By the time Ewan reached Spitfire’s Rise, it was breakfast time on May 18th. Less than forty-eight hours until Nicholas Grant’s birthday, the anniversary of Takeover Day, the rise of the AME shield, and the end of their chances of winning the war.
Jack and Gracie followed him through the trapdoor, and endured the silent journey through the tunnel to the armoury.
In my head, I ’ d hoped all seven of us would return together.
Oh, who am I kidding ? The whole thing was a trap from the start. We were always going to end up separated. Even Raj’s death wasn’t that surprising when you think about it. Bloody tragic, but not surprising.
When he opened the door into the armoury, Thomas was sat next to the Memorial Wall.
On most days, opening the door to Thomas was like coming home to an overexcited Labrador. But that morning the boy rose to his feet like a tired old man, the excitement gone from him.
Does he already know about Raj? Or is this about something else?
What happened on the operating table?
Thomas ambled up to Ewan and gave him a soft hug, followed by Jack and even Gracie in turn.
‘You OK, Thomas?’ asked Jack.
The boy shrugged.
‘Is McCormick alive?’ Ewan asked.
‘He’s OK,’ Thomas replied, offering no further details.
Ewan glanced at the Memorial Wall, and found the name of Raj Singh already chiselled beneath Charlie’s. That may have explained Thomas’ mood, but Ewan’s patience was too low for uncertainties. He headed for the steps up to the house, and was met on the ground floor by Mark and Simon on the living room sofas.
‘Where’s Kate?’ he asked.
‘Don’t worry, we all lived,’ replied Mark. ‘She won’t be leaving her room for a while though.’
‘Mc—’
He didn’t have time to finish the word, as the man had already heard his voice and walked in from the kitchen. Joseph McCormick was alive, well, and smiling.
‘Ewan!’ he said with a wavy, uncharacteristically emotional voice, ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you again.’
‘Me too, sir,’ Ewan gasped.
‘No hugs I’m afraid. My abdomen’s been cauterised together by a soldering iron, so I’d rather not go squishing things around. Nonetheless,’ he finished, holding out one hand in a shaking position, ‘it’s good to have you home.’
Ewan shook McCormick’s hand, but avoided the warm smile on his face. There were already too many troubled thoughts running through his mind, and the joy of seeing his surrogate grandfather’s smile would cause enough internal conflict for tears to flow.
‘How’s Lorraine?’
‘She needs time,’ McCormick answered, reaching into his pocket and drawing out a small plastic bag. ‘Now, want to see something disgusting?’
‘Well I’ve not slept since I watched Raj get his spine blown out, and his body land on the school car park in a thousand pieces. But sure, impress me.’
Ewan was trying so hard to hide his disgust at McCormick’s actions: the risks the man had put himself through, and his plan to put himself at even more risk by joining the next strike team. But even when Ewan tried to mask his emotions, he was transparent. McCormick apologised for his clumsy language, with genuine regret in his voice, and held out the plastic bag. An ugly whitish-reddish sac lay inside, about half the size of Ewan’s thumb. The large cyst that had kept McCormick safe in Spitfire’s Rise was now outside his body, like a leash that had been unclipped from an irresponsible dog.
Clearly he didn’t learn his lesson in December. The cyst wasn’t the only reason he struggled in New London the first time .
‘Any damage to your stomach?’
‘Abdomen. Here it is.’
Jack, Gracie and Thomas walked into the living room just as McCormick raised his shirt. Gracie slapped her hands over her face, the idea of a grown man’s belly just too much for her.
The mark wasn’t quite as horrible as Ewan had predicted. It was certainly bigger – spread across more than half his abdomen – but it made sense that the cut would have to be bigger than the cyst itself. The burn marks from the soldering iron had left a canyon of thickened red mess: skin that looked hard to the touch, like overdone beef.
‘And how are you actually feeling?’ asked Jack.
‘Surprisingly good after a day in bed,’ McCormick answered. ‘And I’ve got at least twelve hours more before I need to do any exercise.’
Crap. It’s already the eighteenth. The New London mission starts tonight.
