At Ming’s house he stopped at the foot of the driveway. The windows were shuttered, but from underneath the panels a hair-thin line of light showed. Ming opened the door to get out, then closed it again.

‘Thanks for taking me,’ he said.

‘Thanks for taking over. You should call them about your car.’ Gwen only now remembered it.

‘Yes.’ He hesitated a little. ‘Gwen. Are you all right?’

She felt as if the computer in her lap burned bright, like a fiery beacon for all the world to see. Ming could not possibly know. She tried to make her voice light —

‘What do you mean?’

‘Can you drive home? Or would you rather I took you?’

A large bird alighted on the mailbox, making them both start. Gwen squinted, trying to make out its colors in the twilight.

‘It’s only a magpie,’ Ming said. It looked at the car, cocking its head, then took off as randomly as it came.

‘I can drive,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m not that tired.’

‘You were frightened.’

‘And you weren’t?’ She tried to touch his lip and he leaned away, but at least it made him smile.

‘I didn’t have to drive through it all. And there was a lot.’

‘I wonder what happened there.’

‘We’ll probably know in the morning.’

Ming looked at the house.

‘Are you sure?’ he tried again, but Gwen cut him off —

‘Yes!’

‘I should go then.’

She watched his back as he went up the drive. In a moment, he was admitted inside, and the door closed, leaving Gwen in darkness.

Somewhere up in the trees the magpie gave a loud, warning shriek, and Gwen crawled over to the front again. Within the car she knew that she was relatively safe, but the habit of keeping indoors after dark was too deeply ingrained by now. Taking the wheel again, she hurried towards home.

The street lights came on as she was turning out of Ming’s driveway, but they were too dim to be much help. Gwen was trying hard to focus her eyes on the empty road, looking for holes and bumps, when her phone rang.

‘I’m all right,’ she said before Santiago could begin. ‘Going home from Ming’s.’

‘Your facility’s in the news.’

That was fast, and Gwen couldn’t help the foreboding.

‘Why?’

‘There’s a fire there.’

The car shuddered as it went over a fault in the asphalt that Gwen missed.

‘What fire?’ she asked feebly. ‘Fire why?’

‘Well, they’re not saying that, I guess it’s classified. They’re only showing the fire. The whole building’s burning, they’ve evacuated the neighboring ones, but so far it’s not spreading.’

‘It won’t,’ Gwen said automatically. ‘Too far.’ But her mind had already run away with the news.

Fire! They must’ve got in, if the building was set alight. She didn’t want to imagine it yet couldn’t help it, and the flames rose before her eyes — licking the walls, rushing across the ceiling, reducing machines to heaps of charred plastic, filling the place with a terrible, lung-eating smell. The walls themselves would remain, she knew, and after a while the building could be restored. But the damage to the data was irreparable. Her body ached all over as it dawned on her in full — how much time and effort was now wasted, all their research to be painstakingly recreated, all for nothing but an intrusion, all because they…

Her thoughts stopped in their tracks. It was not all lost after all; she had it in her computer, stored safely if illegally — not all of it, just the portion she’d had access to, but it was something — it could be of great use.

But that meant she had to tell.

‘I’m going home,’ she said to Santiago. ‘We’ll talk when I’m there.’

‘Sure.’ He did not yet know what she meant by talking. ‘I’ll keep your chicken warm.’

‘Be there soon,’ Gwen said for a goodbye.

All their hard work went up in flames. It was better than letting them have it, and it was only one facility, but still it was a loss — and especially so soon after Far Cove, where much was lost, too. If Gwen’s data could remedy even a part of it, it was her duty to give it over, regardless of the consequences for herself; yet she couldn’t close her eyes to those consequences, and as she drove on her mind gradually filled with terror.

It would be different if she could produce the answer, the solution, but she could not. She would not be the savior who could be forgiven some roguishness; she would be suspected of collusion if not worse, because that was always the suspicion where information was involved. In fairness, there was a decent chance she could prove her innocence — being actually innocent would help with that — but there was the risk, the risk of…

Gwen’s thoughts were getting muddled. The weariness she’d denied to Ming was catching up with her finally, pushing at her and pulling her downwards like the tide. At home, there would be coffee; then, propped up by it, she could think. For the time being she gave up on that, and just let the car carry her.

