chapter FORTY-TWO
Calix spread her arms wide, gesturing toward the entirety of the Preserve. “What do you want to see first?”
“Dr. Vale,” said Kira.
“Not till this afternoon,” said Calix. “I checked with the hospital, and he’s got a birth this morning.”
Kira’s heart soared at the thought of a birth, and she longed to see the cure administered firsthand, but she forced herself to stay focused. They had a lot of other things to investigate. “That big black spire in the middle,” she said.
“Too dangerous,” said Phan. “That was ParaGen’s main building, and the Partials blasted the shiz out of it during the rebellion. I’m amazed it’s still standing.”
It was worth a shot, thought Kira. But if Heron hasn’t been captured, that’s got to be where she is.
Samm bent down to examine the grass, probing it gingerly with one finger before pressing his whole hand down to touch it. “How does this survive the rain?”
“Engineered microbes in the soil,” said Calix. “It absorbs the poison too fast for it to do any real damage to the plants.”
Kira knelt down as well, running her fingers through the soft, lush grass. “They’re not even discolored. The microbes must come right up into the leaves.”
“Maybe,” said Calix. “I’m not a scientist, I wouldn’t know.”
“But they do teach you science,” said Kira, standing up. “I mean, they have a school here, right?”
“Sure,” said Calix. “You want to see it?”
Kira shot another glance at the central spire, towering over the Preserve like a blackened tombstone. That was where she wanted to go, but they’d have to wait until the time was right. She felt ready to explode with frustration, but took a deep breath and hoped Calix and Phan couldn’t see how stressed she was. The time will come, she told herself. We need to earn their trust first. “Sure, let’s see the school.”
“The school’s great,” said Phan, falling into step beside Kira as they walked. He had more energy than anyone Kira had ever met, ranging back and forth as they walked, smiling and waving at everyone while inspecting each tree and wall they passed, all while carrying on a conversation. “You learn all the basics first, like reading and writing and math and all that. Vale saved a bunch of schoolteachers, so they know what they’re doing. I was actually with the teachers during the Break. I was in kindergarten, and we were all hiding in a bomb shelter after a Partial attack during the first wave of the war. They hit so fast they didn’t even have a chance to cancel school, so I don’t know what happened to my family, but I guess that’s the only reason I’m still alive. Sucks to be my parents, obviously, since they weren’t at school and we could never find them afterward, but you say some people are just naturally immune, so for all I know, they’re still alive. That’s awesome; that’s like the best news ever.”
Kira couldn’t help but smile, struggling to keep up with the dizzying pace of his conversation. “I’m sorry you lost your parents.”
Phan looked at her quizzically. “You still have your parents?”
Kira shook her head. “Good point—I guess none of us have our parents anymore.”
“Some do,” said Phan with a shrug. “Families Vale was able to find and inoculate all in one bunch. Doesn’t bother me, though—I never would have made it twelve years if I’d spent all my time missing dead people. You gotta move on.”
Kira glanced at Samm and Calix, deep in a similar conversation. She hoped Samm could keep his head and not spill any secrets about who he was; Calix was certainly doing her best to distract him, smiling and laughing and touching him now and then on the arm or shoulder, just lightly. Kira felt a sudden surge of paranoia, convinced that Calix was trying to seduce Samm and learn the truth, but even as she thought it, she realized it was stupid. Calix was probably just giddy at the sudden introduction of a hot teenage guy into a very, very small dating pool.
Somehow, that thought only made Kira angrier.
“Being a hunter is not the most important job,” said Phan, “but it’s definitely one of them, because it’s one of the only ways we get protein. Protein that’s not eggs, I mean. There are deer in the Rockies, and elk and mountain goats, and this is the best place for them to find food, so we keep the gates open and tore a bunch of the fences down and welcome them in—which makes it sound easy, but sometimes they don’t come in, and sometimes we get wolves coming after the chickens or the kids or whatever, so the hunters are the ones who set traps and follow tracks and keep the food chain moving in the right direction.”
There was something incredibly cheery about the way he talked—his bragging didn’t seem arrogant or pushy, he was just proud of what he did and genuinely happy to be doing it, and his excitement over each new topic of conversation seemed infectious rather than overbearing. Kira soon gave up trying to squeeze a word into the torrent of eager babbling, and listened as Phan talked about everything from wolf pelts to wasteland survival to the finer points of converting an office building to living space. They passed several more of the big buildings, and even a fountain in a grassy courtyard, and Kira marveled at the strange mix of affluence and survivalism that permeated their society—they had running water and electricity and showers and even a grounds crew, patiently mowing the grass and trimming the bushes, but on the other hand they had none of the salvage opportunities that Kira had grown up with. All the clothing stores within easy reach had been ravaged by acid storms or incinerated in chemical fires, so the people wore a mixture of frontier homespun, animal hides, and patchwork oddities hand-stitched from old curtains and sheets. Kira realized that they would probably find her own background equally bizarre, a parade of high-fashion divas using candles and wood-burning stoves in their giant, decaying mansions. Was there anywhere on Earth where life was normal? Did “normal” even mean anything anymore?
