Fragments

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Marcus crouched in the lee of a crumbling cinder-block wall—an old garage, he guessed. There was a car inside, visible through a hole in the wall, with the driver’s skeleton still sitting at the wheel. Marcus tried to imagine why the man had died here, in the car, still sitting in a closed garage, but it hardly mattered now. If the Partials found his patrol, Marcus would be as dead as he was.

“We can’t afford to protect the farms,” said Private Cantona. His voice was an urgent whisper, and he never took his eyes off the forest. Marcus had come to hate him, but he couldn’t deny he was an effective soldier. “Or the farmers.”

“We’re not going to abandon them,” hissed Haru. He’d been leading the patrol ever since Grant died. He glanced at the four farmers hiding beside the soldiers—two men and two women, eyes wide and terrified. “As near as I can tell, the Partials are capturing every human they can get their hands on. We’re supposed to be protecting people, so we’re going to protect these people all the way back to East Meadow.”

“We’re supposed to protect civilians,” said Cantona. “That was a work farm—for all we know, these four could be convicts.”

“If the Partials want them,” said Haru, “then I will die before I give them up.”

Marcus looked at the farmers, minimally armed with three guns between the four of them. It seemed unlikely that prisoners would have access to weapons at all, but with a Partial army bearing down on you, who knew? I’d give them all guns, he thought, and hope for the best. When the enemy are Partials, every human is an ally.

“They’re going to get us killed,” said Cantona. Their unit, once twenty soldiers strong, had been reduced to seven plus the farmers; half had been wiped out in the ambush, and the rest as they’d retreated, running almost headlong through the forest to stay ahead of the invaders. “They can keep up with us fine,” said Cantona. “That’s not the problem, it’s that they’re noisy. They don’t know how to stay hidden.”

The farmers’ faces were sunburned and weathered, but Marcus could see their skin grow pale as they listened to the soldiers argue their fate. He shook his head and butted into the conversation. “They’re no worse at it than I am.”

“I’m not throwing away our medic.”

“But he’s right,” said Haru. “With Marcus in the group, we’ll make enough noise to be found no matter how many civilians we have.”

“Well, I’m not that bad,” said Marcus.

“It doesn’t matter either way,” said Haru. “If they haven’t heard us talking, then we’re out of danger for now—it’s getting dark, and they have no reason to hunt down a group of armed soldiers who might be lying in ambush. More than likely the Partials retreated, regrouped, and you can bet they’re on their way to another farm.”

“Then we don’t need to protect them anymore,” said Cantona, gesturing again at the farmers. “Either way we cut them loose, tell them to make for East Meadow, and then we try to rejoin our unit.”

“I can’t raise them on the radio,” said Haru. “We have no unit to rejoin with.”

One of the other soldiers, a big man named Hartley, held up his hand, and the group fell instantly silent. It was a sign they’d become all too familiar with, and Marcus listened intently, gripping his rifle. The Partials had stronger senses—better hearing, better vision—so they could detect Marcus’s group from much farther away, but in a forest this dense, they still had to get close to engage them, and at that distance the humans could sometimes hear them coming. They were no match for a Partial unit, though, with or without warning; the only enemy they’d managed to kill had been distracted by larger forces. Marcus and his group had been running, pure and simple, and they’d still been whittled to a fraction of their former numbers.

They sat in silence, ears perked, rifles ready. The forest around them stared back, as still as a tomb.

Marcus heard one of the watchmen curse suddenly, shouting the first few syllables of a warning, and a little black disk clinked against the wall by his feet. He looked down just in time to see it explode in a blinding flash of light, and suddenly the entire patrol was shouting. Marcus clutched his eyes, grunting at the throbbing pain, seeing nothing but brilliant white afterimages. Guns fired; Haru shouted; people screamed and cried. Marcus felt a splash of hot liquid on his hands and ducked down, cowering against the wall. A body fell against him and he crawled backward, his breathing ragged and terrified. By the time his vision cleared, the fight was over.

Senator Delarosa stood over him, a rifle in one hand and a thick, hooded cloak over her head.

