Something landed on the roof. A white fist slammed down into the windshield from above. Amy shrieked. On her lap, Junior woke. He twisted against her. Amy covered his eyes. Now the glass splintered, impact fractures branching down toward the straining wipers.
Javier ran another one down. This aunt clung on and waved this time before sliding off. Another slammed herself up against Amy's door; it popped open and her aunt's arm reached inside. Screaming, Amy held tight to Junior and reached for the door. She tried forcing her aunt's hand away. Her aunt merely laughed and briefly tangled their fingers, like they were girlfriends holding hands on the way to a carnival ride. Snarling, Amy slammed the door, and watched her aunt's look of surprise through the window when her arm ripped free of her body.
Good work. Awareness shivered down her spine. She knew that voice. She recognized it, now. Inside her head there was something like old, dry laughter.
"Pull over," Amy said, staring at the arm.
"Are you crazy? They're–"
"They're after me, not you." Amy looked down at Junior. He was silent, but clearly agitated, eyes peering everywhere and tiny fists clutched close to his little body. The more she watched him, the calmer she felt. It stole over her, heavy and cold and quick. "They won't stop chasing me. They want revenge. And you and your baby shouldn't be punished for something that I did." She tried to smile. "You were going to leave me behind anyway, right? When I contacted my parents?"
Javier stopped the car. He set his teeth. In the glow of its headlights, Amy saw her aunts begin walking forward. They looked happy. Confident. Smug. "They won't just let me go," he said.
"They walked right past you before, on the truck." She unbuckled her seatbelt and tried handing Javier his child; he blinked at the baby like she was offering him a bomb. He's a smart boy. Appeal to his logic. "You'll get a lot further with only one parasite, instead of two."
Javier snorted. He shook his head. "Have it your way. Nice knowing you." He offered her his hand. Dutifully, Amy shook it; this time his hand was perfectly steady and not at all warm.
"It was nice meeting you, too," she said. "You're the only vN friend I've ever had."
Javier said nothing. He was staring at the fussing bundle of blanket and limbs in his lap, and refused to even look her way. Taking this as her cue to leave, Amy scooted out of the car and shut the door. It screeched away immediately. The aunt on its roof jumped clear and landed in the road.
"That was sweet," she said, her voice a perversion of Amy's mother's.
Relax, the voice within said. She's harmless.
"I know who you are now, Granny," Amy whispered.
Took you long enough. That boy is right. You're very slow.
"Did you want them to get me, all along?"
No. They want to kill you. I want you to live.
Amy watched a crowd of copies steadily advancing on her. They wore her face – her mother's face, Granny's face, the model's face – but their walk was different, wary. They circled her uncertainly. They looked at each other as though wondering what to do next. Weak, Granny said. Scared. Slow. A distinct chill frosted over Amy's skin. It stiffened her jaw and hardened her fists. Her body ran, now, fists out and mouth open, barrelling straight for the nearest aunt. Her vision darkened. She heard screaming. Didn't know whose it was.
Don't worry, darling. Granny's here.
3
Every Little Last Bone and Tooth
You're roadkill; I should have let them eat you.
Amy could almost feel her graphene layers dancing to the algorithms that would retrieve her ability to scream for food. Her repair modules worked to patch damages with resources her body didn't have. They shifted carbon, pushed silicon, redirected lithium, frantically covering the holes, the rips, the gashes. They hollowed her steadily from the inside, unravelling nanoscale threads of minerals from her hair and skin (what was left) and bone (what they could find). She heard feet, felt warmth–
Bite! Now!
She lurched, burning the last of her food-carbons on this gamble, her mouth snapping open and clamping down. Something rough and dry filled it before being crunched away. Her body sang, every molecule clambering for more, chorusing need. She was sucking something. It was rich, a wealth of carbon and sugar, wet and warm and a little pulpy where her tongue washed over it.
Tasty, Granny said. But the amniotic sac would be better.
Amy opened her eyes. All grayscale. Someone with dark hair knelt over her, clutching a smoking hand. The left thumb was gone. She willed her eyes to examine the wound, up the detail. Colour flashed briefly. Gray. Not red. Not human.
"Do you know me?" he asked.
Hungry, she wanted to say. More.
He entered a vehicle and brought out a blanket, then laid her on it. Amy's memories showed her P-I-C-N-I-C.