watch posts on the North Shore are reporting Partial landing craft from there all the way out to Wildwood.”
“Mother of mercy,” the farmer muttered.
“Incoming!” shouted another soldier, and Grant and Haru and the rest reared up, bracing themselves behind the line of cars and firing furiously into the trees. Ten or so farmers, already gathered by the radio reports, joined them with grim looks. Marcus threw his hands over his head and ducked lower, knowing he should help but too terrified to move. The Partials returned fire, and the cars shook with the staccato rhythm of bullet impacts. Grant shouted more directions, but she stopped mid-word with a sickening gurgle, falling to the ground in a red mist of blood. Marcus moved to help her, but she was dead before she even landed.
“Fall back,” Haru hissed.
“She’s dead,” said Marcus.
“I know she’s dead, fall back!” Haru emptied his ammo clip into the forest, then dropped behind cover to reload. He glared at Marcus fiercely. “The farm’s back there somewhere, and anyone left in it is not a fighter—if they were, they’d be out here. Find them and get them out of here.”
“And go where?” asked Marcus. “Grant
