Partials series 1-3

The med room was well stocked and didn’t look like it had been hit yet—though someone had obviously been rifling through it recently, leaving prints and scuffs in the thick layer of dust. Probably the grunts, she thought, though I’ve never seen a grunt run actually sort through the meds before.

Kira started organizing the counter space, designating one area to keep and one to destroy. Salvage training was the first thing the interns learned: which meds could last, and for how long, and which were too far gone to be safe. Bringing expired medication back to East Meadow was even worse than bringing back broken machines, not because they took up space but because they were dangerous. The medics were the caretakers of the entire human race; the last thing they needed was for someone to take the wrong pills—or worse yet, for a vast stockpile of discarded medication to get into the water table. It was safer and easier to sort it out here; they’d even learned how to deal with animal meds, for exactly this kind of scenario—a dog antibiotic was still, at the end of the day, an antibiotic, and without extensive manufacturing facilities, the islanders had to take what they could get. Kira was already sorting the cupboards efficiently when Marcus staggered in, his mask finally in place.

“This place smells like a crypt.”

“It is a crypt.”

“And the animals are not the worst part,” he said, “though I swear there must be a whole dog civilization in here to have this kind of stink.” He opened another cupboard and started tossing medicines into Kira’s piles, knowing exactly which was which without even looking. “No,” he said, “the worst part is the dust. Whatever else we collect from this place, I’m taking a pound of it home in my lungs.”

“It will build character,” said Kira, laughing as she tried to impersonate Nurse Hardy. “I’ve been on nine million-billion salvage runs, intern, and you just have to learn to deal with it. Breathing corpse dust is good for you—it activates the kidneys.”

“Salvage isn’t just good for you,” said Marcus, launching into a dead-on impersonation of Senator Hobb, “it’s essential for the very survival of all mankind. Think of the part you’ll play in the glorious new page of history!”

Kira laughed out loud—Hobb was always talking about the “new page of history.” Like all they had to do was keep writing, and the book would never end.

“Future generations will look back with awe at the giants who saved our race,” continued Marcus, “who threw down the Partials and cured RM once and for all. Who saved the lives of countless infants, and . . .” His rant died off, the room feeling suddenly uncomfortable, and they worked in silence. After a while Marcus spoke again.

“I think they’re getting more nervous than they let on,” he said. He paused. “They didn’t mention it in the meeting, but they really are talking about lowering the pregnancy age again.”

Kira stopped, her hand in the air, and shot him a quick look. “You’re serious?”

Marcus nodded. “I saw Isolde on my way home to change. She says there’s a new movement in the Senate pushing for statistics over study—they say we don’t need to look for a cure, we just need to have enough children to hit the immunity percentage.”

Kira turned to face him. “We’ve already hit the immunity percentage. point-oh-four percent means one out of every twenty-five hundred kids will be immune, and we’ve passed that twice now.”

“I know it’s stupid,” said Marcus, “but even the doctors are getting behind it—more babies helps them either way. More opportunities to study.”

Kira turned back to her cupboard. “Another drop would take it to seventeen. Isolde is seventeen—what’s she going to do? She’s not ready to be pregnant.”

“They’ll find a donor—”

“This isn’t a dating service,” said Kira harshly, cutting him off, “it’s a breeding program. For all we know, they put fertility drugs in the water supply—in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they did.” She took the boxes from the cupboard angrily, slamming them down in the keep pile or throwing them full force in the trash. “Forget love, forget freedom, forget choice, just get yourself knocked up and save the damn world already.”

“It’s not seventeen,” said Marcus softly. He paused, staring at the wall, and Kira felt her stomach twist into a knot as she anticipated what he was going to say. “Isolde says there’s a referendum in the Senate to drop the pregnancy age to sixteen.”

Kira froze, too sick to speak. The pregnancy age wasn’t a restriction, it was a rule: All women of a certain age were required, by law, to get pregnant as soon as possible, and to be pregnant as frequently as possible.