‘Has Ewan told you about Alex?’ asked Gracie.
McCormick’s puzzled face revealed his answer.
*
Ewan stood in the armoury with his arms folded, his eyes focused on the door to the exit tunnel. The comms team had been faithful in duty, waiting for confirmation that all six soldiers were home before leaving their post. But Ewan suspected Alex had other reasons for delaying his journey.
Everyone was in the armoury, watching the exit like Thomas had. Even Lorraine and Kate were halfway down the steps, not daring to miss the scene that would follow.
Ewan watched Shannon as she arrived first through the tunnel door. She gazed at the crowd as she entered, looking concerned but unsurprised. Somehow, Ewan could read her feelings better than other people’s.
Her first reaction was to walk past him, her hand brushing deliberately along his fingers. It was a nonverbal, discreet way of saying ‘I’m happy you’re safe – we’ll talk later, when we’re alone.’ Shannon headed to Kate on the stairs, and whispered something that included the words ‘sorry’ and ‘Raj’. She offered Kate a hug, which she accepted.
Alex wandered into the armoury, uniting all eleven surviving Underdogs in the same room, and let out a huff towards the crowd.
‘We need to talk,’ said McCormick.
‘Fine, thanks. How was your morning?’
Sarcasm, thought Ewan. Predictable response.
‘Now, Alex,’ McCormick said.
‘Alright,’ Alex began, removing his weapons and placing them back on their shelves as if to pretend the crowd weren’t there. ‘Number one, I’m not a clone. Number two, I have never been through a cloning machine or anything. So I can’t help you much, really.’
‘But you were cloned, Alex,’ said Ewan, twice as loud as normal. ‘With or without your permission, Nathaniel Pearce grew three copies of you. And probably a thousand more. If you’re not willing to talk about this—’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ said Alex, dumping his knife onto its regular shelf and leaning against the wall unarmed. ‘I’ve had a lot of time to think about this in comms, and the more I think about it the less I have to offer you.’
‘Then you must have seen this question coming,’ came Mark’s voice. ‘Someone’s got to ask, so it might as well be me. How do we know you’re not a clone yourself?’
Alex rolled his eyes, and pointed to his lips.
‘Words. Duh.’
Ewan looked across the crowd, as a reminder for him to keep his temper under control – for his own sake and for everyone else’s. A day earlier, Alex’s argument would have been good enough. That morning, an extra layer of paranoia got in the way.
Jack spoke first.
‘Do you really think Pearce is incapable of making a clone with functioning vocal cords?’ he asked.
‘We’ve not seen one so far,’ spat Alex.
‘He’ll have his own reasons,’ Jack answered, stimming his fingers to help him concentrate. ‘Probably to control his minions. But he must be able to make speaking clones. I’ll ask again – do you really think Nathaniel Pearce can grow a clone with a complete digestive system, nervous system, circulatory system and a full set of organs, and a brain that enables them to operate radios and basic computers, but somehow find vocal cords too tricky? Shannon, back me up here.’
Ewan turned around, and saw Shannon jump in surprise at the foot of the stairs. Almost like a deer in headl
ights.
‘What?’
‘You know your dad better than the rest of us. I think Grant ordered Pearce to leave his clones mute so they’d always be inferior to real humans. What do you think, am I right?’
Shannon paused, as if the thought of reading her father’s mind filled her with existential dread.
Knowing her upbringing, Ewan thought, it probably does.
‘…Everything he ever did was about control. M-maybe you’re right.’
‘And if he truly wanted to give his clones the power of speech – to spy on his enemies or something – he’d be able to do it, right?’
She paused again.
‘Yes. He would.’
‘And he could even remove the war and peace settings in their mind, to make them act like regular people?’
‘…Yes.’
‘OK,’ said Jack, ‘then I propose a blood test.’
He pointed at Alex’s face and made fierce eye contact. Ewan was impressed at his friend’s directness: it was as if the experience of killing cloned versions of Alex had given Jack a newfound confidence around him.
