"Tell me about your life before the quarantine zones, Kira."
Malcolm wrapped the steel tow cable around his bleeding forearms and pulled the fusion core another grueling inch up the concrete ramp. He needed to keep her talking. The radio static hissed in his ear like a ticking clock marking the final moments of her life.
"I lived in a small brick house on Elm Street," Kira whispered over the crackling analog frequency. Her voice sounded fragile and hollow. "My father planted a vegetable garden in the backyard every spring. We grew tomatoes and green beans. I hated weeding the dirt when I was a kid."
"I owned a luxury penthouse overlooking the midtown financial district," Malcolm said. He anchored his heavy boots against the slick incline of the Roosevelt Avenue transit station. "I hired