The buildings became sparser as she neared the edge of Ming’s neighborhood. A lot of these, she knew from before, were abandoned, dilapidated; some owners must’ve moved to a more densely populated place, for safety, others presumably died. In the dark, the houses looked all black, indistinguishable from the trees and only barely showing against the deep gray of the sky. The street lamps grew fewer before disappearing altogether, and Gwen was forced to turn on the headlights. Soon enough, she left the city behind and entered the fields.

Here the road was much better, if also unlit. During the day, it had to carry the heavy machinery that worked the crops; Gwen’s tiny vehicle was nothing in comparison. She sped up in the direction of the distant hill beyond which her own neighborhood lay.

Apart from the small stretch of the asphalt that the headlights hit, Gwen could see very little. The fields stretched into the distance, black and unknowable. In daytime she would’ve been able to see where they ended — would’ve seen the city where it hugged this piece of land like a horseshoe, and the forest where it closed the remaining gap. The forest had been a popular holiday destination before the invasion, but by now it had grown dense and impassable, left alone for years because they had taken over it. They crept into the fields often, too — Gwen had seen them before, during the day, walking through the wheat, stealing the grain as if they had the right. The workers were too afraid to chase them off.

Now she could see no-one there, human or otherwise. Occasionally Gwen passed a building, but, lightless as they were they seemed ghostly, rising out of the night like some skeletal ships on the ocean floor. Otherwise the darkness was absolute, and Gwen’s imagination populated it with lurking, winged shadows, making her flinch every time she heard a random piece of gravel hit the bottom of her car. Ahead, the sky was a little paler where the street lights reflected off the clouds; Gwen pushed determinedly towards that, feeling the car glide effortlessly along the good road, feeling sleep inching towards her, trying to take over.

It was not that late; she was not that tired. Gwen told that to herself over and over, but the effect was limited. She’d almost snoozed when something startled her awake, and it took some blinking and staring at the road before she cleared her head enough to recall it.

There was a hit. Something had bumped against her door, something too large and soft to be gravel. Gwen checked each mirror in turn, but could see nothing. The road began its slow ascent uphill; soon enough she would be out of this place and back in the city streets, where perhaps it might be easier to remember what was real.

Gwen had had auditory hallucinations before. Illusions, her doctor had called them: when she was exhausted and she’d hear music in the sound of rushing water, or birds chirping that weren’t really there — that was apparently normal, she’d been told, just the way some people’s brains worked when worn-out. She certainly felt worn-out now. This would not do.

She reached behind herself with one hand and pulled the computer out of the bag. She could turn on the news, find out what they were saying about the fire; hearing a human voice would surely help. Holding the thing on her lap was not the best driving position, but here on an empty road it didn’t matter much. She waited for the keyboard to recognize her, then checked the data, stored safely behind her wall of pass codes, and turned to the network.

Nobody knew for sure how much they understood of any human language. Just in case, the news had to be circumspect, careful not to mention anything they could use and to minimize any hurt they caused. Still, after all those years Gwen had learned to read between the lines, and if…

Another hit came from the other side. On instinct she shut the lid, making the computer go quiet. That couldn’t possibly have been a hallucination, it was too clear —

Something landed heavily in front of her face, claws scratching metal, and before she could see it clearly Gwen redlined again.

The wind pushed the thing off, but it would not be alone — they never were, not near humans. Gwen turned on the rear lights — and felt cold trickle down her spine.

They were after her, swarming like giant black bees, silent in their determination. Whether they found out somehow what she had, or latched onto her for their own reasons, she had to get away. But you could never get away if they chose you, if they wanted you dead —

No use to think about that. There had to be something she could do. The car shot up the hill, laboring as the incline got steeper.

