“From Marisol Delarosa,” said Haru. “She’d started requesting strange equipment, stuff that didn’t fit any of her known methods, so I followed her.”

“What kind of equipment?”

“Scuba gear,” said Haru. “Acetylene torches. Stuff that didn’t make sense from one drop to the next, but they all started adding up to the same thing.”

“Underwater salvage,” said Mkele, nodding. “I assume this means she’s been exploring the Last Fleet?”

“The Last Fleet wasn’t destroyed as a message,” said Haru. “It was carrying a nuclear missile.”

Mkele’s face tensed immediately, and Haru continued. “It was the US government’s ‘final solution,�� to land a nuke on the Partial headquarters in White Plains and knock out the majority of their military operation in one move, even at the expense of one of the most densely populated areas in the entire country. They needed to sail in close to bypass the Partials’ missile defense systems; it was a suicide mission even before the Partials figured out what they were doing. Some old man in Delarosa’s team was a navy chaplain before the Break, and he started talking about the same final solution. That’s what gave her the idea. He knew all kinds of things once she started asking the right questions. The missile was on an Arleigh Burke–class destroyer called The Sullivan.” He leaned forward. “I tried to warn you by radio, but my unit sided with her. I can’t stop her alone, so I came as fast as I could. If nothing goes wrong with their operation, they’ll have the warhead in hand by tonight.”

Mkele whispered, “God have mercy.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

They saw the mountains first—massive peaks that rose up from the plains of the Midwest like the wall at the edge of the world. The tops were white with snow, even in the summer. They reached the outskirts of the city soon after, a suburb called Bennett, washed pale by the acidic rainfall, the streets stained a sulfurous yellow and the brown plants dry and brittle. The dead plains lapped at the edge of the city like an ocean of poison grass, and no birds perched on the eaves or the power lines. The cities Kira had grown up with, even the massive ones like Chicago and New York, had stood like monuments in an overgrown cemetery, marking the site of death but covered with vines and moss and the signs of new life. Denver, in contrast, was a mausoleum, lifeless and bare.