CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Owen Tovar ran through the streets of Huntington, heedless of making noise, trying only to get as far from the coffee shop as he could. His bad foot made him lope along unevenly, and he pushed himself to go faster. The Partials had hunted most of his group to nothing; he’d sent Mkele east with what soldiers they had left, and stayed behind to draw the Partials away. It was a strategy that had worked well so far, but it wouldn’t work much longer. They had no men, no time, and no explosives.
Technically I have a ton of explosives, he thought, pelting between the cars. Partial soldiers had seen him now, and a few bullets whipped past him. But that’s all going to change in three, two, one—
The coffee shop behind him exploded, the force of the shock wave so great that it threw him to the ground, even a block and a half away. The Partials behind him were shredded by the blast, and Tovar rolled onto his stomach, covering his head with his hands as shrapnel rained down around him. His ears rang, leaving him temporarily deaf; he gambled that the Partials couldn’t hear either, and scrambled to the nearest side street before standing up and bolting off again. The soldiers would be too preoccupied to chase him for another few minutes at least; he needed to use that time to get as far away as he could.
Even as he ran, though, he knew he didn’t have any options. Delarosa’s forces had survived against the Partials through guerrilla tactics—harassing their flanks, hitting their supply lines, and then fading away into the wilderness. Tovar had needed to do more to get their attention, to draw them away from the human refugees fleeing south, and thus he had been more aggressive. And now they’d chased him all the way to the North Shore for it. He was surrounded on three sides by water, and on the fourth by Partials. He had nowhere left to run.
If I can make it to the water, I might have a chance, he told himself. Maybe I can find a boat, or a piece of driftwood big enough to keep my head above water. Maybe I can just hide somewhere, and stay there for a week or whatever it takes. He chanced a look back over his shoulder and was encouraged to find that he was still alone. They would find him eventually, but finding him would hold their attention. That was the goal. Anything that keeps them here, on me, so the others can get out of East Meadow and off the island.
I knew I was going to die when I signed up for this, he thought. Dad always told me never to volunteer for anything—you’d think I’d learn to listen—
A light flared in front of him, bright and white and blinding. He stumbled on his bad foot, turning to flee, but something slapped into his back, sharp and painful like a sting from a giant bee. He dropped instantly, his body convulsing as a jolt of electric current ran through it. When his mind cleared he was lying on the ground, his face in a grassy gutter, his limbs twisted like a rag doll and completely immobile. He tried to talk, but his mouth felt like lead.
The Partials don’t use stun guns, he thought. Who has the electricity to spare for a stun gun?
A pair of hands, surprisingly gentle, turned him over. The man standing over him was a dark silhouette, framed by the bright lights behind, and Tovar couldn’t discern any features. “I want you to know that this is not an attack,” said the man. His voice was soft, with a nuance of expression that marked the speaker as human. Tovar tried to answer, but his jaw moved feebly, and no sound came out. “This will hurt you,” said the man, “but it will save you, in the larger sense. ‘You’ as a people. The human race.”
The man set a plastic case on the ground next to him, opening it with a click. Tovar couldn’t see what was inside, but the shadowy man pulled out a glass jar and unsealed the lid. “Everyone is going to die. I assume that’s not a surprise.” He set the open jar on the ground and reached back into the case to pull out a long, sharp knife. Tovar tried to move, but he was still paralyzed. “I say that to let you know that you dying right here, right now, is an honor. You were going to die anyway, but it would have been meaningless in any other circumstance. This way you can be a part of the new beginning. The new life that will replace the old. Little sting here.” The man placed the knife on Tovar’s hand and pressed down, chopping off his longest finger. Tovar screamed in his mind, the pain burning through him like a fire, but no sound came out. The man dropped the finger into the jar, and went to work on another one. “There was a plan, you realize, for everyone to survive.” Chop. “Not just survive but prosper—human and Partial, everyone together. It wouldn’t have been hard. But that plan’s gone now, and I’ve had to adapt.” Chop. His voice remained calm the entire time, as if he were simply talking to a toaster while methodically taking it apart. “Now, this is the part that’s going to hurt the most. Speaking biologically, I mean—I don’t know if it will cause more pain than the fingers, but it will certainly cause more damage. This is the part you won’t live through, is what I mean to say.” He held up the jar and shook it gently, rattling the three fingers at the bottom. “I need to fill the rest of this with blood.”
Tovar’s voice returned just in time for him to scream.