The underground was an option. The car would outrun them, but at the station Gwen would have to leave it, and run for a train before they could catch up. As the car reached the top Gwen slowed down. The descent would take her into the city streets, and she wished fervently that those would be as empty as the fields, letting her dart through with no stragglers to get under her wheels or in the way of the swarm —

They had hit the windshield, screaming and scratching at it. Gwen screamed back at them, braking on instinct even before she realized she couldn’t risk going downhill without seeing the road. She turned to the mirror to see the other, larger group drawing closer, chillingly fast now that she stood still; they would catch up soon, and claw and hit her car until the glass or metal gave in. Sturdy it may be, but against such an horde it would not stand for long.

There had to be a way out. Before Gwen and behind lay clouds of feathered evil, but for the moment they left her flanks unattended. With a hard turn of the steering wheel, throwing them off in a spray like water, she wheeled off the road.

The car fell hard but didn’t flip over, and Gwen pushed it downwards across the wheat. It could drive on any turf, in theory, but she’d never before had to put it to any test harder than broken asphalt. It was doing well enough for the moment, and Gwen felt a tiny sliver of relief. She had lost some speed by leaving the road, gained some by going down the hillside; overall, she could still outpace them. Still, she had to find her way back into the city, fast, and from the field that was harder to do.

She turned the lights up to see better. Somewhere in front of her was the forest, but if she drove in a curve she could turn her side to it, and follow along the edge to the city. There she’d have to drive to a station, run down inside and jump into the train — any train — but at night trains were few, so the risk was they’d catch up with her before one showed up. A hub station would be the better choice, then, where several lines met and more trains came through. But there would be people there… Well, she would have to warn them to jump in with her, wherever they were planning to go. The sight of the mass following her would be enough of an argument — perhaps enough to shut down the station, to trap them in there and torch it once the train’s gone. Gwen felt in her pocket for the train pass as she drove on, trying all the while to gauge the distance to the forest where it lay unseen in the black distance. She was turning slowly to face the city again, to go parallel with the road. The plastic felt warm in her hand. The group following her, now united, lost ground, unable to compete with a tireless mechanism; if only she could go on like this, and get to the city…

The wheat before her suddenly spurted black, and Gwen yelped in fear. The steering wheel slipped from her fingers, and she clutched for it frantically, clung to it and turned the car away from them — from yet another squad that had lain in wait for her, another she’d not expected.

How many were there? Were they working in concert or competing? Why were they chasing her — they couldn’t possibly know — but why else would they go after her? Gwen had never before been in anything more than a glancing attack, similar to what happened to Ming. But she had heard of incidents like this, too. They would hold on to their victim and never let go. She tried to and could not remember a case when someone escaped, but it had to be possible. There had to be a way. Gwen watched them circle, lit from down below by her headlights. They did not want her to get to the city, that was clear; she had to outmaneuver them somehow. She couldn’t quite see how to do it from where she was, and for the moment simply went on.

The computer was still in her lap, its corners burrowing into her ribs. She searched the sky for that lighter patch, trying to get her bearings again. Where was the road? She couldn’t be far from it, yet couldn’t find it; they had turned her, and in running from them she’d lost her way.

Angry tears stung her eyes. What had she done to them, why would they do this when they could not possibly know —

Yet in truth it was she who couldn’t possibly know. Guile and trickery were their nature; perhaps they understood human speech better than anyone thought. There was no way to know what they may have seen back in the lab, what they could’ve understood and let out before the thing burned; for all she knew they were already aware of everything, and went meticulously after every strand of the plan, every human, cutting them all off until there was nothing left.

Gwen wiped her tired eyes and peered again into the black distance. She was giving them too much credit. Nobody in the facility had discovered her illegal channel, and where humans failed surely they had no chance at all.

But why would they go for her, if not because of that?

She should not underestimate the people around her. Perhaps someone did know; perhaps someone had betrayed her, and told — told them, in whatever way they could comprehend. If she was innocent of collusion, that didn’t necessarily mean others were. It was not entirely unheard of, and especially after Far Cove you had to…

Cold sweat was running down her ribs. She could not let them have her, or the data. She was going in a wide circle, watching them follow her in the distance, and it seemed to her somehow that her car was moving more slowly, that they were catching up. If only she could see the road…

From the dark, a building jumped out at her, empty windows gaping, and she hit the brakes; she had no idea what it was, couldn’t recognize it in this light. She wheeled around it, looking for a sign, a number, keeping an eye still on the shadow following her. A building meant the road would be near, but behind all the high fencing she couldn’t see it. Still, if she only drove around it —

Like fat black cockroaches they streamed out of the windows and shot towards her, throwing themselves into her face. With a shriek she swerved away and into the fields, and in the mirror saw the road she was chased away from.