The school was in another office building, filling the two lowest floors with hoots and hollers and the happy shrieks of children. Kira’s heart beat faster as the sound grew louder, still shocked by the existence, let alone the sheer number, of children in the Preserve. This is what I’ve been working for, she thought. This sound—this crazy, wonderful chaos. A new generation discovering the world and making it their own. Tears filled her eyes, and she felt torn between the desire to stop and stand and soak it in, absorbing the happiness as slowly as she could to make it last that much longer, or simply to race forward and throw open the doors and drown herself in the joy of so many children. Her reverie was cut short when Samm spoke.
“You go in,” he said. “I’m going to go get the horses.”
Kira looked at him in surprise. “Alone? Let me go with you, it’s too dangerous in the ruins for one person.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I can tell you want to see the children. Calix said she’ll go with me—this close to the Preserve, she knows the ruins well.”
Calix was smiling, and Kira was so shocked she couldn’t read the expression on the other girl’s face. Did she look pleased? Too pleased? Victorious? Kira stammered, trying to form a response: On the one hand, Calix almost certainly knew the territory better, and for that reason would be a better companion for the trip. On the other hand, a trip into the ruins for Kira and Samm would be another chance to speak in private, and to look for Heron—or for Heron to contact them. If she was trying to stay hidden, she wouldn’t approach with Calix standing right there. And . . . Kira still didn’t trust Calix, for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Kira wasn’t going to keep denying to herself that Calix’s evident crush on Samm didn’t rub her the wrong way. But it was more than that.
“We’ll be fine,” said Calix. “I’ve been through there dozens of times. I think I know exactly which store you left them in. And I haven’t seen a horse since before the Break. I’m dying to meet them.”
“Weather’s clear,” said Phan. “Go now and you’ll be back in time for lunch—I bet those horses’ll be excited to eat some real grass for a change after walking in the wasteland. How long were you out there anyway?”
“Um . . . three or four weeks,” said Kira. She was still trying to form a plausible protest as Samm and Calix walked away.
“Come on inside,” said Phan. “This is great. You’re going to love it. They’re doing a play today, all the third and fourth graders. Something about fairy tales or something; they do it every year.” He pulled Kira into the school, and she followed blankly, watching Samm and Calix disappear around the corner.
The city of Arvada looked different in the daytime—it seemed more desolate, somehow, with the sun beating down from a cloudless sky. Samm took deep breaths, vigilant for any sign of Heron on the link, but all he smelled was dirt and sulfur and bleach. The toxic scent of the wasteland.
Calix steered him around a wide, hazy intersection, pointing to faint wisps of smoke with an expert eye. “Toxic fumes,” she said. “The rain last night reacts with some of the dry chemicals that collect in the shallow pans like that, and it makes a poison gas. When the wind gets bad, it blows right into the Preserve, but on a still day like this you can just go around them.” She led him onward, sometimes speaking softly about the city—its hazards and its opportunities—and sometimes just walking in silence. Her knowledge of the wasteland and how it worked was impressive, and Samm thought about how helpful she would have been on their journey out here. They would have traveled much more easily, and perhaps even managed to save Afa’s life. I wonder if she’d want to come back with us, he thought. She talked about trying to leave, and she’d be an asset on the road, knowing what she does about surviving in the wasteland. Of course, she might not want to come at all if she knows what’s it like there, and it would be a change for her, going from the bliss of the Preserve to the horror of war back east. I’ll ask Kira what she thinks before I suggest it.
“That’s it up there, right?” she asked, pointing down a wide, ramshackle street. Samm recognized the shopping center at the end of the road and nodded.
“That’s right.” They walked easily, without fear of enemies or predators because there were none anywhere in the area. The same wasteland that imprisons them, thought Samm, also protects them from any other threats. It keeps them safe, and it keeps their lives easy, but if a real threat ever appears, they won’t be ready for it. He watched the way Calix walked, sure and confident but wary only of very specific dangers—she could spot the poison gas, for example, and yet walk right past a prime ambush point without even noticing. They wouldn’t last a day against a real enemy. They should pray that Dr. Morgan never finds them.
The horses whickered hungrily when Samm approached; their food was gone, and their water was almost depleted. He spoke to them simply, trying to emulate Kira’s soothing tone, but his words were still direct and matter-of-fact, like he was talking to another Partial soldier. “Sorry we were gone overnight,” he said. “We found a group of people in the ParaGen complex. They have real grass and an apple orchard, and clean water to drink. We’ve come to take you back.” He pointed at Calix. “This is Calix. She’s a friend.” The horses stared back with deep, dark eyes, stamping their feet impatiently.
