Kira swore as she ran, tripping on the frozen, sooty drifts. She stopped a moment, listening, and there it was, buried underneath the deep, chopping rhythm of the rotor: distant gunfire. Enough to carry three miles through the wilderness.

“Our group is still there,” she said. “All the refugees we brought out of East Meadow, people we almost died trying to save—all caught now.”

“They won’t kill them,” said Samm.

“Of course they’ll kill them!” said Kira. “You heard what they said—that humans are vermin, and every Partial who works with them. Green’s back there, Samm—they’re going to execute him as a traitor.”

“Not tonight,” said Samm. “We have time to talk to them, to make them see reason.”

“Are you so sure?”

Samm didn’t answer.

“Keep running,” snarled Heron. “He’s back up again.”

Kira looked up, trying to follow the line of Heron’s finger, and spotted the black patch of nothingness streaking slowly above the smoke. “South,” said Kira. “Toward the beach.” She took off again, running through the crowd. The streets south of the command center were the narrowest yet, skinny footpaths between close-packed houses, but Phan had rejoined them now and climbed to the top of the nearest house to shout directions.

“Four rows over!” he shouted. “No, the next one!”

Kira reached the next row and dove left, watching the rotor swoop down over an open lot between houses. The spinning blades in the wings threw up a flurry of ice and mud and shingles, cloaking the landing zone in a deadly maelstrom of debris. Kira covered her face with her arm and surged forward.

DOWN, Heron linked, then followed it by shouting out loud, warning the humans of the same thing. “Get down! Stay inside and get in cover, it’s too dangerous!”

Kira ignored him, desperate to make sure Armin saw her. She gritted her teeth and charged into the swirling cloud of debris, deafened by the noise of the engines. A spotlight flared to life, probing the ground before quickly settling on her. Her arm shielded her face from the glare and the debris, but this was what she was here for. She needed him to see her, to come closer so the others could catch him. She closed her eyes and pulled her arms away, baring her face to the spotlight. Dust and ice swirled around her, stinging her face; her hair whipped frantically in the wind. The rotor hovered in place, the light streaming down, studying her, until suddenly a powerful burst of wind threw her to the ground, and she shielded her eyes as she watched the rotor lift up again into the sky.

He left. . . .

“It’s going south now,” said Heron, helping her to her feet. “Out over the beach.”