Suddenly the picture snapped into place, and she knew where she was; that was the old factory, abandoned, just at the foot of the hill, and that meant —

That meant that before her was the forest.

The mirrors were blurry before her eyes, the wheat a river of yellow where her lights shone through it. But she could still see them above it, black against black but visible as they were moving, faster, in her direction — there, between her and the road, and to her sides as well — where did those come from? She didn’t know. There was not much distance left between her and them; they’d catch up soon enough, and she had nowhere left to go but the forest.

For a while she still drove on automatically, watching them come closer as the car lurched through the wheat; and slowly, very slowly the understanding dawned.

She would not get out of this.

It was a strange thought, an unfamiliar one — she had never before found herself in such circumstances. Before, she always knew what to do. But there were simply too many of them.

She watched them as they came closer, watched them close their ranks to form what looked to her like a thick mobile hedge, all beaks and claws and coordination. She tried to feint to the side, half-heartedly, and saw them drift immediately to catch her, reading her intentions perfectly.

Slowly, gently, Gwen stopped the car.

She watched herself as if from a great distance, her hand on the gear odd and alien, something that never belonged to her. She had failed, but she could not feel it, not really. She had always known they could kill, but somehow she’d always felt it would happen to someone else, always someone else, never really herself. Even when they’d hit her car before she’d always known it would be over, and she’d get away.

She was so certain she was prepared for every eventuality — even a trial, even prison. Yet somehow, stupidly, she’d never truly expected this.

Gwen longed now to call her family, to hear their voices; but it would only be cruel, when she had no choice.

They had fallen on her in a storm, closing over her head like dark waters, and she stared at the demonic mass outside — the eyes, the beaks and claws, the feathers, all mixed into a whirling, screaming horror. But the glass muted their shrieks, and Gwen’s own detachment muddled them further, making it all seem very remote. She watched the deep grooves appear on her windshield and heard the helpless screech of metal, but even now that they were so close she still couldn’t imagine what those claws would do to her — how that would feel, to be torn apart.

But she couldn’t let that happen. She still had the data to safeguard, to take care of. Using her alien hands was inconvenient, but after some trying she managed to boot up the computer again. The connection was weak out here in the fields, and the files were heavy; it would take a while to upload them. She attached them to a letter, then sent it without writing anything. Perhaps that would be a bit mysterious, but she didn’t have it in her to come up with words, not now.

Shock. She knew, dimly, that was the reason why she felt like this, why nothing felt quite like it was really happening. It would pass soon enough, and the true horror of it would kick in. Then doing what needed to be done would be much harder. But they wouldn’t give her that much time; at least that she could be grateful for. It was best to begin.

Gwen tapped the code into the wheel, her fingers weak and uncooperative.

Self-destruct sequence activated, the wheel shone at her. Proceed? Cancel?

She had installed the system herself, on a sunny summer day a few years ago. It seemed a reasonable precaution — you never knew what circumstances you might find yourself in.

Well, if she hadn’t prepared for everything, at least she’d done enough. She’d take quite a lot of them with her, and perhaps would even merit a few articles calling her a hero. It would not be as good as finding the solution, but it would be better than nothing. Megan would lose a mother, but at least she’d have a respectable memory, something to be proud of. Megan… Megan.

Gwen’s chest hurt, and she bent down, her tears falling onto the keyboard. This was dangerous. She had to avoid thinking of what she was leaving, what she’d be losing, or she won’t be able to do it. She tried to cling to her shock, to her detached state, but it was fading, and she didn’t know how to cope.

She would never see the sun again. It was all her own fault — surely they must’ve come after her because of the data she stole, there couldn’t be any other reason. She would never be out of this field, out of this ball of hatred that encircled her — and all because she’d been arrogant, and rash, and she gambled and lost.