Marcus tried to think. “What?”

“You’re lucky it was only two,” said Delarosa. “And that we had the drop on them.” Her face was grim. “And that we had such good bait.”

“Two what?”

“Two Partials,” said Haru. He was shaking his head, pounding his ear with the palm of his hand as if it were ringing. “And don’t call us bait.”

“I don’t know what else to call you,” said Delarosa, turning and rolling a body over with her foot. Marcus saw that there were several: soldiers, a cloaked figure like Delarosa, and two inert Partials in their unmistakable gray armor. The one by Delarosa’s feet groaned, and she shot him again. “You were making enough noise to attract every Partial patrol for miles.”

“You used us as bait!” Haru said again, struggling to his feet. Whatever had incapacitated him had left him unsteady. “You knew they were there? How long were you watching?”

“Long enough to be ready when they got here,” said Delarosa. “We knew you’d attract a group eventually, so we laid low and let you.” She knelt over the body, quickly stripping it of useful equipment: body armor, ammo clips, and several pouches clipped to the chest and shoulders. She turned back as she worked, nodding at the black disk on the ground by Marcus’s feet. “That’s their flashbang. They thought you were incapacitated, so their guard was down.”

Marcus tried to stand up but found himself just as woozy as Haru. He gripped the cinder-block wall for support. A soldier slid to the ground beside him as he shifted, and Marcus realized there was a bullet hole in the soldier’s face. “You should have warned us.”

Delarosa left the first Partial’s equipment in a neat pile and started taking off the body armor. “They would have found you either way; this way they didn’t find us until it was too late.”

“We could have laid an ambush,” said Haru. He glanced around, taking stock, and Marcus did the same: three human soldiers dead, plus one of Delarosa’s people. There were at least two more in the trees beyond, keeping watch on the perimeter. “We could have been ready for them and not lost so many people.”

“We were ready,” said Delarosa, moving to the second body. “This was an ambush. We had the perfect situation, with a perfect distraction, and we still lost four people and got two of the civilians wounded.” She pointed at the farmers. “We had ideal conditions and they still killed twice as many as we did. Would you really want to try that again without the distraction?”

“Your distraction was my men!”

“Are you really going to argue with me about this?” said Delarosa, standing to face him. “I saved your life.”

“You let three of us get killed.”

“If I hadn’t done what I did, you would have all been killed,” she snapped back, “or worse still, captured. We are facing a superior foe with better equipment, better training, and better reflexes. If you want to risk a fair fight, you’re as blind as the Senate.”

“The Senate put you in jail,” said Marcus, finally gaining his feet. “You were in a work farm.” He frowned. “You were in this work farm?”

Delarosa turned back to the second Partial, pulling the rest of his equipment into a pile beside the first. “Back when it was a work farm, yes. Now it’s just a . . . crime scene. Anyone left alive has scattered.”

“Did you escape in the attack or shoot your way out first?” asked Haru.

“I’m not here to kill humans,” said Delarosa, and stood again, facing him directly. “I was sentenced to a work farm: You’re right. Do you remember what for?”

“For killing a human,” said Marcus. “That kind of undermines your credibility.”

“For doing whatever it takes,” she said. She gestured to one of her companions, similarly cloaked and hooded, and he came to collect the piles of equipment. “We’re facing the extinction of our species,” she said sternly. “That comes before everything else—before kindness, before morality, before law. Things you would never have done twelve years ago aren’t just acceptable now, they’re required. They’re a moral imperative. I will kill a hundred Shaylon Browns before I let the Partials win. I’ll kill a thousand.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” said Cantona. “That’s the only way we’re going to survive this.”

“If you kill a thousand of your own people, the Partials don’t even have to fight,” said Marcus. “You’re doing their job for them.”

A bird chirped loudly in the forest, and Delarosa looked up. “That’s our cue to leave. Looks like these two had backup.” She ran to the edge of the clearing, but Haru shook his head.

“We’re not going with you.”

“I am,” said Cantona. He grabbed a second rifle from a fallen human soldier. “Come on, Haru, you know she’s right.”

