She dragged herself to her feet, shrugging off the rubber cables. The radio console was chaotic, but not indecipherable. She could tell which knobs went where, and which controls connected to which speaker. Somewhere on the roof was a bank of antennas, charged and ready, the dozens of transceivers below each tuned to a different frequency. With this equipment she could hear any radio in a thousand-mile radius—more, if Afa had as much power as he said he did. And once she found a microphone—not if, but when—she could communicate back. There would be something in the building, left over from the old days, and if Afa had somehow destroyed them all, then there would be something in the city, in the electronics shops and the stereo stores. Somewhere there would be a mic.

Kira would find it. And she would use it.

“I need a microphone.”

Afa wasn’t ready for another confrontation, but Kira didn’t have time—there were people dying, and she needed to help them. The big man shuffled through his food supplies, peering myopically at shelves of cans. “I don’t talk to people,” he said, “I just listen.”

“I know you don’t,” said Kira, “but I do. The Partials have invaded Long Island, and I have friends there. I need to help them.”

“I don’t help the Partials—”

“I’m trying to help the humans,” she insisted. She ran her hand through her hair, already tired and worn. She felt torn, even on this seemingly simple issue—she didn’t want the humans to die, but she didn’t want the Partials to die, either. She wanted to save both, but now that they were engaged in open war, what could she do? “With a mic and your radio station I can feed them information, keep them running circles around each other. At least until I can think of something better.”

Afa found a can of refried beans and waddled to the door. “You can’t help humans. I’m the only one left—”

“No, you’re not,” she said loudly, blocking his path. He was head and shoulders taller than she was, and more than three times her weight, but he shrank back from her like a deflating balloon, eyes down, chin tucked in, shoulders hunched and ready for a blow. She softened her voice but kept her stance firm. “There are thirty-five thousand people on Long Island, Afa, thirty-five thousand humans. They need our help—they need your knowledge. Everything you’ve collected here, they can use that. They’re trying to cure RM, and they know nothing about it, but you know so much. For all I know, you have the key to manufacturing the cure somewhere in here, to solving the mystery of the Partials’ expiration dates, to averting another war. There’s a whole human society left, Afa, and they need your knowledge.” She stared at him firmly. “They need you.”