The Book of Eva
Clone, Book One
Paxton Summers
After Glows Publishing
Book of Eva
© Copyright 2017 Paxton Summers
Published by After Glows Publishing
PO Box 224
Middleburg, FL 32050
AfterGlowsPublishing.com
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Cover by Syneca Featherstone
Formatting by AG Formatting
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
AfterGlowsPublishing.com
Contents
Note from the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
About the Author
Note from the Publisher
Note from the Author
Dear Reader,
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I hope you enjoy this departure in my normal genre. Bringing Clone and the heroes and heroines in this dystopian tale to you, has been a passion of mine for over five years. Truth be told, it challenged me in every way imaginable to be a better writer—to tell a story from the heart, as I felt it needed to be told, and not by some expected formula. So, I will not give you a romance this time.
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For you, I have written a love story.
Long live independence! May it be worth the bloodshed.
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Best,
Paxton Summers
Prologue
Eva stared at the crowd forty floors below. Her toes hung over the ledge. She didn’t draw a breath or feel alarm in the tightening of her belly as most would when they faced death. The people below clustered around the gates and paced along the street, appearing as nothing more than bugs she could squash under her heel. Tininess aside, the roar of fright still reached her, rumbling through flesh and bone.
They’d gathered around the palace because of the riots. They wanted her sympathy, her reassurance things would continue as usual, that the towers they’d built for themselves would not collapse.
The Aeropite Commander of Joint Forces, General Michael Axis, stood near her on the deck, clutching the rail, as though he dared not get any closer than the ten feet that separated them. His knuckles were as white as his face, and for the first time since they’d met, he truly looked frightened. All he’d worked for threatened to die with her, and his soldiers, collared for the moment, were about to be released. He could do nothing about it.
The wind whipped loose tendrils of her coif, beating the strands against her face in an angry assault. The fine silk of her suit snapped around her like a banner in a hurricane. For the first time in her life, she knew her purpose, had no fears. Concede. Die. Fight. Live forever.
“Madam President, you need to come off the edge.” He trimmed his soft words with a threat no one else could hear. Sharp like a razor, cold like forged metal, Michael used his coercive blade as he always did, but this time, it had no effect. She’d stopped caring. “Ana.” Angrier, a little harder, more pronounced. He might as well scream, “heel, heel.”
Not today. He knew her name, and it wasn’t Ana. He’d put her here, given her this power. When his plan failed, and he realized he could no longer force her to do his bidding, Michael had stooped to begging. Pathetic as it was, she savored every moment. No, you heel. The smile came, tied to joy, something she’d waited a lifetime for. Oh, she planned to finish this, but not as he intended. “They’re free.”
“Don’t do this. Your country needs you. The people are frightened. I have no idea what to tell them. There have been murders, clones that have somehow broken free of their girdles.”
Eva twisted slightly, enough to make eye contact with Michael and catch the outline of several figures clustered inside the room. There they stood, his grand audience, inside the balcony doors, flash frozen puppets with no voice. Eva surmised they’d accompanied him to talk her down, yet they did nothing to help. If they discovered she wasn’t their leader, they’d certainly push her over.
The trigger he held, well, that was different. Designed to bend her to his will. Useless now. She didn’t care if he took her life. Her time had come, and he could not win this standoff.
“Not somehow,” she said. Hundreds of thousands were free of their bonds and tasting liberty for the first time. In a few minutes, the soldier clones would follow, their collars falling from their necks, their hands filled with weapons he’d put there. Michael was a general with no control of his army, and they were about to turn on him.
The people of Aeropia would suffer for the pain they’d heaped upon the clones. He would pay for what he’d done, and when the sun set and his body lay broken in the street, no one would take pity on his corpse—or his human soul. If he had one. He could not escape his fate any more than she.
“I feel for you that you’ve lost your husband and friend. It’s a tragedy, but the people need you. Your daughter needs you. Come down.”
Her wrist monitor beeped as the last code locked into place and the satellite transmitted the order to the soldier clones’ collars, releasing every last one. Michael glanced at the blinking band. His face grew paler and he swallowed, as though he choked on his own bile.