‘We take some of Alex’s blood,’ Jack continued, ‘and put it in a petri dish or something to see how quickly it ages. In three hours’ time we look at it and check if it’s started turning to jelly. If it hasn’t, we know he’s telling the truth.’
There were nods of agreement all around the armoury, including from Ewan, but no words. Nobody in the group had anything to add to Jack’s logic, except for Alex.
‘For the sake of fairness,’ he spat, ‘how about all ten of you go through the same thing? OK, so Grant must have taken my DNA from somewhere. Most of us have been to New London. Even McCormick’s been once before! And if they took it from me, they could have taken it from anyone who’s been in the Outer City and bled on the floor, or spat, or sneezed, or picked their nose and wiped it on the wall!’
‘You’re wrong, Alex,’ Ewan said. ‘They didn’t take it from your DNA. Not unless your DNA has a memory. Shannon, do you think clones can be made with attached memories? If Pearce scans the previous model’s brain or something?’
‘…Yes.’
Alex snorted, and thumped an angry fist against the wall behind him. Ewan spoke again.
‘What are the chances of those clones finding their way to Lemsford?’ he asked. ‘What are the chances of all three of them being grown from your model? There’s a one in a million chance of it all being coincidence, so the other nine hundred thousand must be the chance of them remembering.’
‘You really do have learning difficulties, don’t you?’
‘They can’t get your memories from snot wiped on the wall,’ Ewan replied, ignoring the blatant insult. ‘At some point, your brain must have been scanned. It’s time to stop lying.’
‘I’m not f—’
‘Sorry, Ewan,’ McCormick interrupted, with a soft voice that silenced the cellar, ‘but we have to consider all possibilities. We don’t know anything about Pearce’s technology, so it’s still possible for Alex to be the victim without being aware. Nonetheless, Jack’s suggestion of a blood test is a good one. Alex, I’m sure you understand.’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Ewan, his head pointed at the wooden door to the neighbouring house. ‘In the farm next door, out of everyone’s way. Mark, I’ll need a second guy – and some rope, a chair and a plate.’
Mark nodded, and headed up the stairs. Ewan turned to McCormick, and whispered to him with eyes of sympathy and sorrow.
‘You know what else this means, don’t you?’
McCormick nodded, visibly saddened.
‘Tell them, Ewan.’
Ewan turned to the crowd, hesitating before giving his command.
‘The rest of you,’ he finished, ‘pack up your things. If those clones remembered the way to Lemsford, they’ll remember their way here. Take whatever food and weapons you can carry. When the strike team leaves tonight, you’re all leaving here too.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Thomas. Tonight, we’re leaving Spitfire’s Rise.’
A solemn silence fell over the crowd. Moving house had been difficult enough in the old days, but his surviving friends were faced with the task of doing so with one day’s notice and nothing more than two handfuls of belongings.
Grow some guts, all of you, Ewan thought. We all did exactly thesame thing on Takeover Day.
‘Alex,’ he muttered with a hand on the wooden door, ‘come with me.’
*
Ewan took no pleasure in tying Alex to a chair, although a part of him felt like he should have done. Alex had served the Underdogs well over the past year, but if it weren’t for the urgency of the situation it would have been nice to see the overconfident show-off put in his place. Mark had sat himself down on the floorboards, poking his fingers through the soil and uprooting the occasional carrot. The farm would be useless in a matter of hours anyway.
‘Alex,’ Ewan began, drawing out the hunting knife from its sheath, ‘I hope you understand, but I won’t be apologising for this.’
‘You never were good at basic manners.’
Ewan smirked. Alex wasn’t wrong, to be fair.
‘Before we do this,’ he said, bending over just slightly to look Alex in the face, ‘I need you to be completely honest. And I mean completely honest. Put your pride behind you, for the sake of all of us.’
‘Yeah, cos I’m a compulsive liar.’
‘I mean it mate. Don’t try being defiant. You’re talking to the pathological king of defiance here, so it’s better not to compete. You couldn’t have been cloned without knowing anything about it.’
