Partials series 1-3

“Mads—”

“I know I shouldn’t have,” said Madison. “I know. But I love this baby, Kira. I love her more than I can even describe to you. It’s like I know her already—she’s so independent, and so strong, and so . . . funny. I know it sounds ridiculous, but she makes me laugh every day. It’s like we’re sharing a joke no one else can hear. I couldn’t not name her, Kira. She’s a real person.”

“I’m so sorry, Mads.” Kira wiped her eyes. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you to have Samm here in the same building—”

“Haru doesn’t know I’ve named her,” said Madison. “And no, I don’t hate the Partial.” Kira thought she saw her shrug in the darkness. “Whatever the Partials did, they did it eleven years ago: If I held a grudge that long, I’d be just as dead as everyone we left behind. I don’t want to live in a world full of dead people.” She paused, breathing deeply. “And anyway, even if she dies, at least I got to meet my daughter. At least I got to laugh with her jokes.”

The door opened again, and Nurse Hardy returned with a syringe. Kira wiped her eyes.

“Just a little something to help you sleep,” said the nurse.

“I don’t need it,” said Madison.

“You don’t want it,” Nurse Hardy corrected, prepping the needle. “I’m the one who decides what you need. Some sleep will do you good.” She pulled the cap from Madison’s IV tube, inserted the needle, and pressed the plunger. “All done. It should only take a few minutes to kick in, and you’ll finally get some rest. I’ll see you again in the morning.”

Madison sighed. “Fine.”

“I want to see Mkele,” said Kira. “Now.”

“And what do you expect me to do about it?” asked Nurse Hardy. “There’s been an attack on the hospital; Mkele’s busy.”

“Can you find him?”

Hardy gestured at Madison and shrugged helplessly. “She’s one of seven mothers on the floor right now. I’m pretty busy myself.” She sighed. “If I see him, I’ll let him know you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks.”

Nurse Hardy left, and the room returned to darkness.

Kira wiped her eyes again. “Arwen Sato,” she said. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“It’s my grandmother’s,” said Madison. “I know Haru wants a Japanese name, but I think he’ll like this one.”

“I think he’ll like it a lot,” said Kira.

“Then I’ll see you . . . in the morning.” Madison yawned again. Kira watched as her friend slowly calmed, stilled, and fell asleep. Her breathing was deep and rhythmic.

I’m not going to let her child die, thought Kira. I don’t care what it takes. That baby is going to live.

But how? She shook her head, completely overwhelmed. The civil war may have already started, and I can barely walk. And that last blood sample—it was exactly what I never expected it to be. A new strain of the virus that no one’s ever seen? It doesn’t make sense. I thought I knew how RM worked, but now . . . everything I thought I knew was wrong. And I’m out of time to find the answers.

Kira drummed her fingers nervously on the rails of her hospital bed. I need to put all the pieces together. She thought back over the things she’d learned, trying to see them in a new way. RM had four forms, or at least four that she’d found thus far: the airborne Spore, the blood-borne Blob, the Lurker from Samm’s breath, and the Predator from the newborn’s sample. I thought the Spore would turn into the Blob, but it didn’t. It turned into the Predator. And according to the older records, it had done the same thing in the past, so it wasn’t an anomaly. Does it happen every time? What if the Predator is an intermediate step between the Spore and the Blob?

She mentally reordered the versions of the virus, naming the airborne Spore Stage 1, the Predator Stage 2, and the Blob Stage 3. No one had ever actually seen the Blob virus kill anyone—it was in everyone’s blood, so they made the natural assumption, but it had always been in the survivors’ blood. What if it wasn’t actually deadly? What if the killer is the Predator, and then by the time we run a test it’s changed into the Blob?

Kira shook her head, cursing the explosion. If I could test another sample, without an explosion interrupting me, I could know for sure what’s going on here. Maybe. But I don’t have time for more tests—I don’t even have a lab anymore. She shifted again, trying to move, and gasped at the pain in her leg. She cried out in frustration. How can I fix this when I can’t even move?

The door opened again, and Kira looked up to see Dr. Skousen, and after him Mr. Mkele. Skousen walked to Shaylon’s unconscious body.

Mkele locked the door.

“You’re awake,” said Mkele, studying Kira carefully. She smoothed the sheets on her legs and stared back defiantly. “I’m glad. This concerns you.”

“What happened?” she asked. “And where’s Samm?”

Dr. Skousen walked to Madison’s bed, probing her head and face carefully with his fingers. “She’s asleep.”

“Good,” said Mkele. “Let’s get started.”

“What the hell is going on?” Kira repeated, trying to sound as firm and commanding as possible. Instead she felt weak and vulnerable—wounded and tired, half-naked in a hospital bed. She pulled the sheet tighter around her thighs and back. “That was a Voice attack, right? Have they attacked other sites—has the civil war already started? And someone tell me what’s happened to Samm!”

Dr. Skousen pulled a small bottle from the pocket of his lab coat, followed by a small syringe and a tiny needle. The needle seemed to fill Kira’s vision, glinting softly in the faint light.

“Samm is contained,” said Mkele. His eyes looked tired, his face gaunt. “We’re here to contain the other loose end.”

Kira tensed, eyes shooting around the room to look for exits—the door was locked, the window was locked, and her leg screamed in pain even just thinking about running. She looked at Dr. Skousen, slowly filling the syringe, then at Mkele. “You’re going to kill me?”

“No,” said Mkele, walking toward her, “though we do ask that you refrain from shouting.”

Dr. Skousen held up the syringe, and flicked it with his finger. Kira’s eyes grew wide, she opened her mouth to scream, and Mkele clamped a hand over her mouth, grabbing her shoulder and holding her still. Dr. Skousen stepped not toward her, but back toward Shaylon. He inserted the needle in the young soldier’s IV tube and pushed in the entire dose.

“We did not want this,” said Mkele, practically whispering in her ear. His voice was thick and heavy. “Whatever else you think of us, know this: Our hand has been forced.”

Kira watched in horror as the chemical from the shot swirled through his IV tube and into his body. No, she thought. No, no, no.

“I’m going to let go of you now,” said Mkele, hands still clamped tight around her face. “I’m going to uncover your mouth. You are not going to scream.” He waited until Kira nodded, still wide-eyed with terror, then lifted his hands and stepped away. “There. It’s done.”

“What did you do?”

“We gave him medicine,” said Mkele, “but I fear that even with it, he won’t pull through.”

“You killed him,” said Kira. She looked at Dr. Skousen. “You killed him.”

“No,” said Skousen. He sighed. “He died tragically from injuries caused by the explosion.”

“But why?” she pleaded.

“He saw too much,” said Mkele. “Far more than he was intended to see. He would have told others, and we cannot have that.”

“We could have stopped him first,” said Kira. “We could have isolated him, and explained what we needed, and—”

“You’ve met the boy,” said Mkele. “I trust him to go where I tell him, and to shoot where I aim him, but I do not trust him to keep this secret. Not after what’s happened.”

“Then what about me?” Kira demanded. “Obviously I can’t keep a secret either, so why not kill me too?”

“Shaylon was a liability. You are an asset.”

Kira felt a chill run down her spine.