The grooves across the glass were getting deeper; Gwen felt the small bodies cling to the car, rocking it slightly. The bar that showed the files loading crept across the screen, slow like treacle but steady enough. It wouldn’t be that much longer.

The phone vibrated, and Gwen took it out to see that Santiago was calling. There was no way she could pick up, no way she could risk answering — he’d know from her voice, and how could she let him know what she was about to do? She let it go to voicemail, and pressed proceed on the wheel.

It would ask her five times. Five had felt a safe enough number. You’d have to be really sure, to agree to it over and over five times in a row. Rage-filled eyes followed her every move, beaks darted towards her fingers, futile because the glass still stopped them. Did they understand what she was doing, did they understand anything? For the first time in her life, Gwen felt a strange, longing sadness towards them — not quite pity, because they didn’t deserve it, but sadness; she had been angry at them for so long, because they wouldn’t speak, because they were not what she’d dreamed of. But, at the end of the day, it hurt them much more than it ever could humans; humanity had been there first, had much more time to learn, and without contact they had no hope of catching up, not really. Someone would find the right poison — perhaps even from Gwen’s files — and they would fall and be gone; and all the while it never needed happening, if only they would speak.

The files had loaded, and Gwen pressed the proceed button over and over again until she saw the countdown.

Ninety seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

She would not leave, she knew that. The explosion would be powerful; she would die fast, much faster than if she let them take her. At least that was not so bad. When she'd contemplated dying, back when she had no clue how soon it would have to be, she had always thought that it was best to go fast. The less time you had to really understand what was coming, the better.

Eighty seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

More calls were coming in, but she ignored them all. Santiago, Megan, even her supervisor — the files must’ve come in, causing questions. She had to tell them something, at least. She had to write.

Seventy seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

The car was rocking harder with each second; they seemed to have found their rhythm, and perhaps were trying to turn it over, to make sure it couldn’t leave, now, caught as a turtle with its feet in the air. But they wouldn’t have enough time to do it, if that’s what they were attempting.

Sixty seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

The message looked reasonable enough. Gwen knew her perspective wasn’t clear, but there was no time to consider, to do better.

‘I tried to do what I thought necessary,’ it said. ‘They’ve got me. I have no choice. I’m sorry. I love you’

Fifty seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

There were too many of them. She would take out the whole lot; what was it, four, five hundred? Maybe more. That would surely merit a mention in the papers — that would make her family look good, make them look loyal, just in case. At least that was something.

Forty seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

The wheat was lush, too wet to catch. She couldn’t see it now, but she remembered the feel of it under her wheels, remembered the recent rains. But they kept themselves dry, and those feathers would burn in a flash, like hair. The river was far; they’d never make it, even if they still could fly as they burned. A human would fall on the ground and roll, trying to squash the flames; but they had no such instincts. They would not stand a chance.

Thirty seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

It was her own fault. At least it would be fast. Gwen watched herself, a tiny figure huddling in the front seat, staring into the mass of eyes that looked at her unseeing, uncomprehending, as thoughtless as if there was no sapience there at all. Humans could be that way too when riled up, but it was rare to see these days.

Twenty seconds to self-destruct. Leave the vehicle immediately.

If only they would speak it might’ve all gone differently. There was no need for this prolonged stand-off. What was the point of this separation, this refusal? Now after all these years there would be no hope of reconciliation, even if they broke the silence at last and asked for it. People would be too resentful by now, after all the incidents and all the deaths.

Ten seconds to self-destruct.

The anger felt familiar, oddly soothing in a way. Perhaps it was Gwen’s fault for getting in their way, attracting their attention, but it would be entirely their fault when what was coming would come.

The last seconds were dripping away. There was still the cancel button next to the countdown, but Gwen looked away from it, not to risk being tempted. The world seemed bright and hazy to her, despite the night; her eyes ached as if she’d been crying for days, and her forehead felt hot and tight. The scratching was thunderous, loud enough to —

At last the glass shattered, falling into tiny pieces that still stuck to the inner sheet; and a head stuck in through the plastic, looking left and right, its eyes circling the insides, to come to a stop on Gwen.

Gwen gave it a blithe smile.

Three. Two. One.

And for a split-second, as it stared into her eyes, she wondered if it understood.