‘Ewan,’ Alex growled like a jaded schoolteacher towards the end of a bitter career, ‘for the last time – I’m not being defiant, I’m not being dishonest – I just literally do not know anything about how they could have cloned me. End of discussion.’
‘Well let’s not give up yet,’ said Ewan. He did his best to use McCormick’s approach to disagreements: discussing them rather than arguing over them. It was difficult when emotions were high, especially with his PDA-inspired need for control kicking in, but it was still the best way into Alex’s brain.
‘One way or another,’ Ewan continued, ‘the cloning happened. Let’s at least find out when it could have been.’
Alex closed his eyes. Perhaps he found it easier to be straightforward when he couldn’t see the people he was accountable to.
‘I’ve not been anywhere interesting in a year,’ he said, ‘except New London. Last time I was there we destroyed the clone factory. Well, you guys did – I saw the place, took a bullet to the shoulder and spent the next three days in a bungalow. Either way, my clones must have been grown there before you blew the place up.’
‘And when did you see New London before that?’
‘The day Ben Christie died. Months ago.’
‘OK,’ said Ewan, ‘so it must have happened when… on the clone factory mission.’
‘ When Charlie died ’ . I a lmost let that sentence slip out.
‘I was pretty crap, to be fair,’ said Alex with a bitter laugh. ‘Didn’t last an hour before getting shot. By the afternoon I was wrapping my shoulder in someone’s shirts, trying to stop the blood.’
Ewan couldn’t help but offer a well-humoured smile. Alex never talked about his failures, so it was only polite to avoid rubbing them in when he did.
‘The next three days were the most boring of my life,’ Alex continued. ‘Or they would have been, if I hadn’t spent them worrying about you guys.’
‘Flattery will get you nowhere,’ grunted Mark through a mouthful of carrot.
‘No, I actually mean it,’ said Alex. ‘That was the whole adventure for me, except for going upstairs with Kate, getting shot and going downstairs again.’
Kate was with him for the start of that day , and she never reported anything unusual…
Then h e was on his own. Cornered in the clone factory ’s alpha control room with
no witnesses .
‘Alex… what happened once you were trapped in that control room?’
‘I got out and reached the bungalow.’
‘Take me step by step. How did it happen?’
‘I took a rifle from one of the dead clones, shot my way free, then got out and reached the bungalow.’
Ewan’s eyes widened. He looked over to Mark, who had also noticed the vagueness in his answer.
‘Step by step, Alex. Start from when you shot your way free.’
Alex opened his mouth, and nothing came out.
‘You got out from the control room, and…’
Nothing.
‘…Alex?’
‘I… I don’t remember.’
‘Bingo,’ said Mark.
Ewan watched Alex’s expression turn from puzzlement to fear to abject horror. It was a mood he had never seen in the man’s face before.
‘I mean, I literally have no memory,’ Alex continued, his eyes to the floor and his head shaking rapidly in disbelief. ‘I escaped the control room, and reached the bungalow. I don’t remember anything that happened in between. But I… I don’t even remember not remembering, you know? I didn’t even realise there was a gap in my memory until right now… it was like I’ve tried to avoid thinking about it, but not realised…’
More words came out of Alex’s mouth, but none of them helped Ewan understand him any better. All he knew was that there was a blind spot in Alex’s memory, during which Grant and his allies could have effectively done anything with no witnesses.
‘Ewan,’ said Mark, ‘the sooner you take his blood, the sooner we can end the experiment and evacuate. The sooner you can get some sleep too.’
Ewan clawed his fingers into his head, reluctant to admit Mark was right. Drawing a knife over Alex’s skin would have been unpleasant enough at the best of times, but somehow it was worse when the man was tied to a chair, vulnerable to the point of tears, and trying to imagine what the hell Nicholas Grant had done to him without him even remembering.
Nonetheless, Ewan raised his knife.
‘I’m sorry, Alex.’
‘You said you wouldn’t apologise…’
Ewan picked up the plate at the side of the chair, and leaned forward towards Alex’s cheek.
Tooth and Nail Page 12
