CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Kira looked to Green with wide eyes.
FEAR.
“Come out,” a voice called from downstairs. “We only want to talk.”
“What do we do?” Kira whispered.
“They’ll be armed,” said Green. “And probably wearing body armor.”
Kira nodded, remembering the fight in Chicago. “They’ll link you and know we’re up here. Is it worth trying to fight?”
“If they wanted you dead, they would have killed you already.”
“Or they’ll kill me after they interrogate me,” said Kira. “With the Blood Man gone, they have no reason to keep us alive.”
“That we know of,” said Green. “They haven’t killed me yet.”
“So you’re just waiting until they do?”
“Don’t make us look for you,” said another voice. “You know that only makes us angry.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Green hissed. “Even if we can overpower multiple armed soldiers, what then? For all we know, this whole lake is crawling with them—there could be hundreds more just under the water.”
A stair creaked, loud and haunting. They’re coming up to find us, Kira thought. We’re running out of time and they’ll have guns and—
“Wait,” said Kira. “You said they’re armed, right?” She thought back to the soldiers in Chicago, who’d been carrying both tranquilizer darts and standard assault rifles. “The Ivies might be fine underwater, but their guns aren’t. Normal firearms can’t fire when wet.”
“We had waterproof rifles in our armory in the Isolation War,” said Green.
“Have you seen any since then?”
“Maybe these guys have them all.”
“Or maybe those weapons are too rare, and the Ivies are carrying the same thing as everybody else.” Kira grabbed his shoulder, whispering urgently in his ear. “They have to store them on land, and they’ve got to transport them somehow.”
Another creaking stair. Green stared at her. “You think they came in a boat? Sometimes they have one when they move prisoners, but—”
“Not only do they have a boat,” said Kira, “but any more of them watching from underneath the water won’t think twice when they see that boat leave the island. We only have to make it what, two hundred feet, to the other island? There’s a causeway from there to the mainland, if I remember the map right. Then we’re on solid ground again and we can make a run for it.”
“Until they realize what’s going on, and the whole lake rises up to get us.”
“Do you want to escape or not?”
A gun clicked, a slide racking back. They sound close enough to be on the second floor now, and almost to the final set of stairs. Green’s link was boiling over with terror. “What do we do?”
Kira didn’t have time to plan; she had to wing this as best she could. She put her face against his ear, whispering softly so the Ivies couldn’t hear. “They can’t link me. Lead them out the window.” She pushed away from him and slipped away on all fours, her toes and fingertips barely touching the floor as she stole around the corner to the hallway. Green hesitated, but seemed to understand her plan; he jumped up suddenly and ran to the window, tearing down the blanket and climbing out onto the slanted roof beyond. He disappeared past the edge of the window frame just as the first Partial came into view up the stairs.
“They’ve gone out the window,” said one.
“Check it.”
Kira pressed herself back against the wall, out of sight around the corner, trying to tell how many Ivies there were. She’d heard only two speak, but without looking there was no way to tell for sure. She had to act fast. This part of the hallway contained more broken furniture, neatly stacked like firewood, and the room beyond held the disassembled metal shell of a dryer, which the prisoners had folded out into a flat platform to contain their fires. A table leg in the pile of wood looked like it might make a good weapon, but Kira knew she had no chance in a club-versus-assault-rifle fight. She needed something better, something that used the only advantage she had right now: surprise. There was a large, ornate mirror leaning against the wall, which would be deadly but far too unwieldy to fight with, and an old 3D projector, which would be too lightweight to do any damage. She swore silently and reached for the table leg, knowing she was running out of time.
“They’ve jumped down to the balcony,” said a voice from near the window. They were talking softly, rather than coordinating over the link, but that made sense: They were chasing Partials, so the link would give them away. They didn’t know Kira was listening in. “I’ll follow—you go back down and cut them off.”
Kira saw the scene clearly in her head—one Partial gone out the window, the other walking back down that deep well of a staircase. She made her decision in a flash, grabbing the giant mirror with both hands and heaving it up, holding her breath to keep from puffing with the effort, padding across the floor as fast as she could without making any noise. The frame weighed at least forty pounds. She reached the wall around the staircase and hefted the mirror up and over, pausing only half a second to aim before letting go. The Partial heard her, or saw the motion, but it was too late; he looked up and the mirror crashed into his face, the full forty pounds focused in on a single edge right on the bridge of his nose. His faced caved in, his body crumpling to the stairs below, and Kira raced down after him.
DEATH
Already the link was broadcasting his death; even outside the building, his partner would know. Kira grabbed his gun and turned to look back up the stairs, bringing the rifle in tight to her shoulder. The starlight through the open window made a small trapezoid of light, and she watched it intently, her finger hovering over the trigger, waiting for the other Partial to come into view.
WHAT HAPPENED?
She didn’t know if that was Green or the gilled Partial; the cold blast of FEAR that followed could have been either as well. She thought about Green, trapped outside with a scared, angry warrior, and moved slowly backward. After a few steps away from the stairs the window disappeared from view, and she spun around to confront any other horrors lurking in the darkness. No one had approached her from behind, so she assumed there were only two Partials—or that any others were waiting in the boat. The hallway was dark, with few openings to the light outside, and after the starlight upstairs, her eyes had to readjust. She held still, listening for footsteps or breathing, trying to sense on the link who might be lying in wait beyond the next shadow. All she could feel was the lingering DEATH, bitter as old metal on her tongue.