“They’re huge,” said Calix. “Bigger than any elk I’ve ever seen.”
“They’re hungry,” said Samm, “and they want to get outside. They don’t like being stuck inside with their own droppings, this one especially.” He patted Oddjob on the nose and brushed her back with his fingers to calm her. “This one’s Oddjob, and that’s Bobo. Kira named them.” He showed her how to soothe them, and then how to load them up with the equipment—first a blanket, then the saddle, buckled tight enough to stay on without cinching too close and hurting them. They were skinnier now than when they’d started the journey in New York, and he hoped that a short stop in the Preserve could give them some strength back, and a bit more weight. They’d need it for the return journey.
Calix seemed to be thinking the same thing, for she asked him a question as she worked on Bobo’s saddle. “How long are you staying?”
“I don’t know,” said Samm, though the question had been troubling him ever since they’d found the settlement. He had to be careful what he revealed to her. “We can’t stay long—we came looking for ParaGen’s headquarters in the hopes to find a cure for RM, and now that we’ve discovered one exists, we need to take it back as soon as we can. Our people are at war, and we need . . .” He paused, not sure how to say what he needed without giving too much away. “To be honest, we’re looking for more than just the cure for RM,” he said. “We need information on the Partials themselves. We’re trying to . . .” How much should he say? How much was Calix prepared to hear? The people in the Preserve didn’t seem to think much one way or the other about Partials, but they likely still blamed them for the Break. How would she react to the idea of peace between the species? She was staring at him, her eyes full of . . . trust? Friendship? He couldn’t read human emotions, and wondered again how they ever managed to get along without the link. He’d seen the look on her face before, on Kira’s face, but he wasn’t sure what it meant.
He decided to be direct, at least in part. Maybe they could trust Calix more than Kira thought. “We’re trying to help the Partials,” he said. “They have a problem of their own, a sickness that’s killing them, and if we can cure it, it might mean a chance at peace between our species. That’s why we came to the ParaGen complex, to see if we could find something to help us—and to help them.”
“You’ll have to talk to Dr. Vale,” said Calix. “He knows all kinds of stuff about RM and disease. Maybe he knows something about what’s happening to the Partials.”
“We have very similar doctors at home,” said Samm, thinking of Morgan. Do Vale and Morgan know each other? Is Vale truly a part of the Trust?
“But Dr. Vale cured RM,” said Calix, “like, twelve years ago. Your doctors haven’t been able to do that yet.”
“Does that seem odd to you?” asked Samm. “He had a cure for RM almost as soon as it appeared? Within weeks?”
“I guess no one really asked,” said Calix. “I’m not sure what you’re suggesting . . . that he had sinister motives? How could saving people’s lives be sinister?”
If he already had a cure prepared before the Break, Samm thought, and kept it for himself and his “Preserve.” But the rest of the Trust didn’t have it, did they? Morgan or Nandita, or Trimble from B Company—where was their cure? It didn’t make sense, and Samm found the discrepancy intensely troubling. There was more going on here than he could grasp, and he didn’t like it.
“I’m sorry you had to live so long without a cure,” said Calix, leaving Bobo and stepping toward Samm. “Naturally immune or not, that must have been horrible, to watch everyone you know die, to watch all those babies, year after year. . . .”
“Yes, it must have been,” said Samm, almost immediately realizing what he’d said—his phrasing made him sound like an outsider from the human society. But Calix didn’t seem to notice; instead she took his hand in her own, rough and calloused but warm and gentle. He tried to smooth over the mistake with a firmer statement. “Every infant has died since the Break.”
“You have no children at all?” There was a look of deep sadness in her eyes as she contemplated the life in East Meadow. “No wonder Kira seemed so overwhelmed.” She paused a moment, looking at Samm’s hand. “Are you . . . ? Are you and Kira . . . ?”
“Leaving?” asked Samm.
“Together?” asked Calix. “Are you . . . married? Dating?”
Samm shook his head. “No.” But before he could say another word, Calix was kissing him, her lips pressed against his, soft and supple, her body warm against him and her arm wrapped behind his head, pulling them closer together. Samm froze in surprise, his brain melting under the sensation of her lips, but he regained control and gently pushed her away. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not very good at this.”
“I could teach you.”
“I mean, I’m not very good at communicating,” said Samm. “I don’t always understand . . . It’s not important. What I mean to say is I’m sorry if I . . . led you to believe something I shouldn’t have.”
Calix’s face was a mix of surprise and confusion. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You seemed . . . interested.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I think I’m in love. . . .” He paused. “I don’t think she even knows.”
Calix laughed, a hollow sound that seemed more sad than amused. She wiped a tear from her eye and laughed again. “Well. I look like a big stupid idiot now, don’t I?”