“I’m not abandoning these civilians!”

“Actually,” said one of the farmers, “I think I’m going with her, too.” He was an older man, made lean and leathery from hard labor. He held up his hunting rifle and took a sidearm from a fallen soldier.

Cantona looked at Delarosa, who nodded and looked back at Haru. “We won’t use you as bait again.” She turned and melted into the forest. Her people went with her, then the farmer, and last of all Cantona. He paused, waved, and followed her into the trees.

Marcus looked at Haru, then at Hartley, then at the three remaining farmers. They’d armed themselves with rifles and ammo from the fallen soldiers. “Two of you are wounded?”

“We can walk,” said one of the women, a fierce look on her face.

“That’s great,” said Haru, “but can you run?”

They stopped in a schoolyard, panting with exertion. The pursuing Partials had claimed two more of them, leaving only Marcus, Haru, and two farmers. One of them was wounded, a brown-haired woman named Izzy; she leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closed, her breathing ragged. Haru was out of ammo, and Marcus handed him his last clip.

“You can use this better than I can.” He paused for breath, then nodded toward Izzy. “She can’t go much farther.”

“Get her down from the wall,” gasped Haru, hiding in the brush. “They’ll see us.”

“She won’t be able to get up again,” said Marcus.

“Then I’ll carry her.”

Marcus and the last farmer, a man named Bryan, pulled the woman gently to the ground, propping her against the wall with her head between her knees. Marcus looked at her bandages—she’d been shot through the shoulder, miraculously missing the vital bones and arteries, but the wound was still bad, and she’d lost a lot of blood. He’d already patched the bandage twice, in quick stops like this, and given her all the painkillers he could without knocking her unconscious. The bandage was soaked with blood, and his eyes blurred from exhaustion as he started changing it again.

“I’m starting to wish we had a band of guerrillas using us as bait,” said Haru.

Marcus frowned. “That’s not funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

“You could do it right,” said Bryan. “The ambush, I mean. Enough guns in the woods, with a good clear shot, and you wouldn’t have to risk the bait at all.”

“You certainly could,” said Haru, still panting for air, “you certainly could.” He pulled out his radio and tried again, his voice hoarse with desperation. “This is Haru Sato, I have a medic and two civilians pinned down at the”—he looked up—“Huntsman Elementary School. I don’t know which city. If there is anyone out there, anyone at all, please respond. We don’t know how widespread this attack has been, we don’t know where to retreat to. We don’t even know where we are.”

Izzy coughed: harsh, racking coughs that shook her body until she retched on the ground. Marcus leaned out of the way, then finished bandaging her arm.

“I think something’s wrong with your radio,” said Bryan. “When’s the last time you got a call? In or out?”

“Not since the snipers,” said Haru, staring listlessly at the radio. It didn’t have any bullet holes, but it was pretty dinged up. Marcus wouldn’t be surprised if it was broken.

“Let me see it,” said Bryan, and stood up to take it. His head rose above the level of the surrounding brush and he jerked suddenly, a puff of red mist flying out from the side of his ear.

Marcus and Haru instantly dropped to the ground, flat on their stomachs. Unsupported by Marcus’s arm, Izzy slumped to the side, unconscious.

“Looks like this is it,” said Marcus. “Either your murderer swoops in to our rescue, or we get to say hi to Dr. Morgan.”

“You’ll forgive me for hoping it’s the murderer.”

“You’ll love Dr. Morgan,” said Marcus. “She hates humans almost as much as you hate Partials.”

Haru looked at the playground. “We’ve got about three feet of brush coming up through the asphalt, rising to six or seven if we can make it to what I assume used to be a soccer field.” He looked at Izzy. “I don’t think we can carry her.”

“I’ll grab her and run,” said Marcus. “You cover me. Those taller saplings are only—”

“No,” said Haru, “but that’s exactly what we’re going to pretend we’re doing.” He pointed behind them, a few feet past them along the base of the school wall. Marcus saw the black rectangle of a broken basement window. “You drag her in there,” said Haru, gathering a pile of broken asphalt chunks. “I’ll do my best to make it look like we’re crawling across the field.”

