She paused in midcrouch, listening tentatively.

“He’s a friend of ours,” Marcus continued. “A Partial soldier named Vinci. Delarosa’s got a two-week lead on you, but only a few days on him. For all we know he’s already stopped her, but we can’t take the chance of not warning everyone, just in case.”

Kira shook her head, fighting back tears. “But what if he doesn’t make it?”

“You wouldn’t even know where to start looking,” said Marcus. “You want to work together with the Partials? Then trust Vinci. Help us warn East Meadow—humans and Partials.”

“We can’t help the humans escape the occupation by telling the occupiers where we’re going,” said Woolf.

“This is a really terrible time to even bring that up,” said Marcus, shooting him a hard glance. He looked back at Kira, who was trying her best not to scream. She breathed carefully, forcing herself to be calm. This is just another obstacle, she told herself. I’ve overcome others, I can overcome this one.

“This is always the hardest part,” she said.

Marcus raised his eyebrow. “Evacuating the entire human population of Earth from a nuclear fallout zone?”

Kira gave a sad smile. “Accepting that I can’t fix everything.”

She curled up in her bedroll apart from the others and tried to sleep. They needed to rise early in the morning and get to East Meadow quickly. The Partials had to listen to reason. She’d seen too many groups like Green’s and Falin’s, lost and directionless as Morgan withdrew ever deeper into her obsession. They were occupying the island because they didn’t know what else to do—surely she could convince them of her plan?

I need to save everyone, she thought. I can’t live with anything less. I won’t leave anyone behind.

Anyone else.

She fell asleep and dreamed of Samm.

In the morning Kira rose early, roused Green and Marcus, and set out for East Meadow. Newbridge Road was wide and straight, lined with trees and stores and crumbling houses. The center strip, which had once been grass, was now bursting up with bushes and saplings, lumpy and white with mounds of snow. The storm had stopped in the night, letting them see farther than they had in days, and the sun was blinding as it reflected off the fierce white sheet. A small breeze blew whorls of loose powder across the surface of the drifts, white ghosts on a white field. The crust was brittle, and they sank to their thighs with each freezing step.

One mile took them nearly an hour.