“This might be a stupid question, but what’s your plan?”
James grinned. “I thought you were the one with the plan.”
“Obviously, no one else in there is on the same page as us. A riot doesn’t seem likely.”
“That’s fine. I’ve only got one way that I think might get us out of here. I’ll lead us to the northern gate. There’s always a couple of transport trucks parked there. Probably heavy enough to smash down the gates if we get enough momentum.”
“We’re going to steal a whole damn transport truck and run down the gate?” Nick couldn’t contain the pessimism that saturated his words.
“If you’ve got a better idea, I’d be glad to consider it.” James ran a hand through his hair. “Besides, you offered to start a full-on riot earlier as a viable option. I mean, stealing a truck has got to be less noticeable than that.”
Nick wondered if they could turn back. But he could think of no way to hide the deaths of two guards and a keeper.
Shouts carried over the training fields. James’s expression made it clear that they could delay no longer.
They sprinted toward the next set of barracks. Following James, Nick’s foot caught on an errant root and he stumbled. He balanced himself before falling and joined James at the entrance of another large tent. From the door flap, Nick could hear voices. They radiated out, muffled but high-pitched. Almost playful in cadence and tone.
James edged around the corner of the tent and jumped back. “They’re coming from over there, too.” He held open the canvas door. “Let’s go in.”
When Nick hesitated, James shoved him into the barracks. Nick half-expected to see another tent full of versions of himself, all standing around talking or playing cards, maybe reading books.
But he saw no one even close to his six-foot height. Instead, a horde of children stared at him with fearful eyes. Unlike the clones in his barracks, each of these children appeared distinct from one another, with their own unique set of inquisitive eyes. Their heads bobbed as they pushed and squeezed to get a better peek at these strangers invading their space. Childish curiosity prevailed over fear. He wondered if they were clones or captives.
“How old are you?” he asked a red-haired girl
“About ten now, I think,” she said.
He frowned. She stood almost five feet tall. She had to have been in her teens. “Ten years old? You look at least fourteen.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ten days. Days. Same batch as him.” The girl patted another young clone, markedly shorter, on the top of his head.
A clamor rose up among the young replicates as they milled around. James held a finger to his lips as he waded through them toward the opposite end of the tent.
One of the children tugged on James’s gray shirt. “You’re not a guard.” He stood still.
A mop of curling blond hair atop her head, another child put her hand on her hip. She appeared to be no older than ten. “Yeah, you’re not a keeper either. You’re not supposed to be here.”
“It’s okay,” he said, trying his best to speak in a soothing tone. “We’re just passing through.” Nick pointed to the exit as he and James pressed through the mass of children now clustered around them. “We’re headed right out.”
Everything other than the inhabitants of this drab space—the bunks, the latrines, the clothes—appeared the same as in his clones’ tent. No colorful toys or holos with dancing dinosaurs and singing kittens broke up the monotony. Only the bunk beds rusted by the humid jungle air and the mildew-stained mattresses atop them decorated the barracks. The children wore the same fetid gray uniforms, shrunk to size.
He couldn’t help himself from staring at the children. He felt a pit in his stomach and a wet sheen formed over his eyes as he imagined their lives in this camp.
James grabbed Nick’s wrist. “Come on, we have to leave.”
He said nothing, following James as the man waded through the children. Their voices carried up in a cacophony of demands. Nick wanted to dismiss them as just clones, no different than the fresh clones back in his barracks. He wanted to set aside the burgeoning sympathy that threatened to thwart his escape with James. But he had no idea how these clones matured. Did they become hardened machines like the older batches of replicates? Or did they retain their childlike innocence and curiosity? How similar were these children to their Originals? He speculated wildly on what they might be like or what they might turn into. He couldn’t shake the desire to protect them.
One yanked on his arm. He brushed the small hand off. This clone seemed like he’d been matured until he appeared to be a twelve-year-old boy. “What are you doing? Can we come too?”
A series of healing cuts marred the boy’s tawny skin. Nick pointed to the scabs. “What happened to you?”
“I disobeyed.”
Nick shuddered and felt sick. He stopped as they approached the exit of the barracks. Outside, rising above the din of the small voices around them, voices of the guards called out in deep, angry cries. He couldn’t move. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll get you out.”
James scowled. “We can’t take them. It’s impossible.”
“We’re going to steal a transport truck. They could fit in the back.”
“No. No way.” James shook his head. “There are too many. There’s no way we can sneak to the gate with a hundred of them in tow.” He held out his hands beseechingly. “And if the guards open fire on us, how many of them do you think will make it? It’s better if we don’t.”
Nick wanted to disagree. He wanted to protest and demand they protect these clones. But the roving guards and keepers outmatched them in numbers and firepower. While trying to control the adrenaline that begged him to run, to move, to fight, he wondered about the other clones. His clones. If the keepers ordered those men to hunt down James and Nick, they stood little chance of survival.
James was right. Trying to act as heroes might risk the lives of these cloned children. Nick fought with himself to decide which choice would leave him with more guilt: abandoning them in the camp or trying to help them and ultimately lead them to a worse fate?
