Fragments (18 page)

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.”

T
he first alarm sounded at four in the morning. Afa had rigged the first-floor doors
and windows with small electric alarms, wired to his bedroom and a few of the main
research rooms, and the small jingle woke Kira almost instantly. She was still on
the couch in the film studio, where she’d been for just over a week—the most permanent
sleeping arrangements she’d had in ages. The alarms were persistent but quiet, designed
to alert the occupants without letting the intruders know that anything was amiss.
Kira was on her feet in seconds, pulling on her shoes and then grabbing her gun. If
she had to flee, those were the essentials.

Of course, with Afa poised to blow up the entire building, even fleeing barefoot and
unarmed wasn’t the worst-case scenario.

Kira met Afa in the hall, both silent; he shut off the alarm and listened. If it was
a false alarm, maybe wind or a stray cat pawing at the glass, the building would stay
silent. Kira listened with her eyes closed, praying that nothing would—

Beep. Beep.

Afa shut it off again, permanently this time, jogging heavily down the hall to another
bank of switches. The solar panels on the roof stored massive amounts of electricity,
more than enough to power their jury-rigged security systems at night. Afa woke up
a sleeping monitor, the picture jerking to life like a slide show, just in time to
see a black-clad figure in body armor slip through the window. The helmet was round
and faceless, the too-familiar calling card of the Partial army, though this armor
was battle-scarred and damaged to the point that Kira wondered if it was salvaged.
The brief outline of the intruder’s body against the moonlit street beyond showed
that it was female, though the second form climbing in behind her was probably male.
Kira glanced at Afa, his face of rictus of anxiety and indecision: His other safe
houses he’d simply blown up when they were threatened, but this was his headquarters,
his main library of documents, his life’s work. He didn’t want to blow it up.

But then again, he wasn’t exactly a clear thinker in stressful situations.

Kira and Afa were on the seventh floor, and there were two full levels of security
measures before any ground-level intruders reached the important stuff. The first
story was the explosives, enough to bring the entire building down, and Kira carefully
placed herself between Afa and the manual trigger for the bombs. They watched on scratchy,
closed-circuit cameras as the intruders—only two—picked their way carefully through
the rooms and hallways, from one camera to another, the different angles and monitors
giving their path a crazed, disjointed trajectory. Left to right on the third monitor;
right to left on the first. Top to bottom on the second and fourth simultaneously,
one in front and one behind. They moved slowly, rifles at the ready, colorless shapes
in the darkness. Their helmets seemed to provide augmented night vision, and the two
figures were seamlessly coordinated in their movements. A surefire sign of the link
at work. They were most definitely Partials.

Kira checked her ammunition carefully, never taking her eyes off the monitors; she
might be able to drop one of the Partials if she surprised him, but the odds of beating
two in concert were minuscule. If she didn’t run now, she’d probably wake up back
in Dr. Morgan’s lab, stretched out naked on an operating table while the mad doctor
cut her open to find her secrets.

She took a step to run but forced herself to stop.
Breathe,
she told herself.
Breathe deep. Stay calm. Nobody in the world is more paranoid than Afa—he knows how
to protect his home. Give him time. There’s still another floor between us.

The final camera showed them at the stairs, testing the door and then slowly coming
up. The first floor was devoid of traps because Afa didn’t want the bombs to trigger
accidentally by a stray animal, but Kira hoped the Partials would misread it as a
lack of security entirely. Would they be less cautious on the second floor? She held
her breath, and the Partials’ feet disappeared into the darkness at the top of the
stairs. There were no cameras on the second floor, just sensors and automated booby
traps.