“I’m the idiot,” said Samm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“That’s very kind of you to say,” said Calix. She took a deep breath and shook her head, wiping another tear. “If you could do me a favor and not tell anyone I, uh, threw myself at you like a moron, that would be very kind as well.”
“Of course,” said Samm. He felt suddenly embarrassed to be looking at her, and cast around for something else to occupy his eyes. He chose the floor, and stared at it awkwardly. “You’re much more forward than she is.”
“Apparently so,” said Calix. Samm watched out of the corner of his eye as she walked back to the horses. “You crossed the entire continent together, and yet neither of you ever made a move?” She huffed another short, hollow laugh. “No wonder you don’t have any children.”
“That’s not the reason,” Samm began, but Calix cut him off with another nervous laugh.
“I know, I know, it was just a stupid joke. I’m sorry, I’m really making an ass of myself today, aren’t I? Good old Calix.”
“You’re very attractive,” said Samm.
Calix groaned. “That’s not what I want you to say right now.”
Samm felt terrible, first because she felt terrible, and more so because he didn’t know how to talk to her. Damn link, he thought. I know how to talk to Partial girls, but humans are so . . . He rolled his eyes. They’re like a whole different species. He felt horrible for giving Calix signals he wasn’t aware he was giving, and now he couldn’t even console her.
“I wish I knew what to say,” he said. “I’m really, like I said, a terrible communicator. I’m not good at talking—”
“It’s okay,” said Calix quickly.
“It’s not okay,” said Samm. “I’m sick of it. I want to be better at this, but I’m just not built for it. I didn’t want to cross an entire continent with Kira without ever saying anything, but I did, because I don’t know how to say it. There are a lot of things I’m stuck with, but . . . I’m just sorry. I am.”
He looked up, and saw that Calix had stopped her work on the horses and was staring back at him. Her voice was soft. “What is it you want to say to Kira?”
Samm stood still, emoting a thousand different bits of data that Calix didn’t even know were there. Right now wasn’t the time to say things like this to Kira, they had more important things to do. And yet . . . Kira thinks I’m a statue, he thought. An emotionless mannequin. He deliberately imitated the signs of sadness and resignation he’d seen in other humans, drawing in a breath and letting it out slowly. A sigh. “I don’t know what she wants,” he said at last. “You made your intentions clear. Kira is a mystery to me.”
“You don’t know if she loves you back.”
“We’re too different,” said Samm. It was hard to talk without saying too much. “I don’t know if she wants . . . what I am.”
“Sure,” said Calix. “For all we know, she might really get turned off by handsome, competent, kindhearted guys.”
“You’re very kind,” said Samm.
“Lot of good it’s doing me,” said Calix. She sighed as well, moving away from the horses and sitting cross-legged on an old, weathered table. “Look. You and Kira was not the relationship I’d hoped to be discussing today, but I’ve done this enough times with Phan that I’m pretty sure I’ve got some pointers you could use. First of all, everything you said about not knowing what she wants? She feels exactly the same way—I haven’t talked to her or anything, but I guarantee it. Ironclad. I’ve been watching you ever since you came into town, and you never gave a single sign that you were interested in her. That’s why I made a move. If I couldn’t tell, neither can she.”
“I’m very bad at commu—”
“I know,” said Calix firmly. “I am very quickly becoming an expert in how bad a communicator you are. We’ve established that, and we’re moving past it. Step two: You said you were grateful to me for being so up-front about my feelings, and frankly, I’m grateful to you for being up-front about yours. Once I forced it out of you. I’d rather know how you feel than hope and wonder and delude myself for weeks on end—which is exactly what she’s been doing.”
“You can’t know that,” said Samm.
“Of course I can,” said Calix. “Not everyone’s as bad at this as you are, Samm. Anyone with eyes to see can tell she’s got a thing for you.”
Samm stood stock-still, but any Partial linking with him would have been stopped short by the intensity of his emotions. He wondered if it was true—if Kira really had feelings for him, a Partial, one who’d attacked her people, betrayed her to a madwoman, and caused her more trouble than he cared to think about. A man with barely a year left to live before the Partial expiration date erased his life and his future in a single stroke. He didn’t think it was possible.
“She has a boyfriend,” said Samm. “Another medic, back in New York.”
“New York’s pretty far away.”
“But we’re going back.”
“And if you get all the way back there without saying anything, you deserve to lose her,” said Calix.
Samm couldn’t help but agree with that. “Marcus makes her laugh,” he said. “I can’t do that.”
“You could always try just lunging in for a kiss,” said Calix with a wry smile. “Didn’t work so hot for me, but you never know.”
“I don’t think that’s my style.”
“Your style is silent celibacy,” said Calix, “and I can guarantee that won’t work either. Just talk to her.”
“I talk to her all the time.”
“Then start saying the right things,” said Calix.