Marcus nodded. “How much time will that buy us?”

“Enough,” said Haru. “If it works. We’ll find another door and slip out of the building on the far side.”

Marcus sighed, looking at the ominous black hole of the basement window. “If I get eaten by badgers or whatever the hell’s down there, I’m going to pretend like this wasn’t our only viable option.”

“Go.”

Marcus rolled Izzy onto her back, brought her arms over her head, and grasped both wrists with his left hand; with his right elbow, on his stomach, he started crawling across the broken asphalt toward the window. The rough edges ripped into his clothes, and a bullet winged off the wall above his head. He kept low, trying not to shake the bushes. Haru threw rocks into the field, keeping the arc low so the Partials couldn’t see them; when they landed, they shook the brush. Marcus thought it must have worked, because the next sniper shot slammed harmlessly into the bushes about twenty feet out from the wall.

He reached the window and peered in; the air inside was dank, like a cave, and Marcus smelled wet dog. Unless recently abandoned, the basement had become an animal lair, though the dogs probably didn’t use this entrance; the ground around it was loose, not packed like a high-traffic passage would be. He couldn’t see much, and decided it was safer to crawl in himself before pulling the sick woman after him.

He was only halfway in when Haru scrabbled to a stop next to the window, breathing heavily. “Pretty sure the game is up,” he said. A bullet slammed into the brick wall above him. “Yep. Get out of the way.”

Marcus slithered the rest of the way through, dropping to the floor and immediately slipping in several inches of slick mud. He stood up and pulled Izzy through, listening as more bullets exploded against the wall. As soon as the window was clear, Haru launched himself through, landing with a strangled groan in the mud.

“It smells like dead dogs in here.”

Marcus searched his pockets for a light, holding Izzy with one arm. “And I’m pretty sure that’s not all mud.”

“No lights,” said Haru. “Follow me.” He stepped forward with a squelch, a dim silhouette in the basement darkness, and Marcus followed as carefully as he could. In addition to five or so inches of liquid mud, the basement was filled with metal desks, stacks of worm-eaten books, and row after row of old laptop computers, tethered with rusty metal cables to rolling metal cabinets. Haru led them cautiously through the maze, and as Marcus’s eyes adjusted to the dark he saw a door appear in the wall before them. Haru tried it, the knob clicking open, when suddenly the room got even darker. The light source behind them had been abruptly obscured, and Marcus dropped to the ground.

Bullets ripped through the air, muzzle flashes lighting up the room in deafening staccato bursts. The flimsy wooden door shredded under the onslaught, and Marcus was just able to see Haru dive for cover behind the nearest laptop cabinet.

“They’re really determined,” said Haru. “I’ve wanted to kill you before but never this bad.”

Haru returned fire on the open window, and the shooter ducked out of the way. Marcus took the opportunity to surge forward, dragging Izzy through the door. When he got to safety Haru stopped, trying to conserve their final bullets, and the shooter came back to the window, laying down a thick stream of suppressive fire. Haru fired his last few bullets, driving the Partial back into cover, and dove through the mud at the bottom of the door.

“I don’t actually agree with what I’m about to say,” said Marcus, “but we’re safe. At least for now.”

Haru nodded, wiping mud from his face “As long as we still have bullets—and as long as they know we still have bullets—they’re not following us through there. But you can bet they’re coming around through another entrance.” He looked up, and Marcus could feel his eyes burning through him, even in the dark. “Time to decide, Valencio. You want to die hiding or pulling a trigger?”

“Where’s the option for ‘soaked in my own urine’?”

Haru laughed. “I’m pretty sure that comes free with either package.” He sniffed. “Besides, we’re already soaked in something’s urine. No one’s going to know the difference.”

“Try the radio,” said Marcus. “You never know.”

Haru pulled it from his belt, holding it up in the darkness. “You have a better chance of reaching God on this thing than anyone still living on Earth.”