She looked into the first room she passed; a bedroom, she guessed, the furniture gone and the clothes piled up in the corner. A little girl’s clothes, pink and frilly and eaten through by worms. The next room was an office; the next another bedroom. The house was empty and silent and choked out the light.
A tendril of link data tickled her nose: SOMETHING’S HERE. She moved swiftly to the next room in the hallway, a master bedroom leading out to the balcony. The wide glass doors were all broken, but the curtains still hung across them, thin and frail as ghosts. They billowed gently in the night air, and Kira almost fired her rifle when the shadow of a figure passed across one. The silhouette of a man outside on the balcony, too ill-defined to distinguish.
“Don’t move.”
Another shadow, facing the first. Neither seemed to be holding a gun; either could be wearing a helmet. She moved her rifle back and forth, locked in indecision. Which one is Green?
“Don’t shoot me.”
“Where is the other?”
“I don’t know, she ran ahead.”
“She is in the house.”
“I said I don’t know.”
Kira brought the rifle to her cheek, holding it tightly, focusing her aim. She only had one shot—she had to pick the right target, and she had to hit it. The curtains billowed again, and she realized with shock that she didn’t even know where the men were standing; depending on where the moon was, those shadows could be cast from anywhere. She stepped backward quietly, retreating to the hall. She had to find another vantage point. She stood a moment at the top of the stairs leading down to the first floor, but backed away from those as well; she didn’t want to give up the high ground. But she didn’t want to give the last soldier an open path to the boat, either, so she crept back up the hall toward the third-floor stairs. Stepping around the dead Partial, linking once again to the powerful DEATH particles, she remembered the link data she’d felt on the border marker two days before. It had completely overpowered her, the liquid pheromone so concentrated she’d barely been able to function until the smell of it cleared from her nose. A real Partial, with a more sensitive link mechanism, would be even more affected. She glanced behind her, set aside the rifle, and pulled the dead soldier into the little girl’s bedroom.
“I’m very sorry about this,” she whispered. She pulled off her shirt and wrapped it tightly around her face, already gagging from the body odor and mildew, but hoping desperately that they’d be enough to protect her. The face is too mangled, she thought. I’ll have to go in another way if I want to find the right spot. She pulled the soldier’s combat knife from the sheath on his belt and thought back to her medical training, picturing the diagram of the nasal cavity and calculating the approximate location of the pheromonal glands. She placed the knife gently in the corpse’s mouth, lined up the tip against the center of the soft palate, and shoved.
FEARBETRAYALDEATHBLOODRUNHIDEDEATHSCREAMFEARBLOOD
The link data overwhelmed her, a rush of thoughts and feelings and even memories that threatened to drown her in a dead man’s mind. She held her breath, trying to control her own brain, focusing on her own thoughts, her own movements. She pulled the knife out of the soldier and found it covered with liquid—blood and lymph and dark brown data, the liquid form of a dozen different pheromones jumbled chaotically together. The air seemed to vibrate, shapes and colors and smells and voices flickering madly across through the darkened room. She staggered to her feet and back down the hall.
“What’s that?”
The voices were closer now, but they weren’t the only one in the house, not anymore—
The bombs were falling now, she was back on the beaches of the Isolation War—she was sleeping in the water, looking up at the moon melting shapelessly on the surface of the lake.
DEATH
RUN
HELP ME
She heard a gun clatter to the floor. The hallway laughed at her, shadows twisting into faces telling her to RUN HELP STOP GO KILL. Voices screamed, but she couldn’t tell if they were from the present or the past; real or hallucinations. She stumbled into the master bedroom and saw them, the gilled Partial and Green, clutching their heads and sobbing and shouting and there was her father between them, his hands dripping blood, and she blinked and he was gone.
“Garrett,” sobbed the Partial. Link data slid from her dagger in dark drops of liquid thought, so thick in the air she could hardly see. She walked forward, pushing aside the haze of nerve gas from a Shanghai bunker, the artillery smoke from an assault on Atlanta, the bloody mist from the White Plains coup. She wanted to cower behind the trees, to hide behind the wall, to dive back into the cold, dark lake where she could be safe.
I am Kira Walker, she told herself. Identities ran through her mind like streams, rushing and blending and thundering together. She looked at the two men, now writhing on the floor, and couldn’t tell which was the enemy. I am Kira Walker, she thought again. I will not lose myself. Green is my friend. She found the other Partial, gills flapping wildly on his pale, wet neck, and drove the knife home through the gap in his body armor right beneath his arm. The linked declaration of DEATH barely registered in the haze of super-concentrated madness. Kira fell to the floor, crawling toward Green, and dragged him out the door to the balcony. Fresh air rushed in like a healing angel, and she felt her mind begin to clear. Wooden stairs led down from the balcony; they wouldn’t have to go back inside.
“I don’t want to,” Green mumbled. “I don’t want to.”
“It’s okay,” said Kira, her voice still muffled by her makeshift mask. She looked across the yard to the low stone dock on the island’s edge, where a boat, half-obscured by shadows and trees, rocked gently in the water. Her theory had been right. There really was a boat. And it was empty.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said. “We’re leaving.”