Seeming to sense Nick’s internal debate, James grabbed his friend. “Look, we’ll come back for them. Right now, though, the best thing we can do for them is get the hell out of here. And do you think they’re the only ones in this place worth saving? You’ve got tents full of people imprisoned and cut off from any chance of reaching the outside world and freedom. We can better their lives by getting out of here and telling your government. These people need more help than we can ever hope to provide by ourselves.”
“You’re right,” Nick said, his eyes glassy. It didn’t feel right, though, as they squeezed through to the exit and slipped back out into the darkness settling over the camp.
Twenty
James crawled beneath the crooked roots of a tree with a twisted, gnarled trunk. When he settled into the spot, he gestured for Nick to follow.
Nick crept out from behind the foliage, taking care not to step on any fallen twigs or disturb too many of the hanging leaves in his path. He stopped near James. Lying on his stomach, he propped his elbows on the ground to support the assault rifle.
A large chain-link gate blocked the dirt road exiting the cloning facilities. Three transport trucks sat in a row under camouflage netting stretched between several wooden posts.
“That’s strange,” Nick said.
James tilted his head. “What?”
“If I’m remembering those truck models right, two of them appear to be from a German manufacturer and the other is an older English model.”
“So?”
“I don’t know. I just expected that I could identify the equipment around here and use that to help figure out who or what has been holding us captive.”
“Any idea?”
“No,” Nick said. “Not yet.”
The waning moon weakly illuminated the grounds with enough pale light to allow him to identi
fy the silhouettes of two guards watching the trucks. One paced back and forth as the other lit up a cigarette. At least with the burning orange embers, Nick could locate that man in the otherwise murky shadows. “Can we get behind them?”
“I’m afraid that if we run across the road, they’ll take us down before we can get to the trees on the other side.”
“And it’s too far to loop around the other side of the camp, right?”
For a moment, they listened. Yells rang out in the distance.
“We won’t have enough time if we try to take them from behind,” James said. “It’ll take far too long to circle all the way around, and who knows who we’ll run into?”
“So, we’re in agreement: we have to take them head on. Hell, only two of them are out here. I bet most everybody is trying to figure out what went down in our old garrison right now. I haven’t seen anyone else in the area, but I’m half-blind in the dark.”
“No, I think you’re right. Everyone seems to have been mobilized back at the barracks. This is our best shot.”
Nick squinted, desperate to make out the shadows before him. The smoker threw his cigarette down and ground it into the dirt with the heel of his boot.
Inwardly, Nick cursed. “Just so you know, American military trucks require that a driver’s fingerprint is used to start the vehicle. Sometimes, our drivers use a near-field communications tag or sync their Chips to the vehicle’s computer system to prevent the trucks from being stolen. I’m not sure if these vehicles employ the same tech.”
“That’s fine.” James grinned. “We’ve got two sets of Chips, NFC tags, and fingerprints right there. You take the man on the right, I’ve got the guy pacing.”
“Affirmative,” Nick said, his voice robotic. He swallowed hard as he stared down his iron sights. The metal bead on the muzzle seemed to rotate in his unsteady grip.
“On my mark.” James set his jaw tight and tensed his arms. “Three...two...one.”
Both fired, the report from the rifles echoing through the camp and silencing the chirping insects around them. Nick’s target remained frozen for a moment before sprinting off behind the trucks while James’s mark slumped to the ground without so much as a groan. James fired twice at their escaped target, but both shots pinged off the transport trucks. The sound of bullets bursting against metal rang into the night.
“Shit, shit, shit.” Nick drew himself into a crouch, swinging the barrel of the gun around in an effort to spot the escaped guard.
“He’s out of my sights. Can’t see him anywhere, even with night vision.” James’s voice droned monotonous and unperturbed.
Nick bit hard into his bottom lip and punched the tree next to him. Pain jolted up his knuckles and through his arm. “Dammit. I can’t believe I missed. Dammit. Dammit.”
“We’ve got one guard and that’s all we should need.” James stood, ignoring Nick’s distress to peer down the road toward the barracks. “Let’s move.”
He sprinted across the road with James. Once they reached the trucks, Nick hoisted the guard’s limp body. James aimed his rifle into the darkness. Two shots rang out.
“Are they headed toward us?”
Voices called out from the darkness. James said nothing, but he didn’t need to confirm Nick’s suspicions.
Nick swung open the door to the truck’s cab. Shots erupted from the shadows beyond his vision. Bullets slammed against the truck around him. A sharp pain jolted through his thigh and he fell into the dirt, clutching the injury. Blood pulsed around his fingers.
“I’m shot,” he said. “I just got shot.”
James fired three more times. “You’ve got to get that man into the truck. Get the damn thing started.”
Nick gritted his teeth. “Working on it.”
In truth, the bullet wound felt less painful than the prolonged whipping he’d endured before. He would power through it.
Pulling himself up to the cab of the truck, the muscles in his arms strained and bulged. Once up, he knelt down and used his body weight to lean into the leather seats and drag the dead guard in. He grabbed the man’s already pallid finger and pressed it against the ignition panel of the truck. The vehicle hummed to life.