“You, bitch.” Boom. Loud blasts sounded around the city, coming from every direction. “No,” he muttered. “You can’t do this to me.” He slid his thumb over a button on the device in his palm and pressed.
Eva gritted her teeth.
Jab, jab, jab. Michael poked the button over and over, before he lifted his chin and scowled. “How did you…?”
For several seconds she held his gaze, waiting for the pain in her head, the ending he’d promised if she didn’t do as told. Dante. “He didn’t lie.” The words were not for General Axis, but to herself as she came face-to-face with the truth. Dante had loved her. He’d freed her.
She’d killed him.
“Who didn’t lie? What are you talking about?” General Axis’s eyes popped wide and his mouth fell open. “You can’t do this. I… What do I tell the citizens to reassure them of their safety?”
“Qu’ils mangent de la brioche.” Let them eat cake. At least one queen could really say it. And today, she was a queen. She spread her arms and greeted the open air, falling forward into the storm, and back to the arms of the man she loved.
As forty floors rushed by, a young woman in the same tower began her tale about the clone who freed the world. For the first time, she spoke of treason, lies, and a forbidden love born in a time of darkness.
1
“Testing.” A sof
t breath whispered past my lips. The com hissed back. It, of all things, worked, even as my world fell apart. I could laugh at the irony if I wasn’t so rushed. I tapped and a light-board came to life, brought up by the special gloves I wore, designed to read the virtual image and process what I typed in the air.
I cleared my throat, and stared into the holo recorder, a phantom box encasing my bed. See-through controls for volume and picture focus sat at waist level, while my image hung suspended to my left. I sank my teeth into the tender flesh of my bottom lip and studied the grainy recording, hesitating a few seconds longer than I should have. No time like the present.
I’d seen my mother do this a hundred times, but for me, it was a first. I’d never stepped into the public spotlight before. Many didn’t even know my face. Nobody would see this until after my death, and I shouldn’t have worried about the impression I’d make, but I did. My insides had knotted well before I’d raised the virtual walls to the holo-booth and thought about what I’d say. How did one tell a story like this?
My mother had always appeared so flawless in the recordings, and for a moment, I wondered how she did it, considering the life she’d led and the secrets she’d tried to bury. Or should I call them lies? Those things could make one’s countenance ugly. I had no secrets I wanted to keep, yet I looked nowhere as put together, as calm, or as beautiful as she’d been.
Grabbing my ponytail, I wound my hair and fastened it at my nape with a simple clip, turning slightly to take in my image. I didn’t wear makeup, nor did I have time to grab cosmetics and learn how to apply them. My bare skin would have to do. My complexion translated to the screen as pale, lacking the slightest hint of color. A sign of illness, even if I’d woken that morning healthier than I’d ever been.
Playful sleeping attire hid my scar, although the pajamas were not something I’d usually choose to wear in public, or even admit I owned. In that visual, I’d taken on the appearance of a twelve-year-old girl at a sleepover, not what one would expect for the youngest president of Aeropia.
Maybe my image would play out to my advantage, and my people would pause to hear what I had to say. Would they listen to me? Believe me? I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t. A bloody revolution boiled around me, and I’d been the catalyst. There were no excuses I could feed them, and neither did I have a desire to do so. From this time forward, I would speak nothing but the truth. My people deserved at least that from their leader.
I drew in a deep breath. “From her lips to mine, I swear this is how it happened.” Ugh, I sounded like a child—nowhere close to as serious as the message I needed to deliver. Perhaps my youthful look wouldn’t be an advantage. I frowned and reached out to twist a holographic dial, adjusting the volume and tone. One more breath and I dove in.
It’d been at least twenty minutes since someone ran down the hall screaming, “she jumped, she jumped.” Yet not one of those who’d served my family for years bothered to come to my room to give me the news of my mother’s death, or of the uprising. I supposed it didn’t matter. Only someone blind and deaf wouldn’t have seen the smoke from my window or heard the yelling and weapon-fire in the streets below.
