Read Online Fragments by Dan Wells - Free Book Online
Authors: Dan Wells
Tags: Science-Fiction, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Social Issues, Survival Stories, Prejudice & Racism
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previously scavenged. Normally this wouldn’t have been strange, but the ParaGen offices
had made her wary, and her closer investigations had all proven the same thing: The
scavenger, whoever he was, had come recently. This was more than just eleven-year-old
looting from the end of the world—someone in the wilds of Manhattan had been collecting
computers and generators within the last few months or so.
She’d been watching this place for nearly an hour and a half, focusing her energy,
trying to be as cautious in tracking the looter as he was being in hiding his tracks.
She watched a few minutes more, scanning the storefront, the neighboring storefronts,
the four stories of windows above them—nothing. She checked the street again, empty
in both directions. No one was here; it was safe to move in. She checked her pack,
clutched her assault rifle tightly, and raced across the broken road. The door had
been glass, and she leapt through the shattered opening without pausing; she checked
her corners, gun up and ready for action, then carefully sighted down each aisle.
It was a small store, mostly speakers and stereo systems, and most of that was long
gone, thanks to the original looting. The only person here was the skeletal remains
of the cashier, holed up behind the counter. Satisfied that it was safe, she slung
her rifle over her shoulder and got down to business, examining the floor as carefully
as she could. It didn’t take her long to find them: footprints in the dust, clear
imprints that could only have been made long after the storefront was destroyed and
the building had filled with dirt and debris. The prints here were even clearer than
they’d been before, and she measured one with her hand—the same huge shoe size she’d
seen before, maybe size fourteen or even fifteen. The prints were also shockingly
well preserved: Wind and water would naturally erode the prints over time, especially
those in the centers of the aisles, but here there had been almost no erosion at all.
Kira dropped to her knees, examining the prints as gently as she could. The others
had been made within the last year; these might have been made within the last week.
Whoever was stealing generators was still out there doing it.
Kira turned her attention to the shelves, trying to deduce from their condition, and
from the placement of the footprints, exactly what the scavenger had taken. The main
concentration of prints was, predictably, in the corner where the generators had been
displayed, but the more she looked, the more she saw a deviation in the pattern: He
had taken at least two trips to the opposite side of the store, one slow as if he
were looking for something, and one firm, the prints deeper, as if he’d been carrying
something heavy. She glanced over the shelves, her eyes sliding past dusty plastic
phones still tethered to the metal frames, past slim notebook computers and tiny music
players like Xochi used to collect. She followed the trail carefully through the rubble
on the floor, ending at a low, empty shelf near the back. He’d definitely taken something.
Kira bent down to brush away the dirt from the shelf tag, and struggled to decipher
the weathered writing: HAM . Ham? No electronics store would sell ham. She peered closer, picking out the faded,
filthy word that followed: RADIO . HAM radio, the “ham” all in capital letters. Another acronym, like IT, that she’d
never come across before.
Computers, generators, and now radios. Her mysterious scavenger was putting together
quite the collection of old-world technology—and he was obviously an expert, as he’d
known precisely what the thing on this shelf had been without having to clean up the
tag first like she had. More than that, though, he’d taken some very specific equipment
from the ParaGen offices, which couldn’t possibly be a coincidence; he wasn’t just
grabbing certain
had made her wary, and her closer investigations had all proven the same thing: The
scavenger, whoever he was, had come recently. This was more than just eleven-year-old
looting from the end of the world—someone in the wilds of Manhattan had been collecting
computers and generators within the last few months or so.
She’d been watching this place for nearly an hour and a half, focusing her energy,
trying to be as cautious in tracking the looter as he was being in hiding his tracks.
She watched a few minutes more, scanning the storefront, the neighboring storefronts,
the four stories of windows above them—nothing. She checked the street again, empty
in both directions. No one was here; it was safe to move in. She checked her pack,
clutched her assault rifle tightly, and raced across the broken road. The door had
been glass, and she leapt through the shattered opening without pausing; she checked
her corners, gun up and ready for action, then carefully sighted down each aisle.
It was a small store, mostly speakers and stereo systems, and most of that was long
gone, thanks to the original looting. The only person here was the skeletal remains
of the cashier, holed up behind the counter. Satisfied that it was safe, she slung
her rifle over her shoulder and got down to business, examining the floor as carefully
as she could. It didn’t take her long to find them: footprints in the dust, clear
imprints that could only have been made long after the storefront was destroyed and
the building had filled with dirt and debris. The prints here were even clearer than
they’d been before, and she measured one with her hand—the same huge shoe size she’d
seen before, maybe size fourteen or even fifteen. The prints were also shockingly
well preserved: Wind and water would naturally erode the prints over time, especially
those in the centers of the aisles, but here there had been almost no erosion at all.
Kira dropped to her knees, examining the prints as gently as she could. The others
had been made within the last year; these might have been made within the last week.
Whoever was stealing generators was still out there doing it.
Kira turned her attention to the shelves, trying to deduce from their condition, and
from the placement of the footprints, exactly what the scavenger had taken. The main
concentration of prints was, predictably, in the corner where the generators had been
displayed, but the more she looked, the more she saw a deviation in the pattern: He
had taken at least two trips to the opposite side of the store, one slow as if he
were looking for something, and one firm, the prints deeper, as if he’d been carrying
something heavy. She glanced over the shelves, her eyes sliding past dusty plastic
phones still tethered to the metal frames, past slim notebook computers and tiny music
players like Xochi used to collect. She followed the trail carefully through the rubble
on the floor, ending at a low, empty shelf near the back. He’d definitely taken something.
Kira bent down to brush away the dirt from the shelf tag, and struggled to decipher
the weathered writing: HAM . Ham? No electronics store would sell ham. She peered closer, picking out the faded,
filthy word that followed: RADIO . HAM radio, the “ham” all in capital letters. Another acronym, like IT, that she’d
never come across before.
Computers, generators, and now radios. Her mysterious scavenger was putting together
quite the collection of old-world technology—and he was obviously an expert, as he’d
known precisely what the thing on this shelf had been without having to clean up the
tag first like she had. More than that, though, he’d taken some very specific equipment
from the ParaGen offices, which couldn’t possibly be a coincidence; he wasn’t just
grabbing certain
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