“Then I’ll pray.” Marcus took the radio and thumbed the button. “This is Marcus Valencio, assuming anyone out there can hear me. I’m . . . hiding in a muddy tunnel full of dog urine and Haru Sato, though I’m not sure which is worse. I have a wounded civilian and what appears to be an entire brigade of vengeful Partials. They’ve been chasing us for miles, whittling us down from twenty soldiers to two. I don’t know if they’re trying to conquer the island, raid it, or just kill us for fun. I don’t even know who’s around to hear this—for all I know we’re the last humans left.” He let go of the button, and the radio crackled instantly to life.

“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that lately,” said the radio. The voice was scratchy and clipped, and so sudden Marcus almost dropped the handset. Haru stood up, his eyes wide.

“Who is this?” asked Marcus, staring at Haru in wonder. He shook his head, clicked the button, and asked again. “Who is this? Repeat, who is this? We require immediate assistance, and backup, and . . . saving of our lives.” He let go of the button and shrugged helplessly. “They’d better not say no just because I screwed up the radio protocol.”

The radio crackled to life again. “Partial radio traffic says that they’re looking for you, specifically, Marcus. Dr. Morgan wants you for something.”

Marcus froze, suddenly realizing why the voice sounded so familiar. “Kira?”

“Hey, babe,” said Kira. “Miss me?”

“What?” Marcus stumbled for words. “Where are you? What’s going on? Why is Dr. Morgan looking for me?”

“Probably because she wants me,” said Kira. “The good news is, she has no idea where I am.”

“Well that’s a relief,” said Haru derisively. “I’m so glad Kira’s safe.”

Marcus thumbed the radio button. “Haru says hi.”

“Don’t worry,” said Kira, “I’ve got good news for him, too: there’s a Grid army advancing on your position.”

“There is?”

“Head out of the building and south,” said Kira. “You’ll meet a Grid battalion coming the other way, just two minutes out at the most.”

“Hot damn,” said Haru. “Let’s get out of this muck.” He lifted Izzy into a fireman’s carry and started making his way down the hall.

“Wait,” said Marcus, running to catch up with him. “Where are you? What’s going on?” The radio was completely silent, and Marcus ran back to where he’d been standing before. It must have been a sweet spot for reception, because the radio crackled to life again.

“. . . now. Repeat, you have to go now. The battalion has a small arsenal of rocket-propelled grenades, and they intend to bring down the entire building.”

“Wait!” screamed Marcus. “We’re not out yet!”

“Then go!”

He turned and ran, catching up to Haru at the base of the stairs. They ran up, testing the door cautiously before opening it into a wide school hallway. There didn’t seem to be any Partials, and Haru pointed at a pair of loosely hanging doors. “There.”

They ran out of the south side of the building, sprinting across the open street to the cover of a residential street beyond. No shouts rose behind them, no bullets flew past their heads. Marcus swerved around a corner, Haru close behind with Izzy on his shoulders; he lifted the radio to his mouth and screamed into it as he ran.

“Kira? Kira, can you hear me? What’s going on?”

“How old was I when you met me?” said Kira’s voice. “Go that many channels up.”

Five, Marcus thought, we met in school the first year here. He set it for five, then paused. They didn’t organize a school the first year here. I met her when we were six. He flipped the channel dial one more slot up. “What’s going on?”

“This is a trick that will only work once,” said Kira. “They’re listening to your frequencies, but I’m listening to theirs; I told you there was a Grid battalion close by, and I had a friend here give them a false report with the same information. The two Partials hunting you have fallen back, but they won’t stay gone long, and the battalion to your south is at least six miles away. You have to get there fast, because they are hunting you specifically and they will come after you when the realize they’ve been tricked.”

“So—” He slowed, trying to catch his breath. “What do I do now?”

“I’ll help you as much as I can,” said Kira, “but we don’t have a lot of options. We’ve been listening to Morgan’s communication, and here’s the bad news: They’re not just invading the island, they’re conquering it. Inside of two days, every human on Long Island will be a Partial prisoner.”