I’ve known this was coming for two years, Kira thought, ever since they enacted the thing. Two years to prepare myself, to psych myself up, but still—I thought I had two more. They keep dropping it. There’s no way I’m ready for this.

“It’s stupid,” said Marcus. “It’s stupid and unfair and I know—I can only imagine how it feels. I think it’s a terrible idea, and I hope it dies as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you.”

“But what if it doesn’t?”

Kira coughed, squeezing her eyes shut. “Don’t start this now, Marcus.”

“I’m just saying that we should . . . think about it,” he said quickly, “if the law goes into effect. If you don’t make your own choice, they’ll just—”

“I said not right now,” said Kira. “This is not the time, this is not the place, this is not anything approaching the circumstances in which I want to have this conversation.”

“I’m not just talking about sex,” said Marcus. “I’m talking about marriage.” He took a step toward her, paused, and looked at the ceiling. “We’ve been planning this since we were thirteen, Kira—we were going to intern together, work at the hospital together, and get married—this was your plan too—”

“Well, it’s not my plan anymore,” she said quickly. “I’m not ready to make these kinds of choices, okay? I’m not ready now, I sure as hell wasn’t ready at thirteen.” She turned to the cupboard, swore softly, and turned again to the door, walking out. “I need some air.”

Outside she pulled off her mask, sucking in long, deep breaths. The worst part is, I can totally see their point.

The trees to the north lit up suddenly with a brilliant orange, followed a second later by a deafening roar. Kira felt the shock wave pass through her, twisting her gut. She’d barely had time to process the sight and sound of the explosion when her hearing returned and she heard the soldiers shouting.

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Private Brown rushed toward Kira, grabbing her in a full tackle and dropping her to the ground beside a parked car. “Stay down!”

“What’s going on?”

“Just stay down!” Brown pulled out his radio and thumbed the call button. “Sergeant, this is Shaylon. Are you taking fire, over!”

The radio crackled; nothing but white noise.

“Someone’s shooting at us?” asked Kira.

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be asking Jayden,” said Brown, and thumbed the radio again. “Sergeant, do you read? What’s your situation?”

The radio buzzed emptily, Kira and Brown staring at it desperately—an explosion could be an accident, or the Voice, or even Partials, for all they knew. Was this an attack? An invasion? The radio said nothing; then abruptly Jayden’s voice tore out of it in a ragged burst of static.

“Site three was rigged to blow! Five men trapped inside—get the medics up here ASAP!”

Brown whirled toward the clinic, rising to his feet in one smooth motion. “Casualties at site three!” Kira started running before he even turned back—she could see the smoke rising up from the site, not more than a mile down the road. Brown fell into step behind her, his rifle held tightly in front as he pelted full speed down the road. Kira felt for her medical bag, whispered a silent thank-you to whatever had kept it on her shoulder, and lowered her head for a sprint. Brown barely kept up with her.

She saw Jayden first, standing on the cab of an overgrown truck with a pair of binoculars, scanning the full circle of the horizon. Next was the wagon, the left front wheel blown off and at least two of the horses down, the others whinnying in terror. Last of all she saw the building—a smoking ruin between two other structures, like a tower of wooden blocks thrown down by an angry child. One of the soldiers was dragging another by the hands, pulling him clear of the wreckage. Kira dropped next to the fallen man, one hand on his wrist to check his pulse while the other probed his chest and neck for injuries.

“I’m fine,” the soldier coughed. “Get the civvies.”

Kira nodded and sprang back to her feet, staring at the shattered house in shock—where should she even start? She grabbed the standing soldier and pulled him away from the fallen one.

“Where are the others?”

“The basement,” he said, pointing down. “This corner.”

“Then help me get in there.”

“The building was two stories tall—they’re completely buried.”

“Then help me get in there,” she insisted again, pulling him toward the house. Kira was already picking her way through the rubble when Marcus arrived, still out of breath.

“Holy . . . crap.”

Kira delved deeper into the ruin. “Mr. Turner!” she called. “Ms. Cantrell! Can either of you hear me?” She and the soldier froze, listening, and Kira pointed to the floor on her left. “Down there.”