James jumped into the truck. “Well, boss. Where to?”
“I have no clue, but let’s get the hell out of here.”
Bullets rattled against the truck and smacked against the windshield, making it spiderweb with cracks. Nick prayed that the bulletproof glass would withstand the fire from the camp’s guards. James turned off the automated driver for the vehicle and pulled the steering wheel free from its locked-in position. The gas pedal and brake pad emerged from the floor as he ducked behind the bulky metal door to protect himself from the incoming fire. Nick clutched the hole in his thigh. He pressed his hand against the torn fabric and skin as James pushed down the gas pedal. The truck lurched forward.
“Wait,” Nick said, his jaw clenched. “They’ll come after us in the other trucks. You’ve got to do something about that.”
James frowned. He cracked the door open and emptied his magazine. Amidst the incoming barrage and the cries of the approaching guards and keepers, a loud hissing could be heard.
“Got the tires,” James said. He froze. His mouth dropped open.
“What? What is it?”
“They’re fighting.”
“Who’s fighting?”
“The other clones.” James smiled. “They’re fighting back.”
“Should we help them?”
“Oh, we’ll help them. We’ll tear them a way out of this hellhole.” James slammed on the gas pedal and the truck lurched forward. Its electric motor whined louder as they accelerated. The tires grabbed the dirt road.
As the gate rose up before them, growing closer, Nick’s thoughts turned back to the others they left behind. If they fought back, if they tried to escape, shouldn’t he and James turn around? Nick blinked, his vision growing blurry. He wanted to tell James that they should try to save the others, they should go back for the children. Didn’t they deserve to be free? Nick tried to verbalize his complaints but his mouth felt dry. Blood poured out of his leg and soaked his pants. He slumped against the cracked leather seat.
His eyes fluttered open, then closed.
“Hold on, Nick,” James said. “We’re going to be free.”
Nick fought against the weight in his eyelids, felt the wetness on his hands. A copper scent stung his nostrils.
Chain-link fence slammed into the windshield and he flew into the dashboard as the truck jolted, its wheels tangled up in the mangled gate. With a reassuring tug on Nick’s shoulder, James smiled and pressed his foot harder onto the gas pedal. They drove over the gate and into the gloom outside.
Twenty-One
Kelsey threw her arms around Nick and leaned up on her tiptoes. She forced him to stand still and planted a kiss on his lips. Pulling back, she grinned.
His back turned, a tourist bumped into Nick. “Oh, uh, sorry,” the bumbling man said. He appeared to have been snapping holoimages with his AR lenses. With another brief apology, the man joined the other tourists gawking at the cherry blossoms as they bloomed, every tree awash in soft pink flowers that traced the perimeter of the Tidal Basin.
“What are you so happy about?” Nick asked Kelsey.
Despite all the years they’d lived in Washington, DC, together, they’d never gone down to the National Mall or anywhere close to the Tidal Basin during the Cherry Blossom Festival. They preferred to avoid becoming another cholesterol molecule clogging the arteries of downtown DC during the peak of tourism.
He had seen the crowds of tourists meandering across sidewalks and crossing streets in motley heaps of noisy and whiny groups. The scene played outside of his window at Advantum’s Twelfth Street office. On those days that he wasn’t working on a project in another city or country, his window provided an expansive view of the Thomas Jefferson Memorial across the Tidal Basin. Most days, he would work late enough to watch
the memorial light up, bathed in orange and yellow light that reflected across the still waters. Even on those late nights, he preferred to walk home, past the monuments and museums on the National Mall. It was a luxury that he hadn’t had when serving in the Congo, trapped on base until given a mission.
Kelsey squeezed his hand. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m glad we came down here.” He kissed her. “At least, now we can say we’ve done it.”
“I guess they do look prettier in person rather than in a holo. Even a virtual tour doesn’t do it justice.”
“I know. But at least in holos you don’t have to smell all these sweaty people.”
Kelsey dragged him up the white marble steps of the Jefferson monument and they sat, facing back over the Basin. She leaned her head against his, her hair falling over his shoulder, tickling his arm.
“I thought you would hate this,” he said.
She furrowed her brow. “Why would you think that?”
“You hate huge crowds.” He raised an eyebrow. “Remember that time when we went to the Natural History Museum and all those grade-schoolers packed the place?
Kelsey laughed. “Yeah. That was stupid of us.”
“I know.” He offered a wry smile. “You were in there for maybe fifteen minutes before you hightailed it to the exit.”
She rolled her eyes.
“So you can’t blame me for thinking you’d go crazy with all of this.” He waved to indicate the roving tourists.
“I don’t care anymore. I’m with you and that’s all that matters.” She caressed his forearm and traced her finger across his wrist. Interlacing her fingers with his, she delivered another quick peck on his cheek. “Don’t you ever try to get away from me, you hear? I will come after you.”
“Why the hell would I ever want to do that?” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her in closer. He didn’t care that he felt hotter in the humid air as she clung to him. He reveled in the moment, the intimacy they shared surrounded by hundreds of strangers. He could never leave her.
The Human Forged Page 10
