Kira and her companions lost most of their gear in the river: Samm’s rifle, Afa’s radio, and almost all their food. Afa held on to his backpack, but the documents inside were soaked and useless, the paper disintegrating and the ink running hopelessly. His screen, thankfully, survived the trip, but the Tokamin to power it had washed away. Kira knew that this was potentially the most devastating loss, but it wasn’t the one that made her saddest. That was Heron’s horse, Dug, who’d broken both front legs in the crash. He’d survived, but all he could do was scream in pain and fear, his breath frantic and his mouth flecked in foam. Samm had ended his misery with a bullet.

They kept moving as soon as they recovered enough to do so, Samm and Heron and Kira taking turns on Buddy and Bobo while Afa, still wounded and nearly delirious, had to be tied into Oddjob’s saddle to keep from falling off. Kira was convinced that his leg was infected, and they raided every pharmacy they passed, trying to replace their lost meds. As they traveled Kira was surprised at her ability to keep up with the others, matching not only the horses’ pace, but their stamina as well. She had always known she was strong, and chalked it up to a lifetime of bitter survival—she had to work for everything she got, and that had made her physically fit—but she realized now that it was more than that. She could match the Partials stride for stride, mile for mile. It was a boon, but it disturbed her to learn it. Another piece of evidence that deep down inside, she was profoundly inhuman.

Their path took them north a few miles, back up past the river to Highway 34, and on this they struck out west. The land there was more of what they’d passed on the east side of the river, flat prairies as far as the eye could see, dotted here and there by stands of trees or dark lines of scrub and underbrush, marking a gully or a ditch or an old homestead. Kira thought it was pretty, especially when the sun began to set and the entire scene, both earth and sky, lit up in fierce reds and yellows and oranges. She looked at Samm, the beauty of the scene too much not to share with somebody, but his eyes were dark, and his face morose. She angled toward him and caught his attention with a nod.

“What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing.”

“Samm.”

He looked at her, then out at the glowing sunset. “It’s just . . . this.”

Kira followed his gaze. “It’s gorgeous.”