The suits moved again. She froze in surprise, just for a split second, before dropping to the floor. She wanted to call out to the others that she’d found her, but she didn’t risk it; if the assassin didn’t know she’d been spotted, Kira could sneak up on her. A moment ago she was glad to not be on the link, and now cursed the fact that she was unable to silently communicate what she’d seen. She waved at Green, getting his attention, and pointed at the suits. He nodded, acknowledging that they were the same suits she’d pointed out below, and she shook her head, pointing at them more firmly. He stared back, uncomprehending, and she gritted her teeth in frustration.
He stared at her a second longer, then suddenly the link flooded with understanding, and the group of soldiers began maneuvering toward the suit display, converging on the single point with brutal efficiency. Kira followed, but a new doubt was creeping into her mind: Why hadn’t the shooter moved? Why stay in one place for so long? The most obvious answer was that she’d taken up a sniping position, but she didn’t seem to have a good view of anything; the railing was solid, more of a low wall, so she couldn’t shoot or even see through it. That led Kira to the next most obvious answer, and she shouted a warning as soon as she realized what was really going on.
“It’s a trap! She’s trying to draw our attention; it’s a trap.”
The Partials responded immediately, fanning back out, combing over the third floor even more cautiously than before, not taking a single step forward until every step behind them had been checked and secured and cleared. When they finally turned the corner to the far side of the railing, Kira looked at the rack of suits and saw an old man, his arms and legs bound tightly with plastic ties, his mouth gagged, his body lashed to the rack. Each time he moved, the suits shook.
“It’s not a trap,” she growled, “it’s a decoy.” She ran forward and pulled the gag from the man’s mouth. “Where is she?”
“Escalators,” the man gasped. “She crawled down the escalators.”
Kira swore, out loud this time, and stood up to peer over the edge. The escalators were such an obvious death trap that they hadn’t even considered them, and their only pair of eyes watching the center of the room was Jansson, far below, where a body slithering down them would be completely hidden. A sniper up here, in her position by the suit rack, would kill everyone who tried to climb them, but their sniper at the bottom hadn’t seen a thing.
And then the link data wafted up: DEATH.
“Jansson’s down,” said Green. “She’s gotten behind us.”
Kira ran, screaming as she went. “Marcus! Marcus, look out!” A gun fired, and then another, bullets roaring back and forth by the entrance to the mall, and Kira clattered down the escalators as fast as she could, desperate to reach him in time.
The gunfire stopped, and Kira dropped to the jagged metal steps, rifle at the ready, listening. Was she too late? Was he already dead?
“Somebody better get over here,” said Marcus, and Kira closed her eyes, so relieved she could barely hold her head up. “I think it’s still alive.”
Kira ran down the last few stairs, creeping carefully through the bullet shells strewn on the ground floor until she saw the Partial assassin lying prone on the tiles, her rifle several feet from her hand. There was blood everywhere. Her head was turned to the side, a gas mask obscuring her face, but her pale gills flapped feebly in her neck, opening and closing in a slow, silent gasp for air. Kira approached the downed monster carefully, still terrified of what she could do, half expecting her to leap up and stab her, or bite her, consuming every last bit of life she could before death dragged her screaming down to hell.
Instead the Partial reached up and pulled off her gas mask, panting for air. She was just a girl, Kira’s age, but smaller. Her eyes, dull from blood loss, focused loosely on Kira, and she moved her mouth, trying to speak.
“Who are you?” asked Kira. She kept her rifle trained on the girl, stepping slowly toward her. “Who do you work for?”
“My . . .” The girl’s voice was a ragged whisper, every word a struggle. “My name is Kerri.”
“Who do you work for?” asked Kira again. Her rage was slowly deflating into pity, but she fought to keep it burning hot. “Why are you killing us?”
“You need . . . to be preserved.” The girl moved her finger feebly, her body still flat on the ground, her head resting on the cold, bloody floor. “We don’t want to . . . lose you. When the world ends.”
“The world already ended,” said Kira.
“It’s ending again,” said Kerri, and her finger stopped moving. The life disappeared from her eyes.
Blood seeped out in a widening pool, hot and red and lost forever.
