“It doesn’t matter either way,” said Haru. “If they haven’t heard us talking, then we’re out of danger for now—it’s getting dark, and they have no reason to hunt down a group of armed soldiers who might be lying in ambush. More than likely the Partials retreated, regrouped, and you can bet they’re on their way to another farm.”

“Then we don’t need to protect them anymore,” said Cantona, gesturing again at the farmers. “Either way we cut them loose, tell them to make for East Meadow, and then we try to rejoin our unit.”

“I can’t raise them on the radio,” said Haru. “We have no unit to rejoin with.”

One of the other soldiers, a big man named Hartley, held up his hand, and the group fell instantly silent. It was a sign they’d become all too familiar with, and Marcus listened intently, gripping his rifle. The Partials had stronger senses—better hearing, better vision—so they could detect Marcus’s group from much farther away, but in a forest this dense, they still had to get close to engage them, and at that distance the humans could sometimes hear them coming. They were no match for a Partial unit, though, with or without warning; the only enemy they’d managed to kill had been distracted by larger forces. Marcus and his group had been running, pure and simple, and they’d still been whittled to a fraction of their former numbers.

They sat in silence, ears perked, rifles ready. The forest around them stared back, as still as a tomb.

Marcus heard one of the watchmen curse suddenly, shouting the first few syllables of a warning, and a little black disk clinked against the wall by his feet. He looked down just in time to see it explode in a blinding flash of light, and suddenly the entire patrol was shouting. Marcus clutched his eyes, grunting at the throbbing pain, seeing nothing but brilliant white afterimages. Guns fired; Haru shouted; people screamed and cried. Marcus felt a splash of hot liquid on his hands and ducked down, cowering against the wall. A body fell against him and he crawled backward, his breathing ragged and terrified. By the time his vision cleared, the fight was over.

Senator Delarosa stood over him, a rifle in one hand and a thick, hooded cloak over her head.

Marcus tried to think. “What?”

“You’re lucky it was only two,” said Delarosa. “And that we had the drop on them.” Her face was grim. “And that we had such good bait.”

“Two what?”

“Two Partials,” said Haru. He was shaking his head, pounding his ear with the palm of his hand as if it were ringing. “And don’t call us bait.”