The city burned, and Eva had succeeded in what she’d set out to do. However, my advisors did not come by to reassure me all was well, or to evacuate me from my home. Not General Axis, or any of my father’s aides—or friends—which led me to believe my family’s charmed life had been an illusion.
And though they called out about her suicide, my mother died weeks before, and the news would not affect me as they would expect it to, but that was not to say I was unaffected. I was more damaged by these events than you could possibly imagine.
They said you could tell who your true friends were when the world fell apart. If this was to be believed, I stood alone on this planet. My family’s allies were more concerned with their escape, and the only people in my life who truly cared for me were dead. It seemed impractical to panic, so here I sat, telling stories of the end of the world, wearing flannel pajamas with little white sheep jumping all over them.
Most of the palace staff fled, after looting what they could. A few minutes ago an object crashed to the floor in the room next to mine, followed by hurried footsteps down the hall as whoever made the ruckus carried away the Braun treasures. They didn’t bother to come into my room. One could only guess why not, but I had an idea.
I’d never been one for excess or frivolous things and had always been a silent family member, noticed by few. Perhaps that bought me this fragment of time.
The others, the clones would come for me, to punish me for the crimes of my family, but before they did, I must record the events leading to my bloodline’s fall from power. I did it in hope others would not forget, and perhaps I could find forgiveness for myself—my family. I prayed the walls around my fortress would hold a bit longer.
Before you could understand my heart and what had brought me to this moment of redemption, or the love I’d found and lost, I should start with the story of another. Our tales intertwined, became so knotted; we would forever be associated together when people spoke of this day hundreds of years in the future.
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My name is Olivia Braun. I am the only surviving relative to the leaders of Aeropia, a legacy I am not proud of, but one I must set straight before I walk into the next life.
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I am not a child. Many have looked at me and thought that. Small and weak, so insignificant, they believed me a frail little girl. I’m not. I am a survivor. I’ve lived through more than you can imagine, in a world where two wrongs make a right and deciding which side of the line you stand on is as important as taking your next breath.
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For nineteen years old, I have carried more weight on my shoulders than my father had before me, and loved deeper than he ever did, all in my short life.
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This dying dynasty is mine alone, and with it, the evils brought about by my family’s greed. It is my burden to carry, no matter how heavy.
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In the year 2087, a great war erupted upon the face of the planet. First the electromagnetic pulses washed across America’s landscape. Ships fell from the sky. Vehicles stopped on the roads, and the power grid went down in the great cities. Anything electronic failed to operate, and civilization dropped into the dark ages. When our lines of communication went down, and we were most helpless, the attack came.
The missiles screamed across the sky. Some of the people ran to underground bunkers, others had already evacuated the cities for the mountains. When the bombs hit, few escaped.
The blasts leveled buildings and forests, steaming the water from lakes and baking earth into clay. Two-thirds of the world’s population burned up, but that was not the end of it. When it was over, a cloud of ash blocked the sunlight and a twenty-year winter descended upon the people of Earth, forcing us to live on fungus and crops grown in conservatories with artificial light and soil. But famine and disease were only a small percentage of our problems.
For those unlucky few who survived, it marked the beginning of the struggle to continue. The fallout left the residents of Earth with radiation poisoning. If they survived, most ended up sterile or unable to carry a child to term. Miscarriages from weak wombs were rampant. The human race seemed doomed.
Desperation guided my ancestors to create clones, greed kept the process going long after it was needed. And so my story started here, one hundred and fifty-three years after the Great War, in a world my generation inherited. The darkened skies were gone, but the shadow of that time still hung over us and blackened our souls.
In the beginning, there was Eva.
Eva was a clone. She didn’t necessarily have a belief in God. Beliefs were something inherited from parents, but she did have a soul. She wasn’t an empty shell, a manufactured product of society. She hated. She cried. There were things that drove her, things that made her human.
Society said that because
clones were created in Petri dishes, they had no souls, therefore were not considered human and had no rights. The religious leaders of Aeropia called it blasphemy to think of them as human, and our government drafted many laws to prevent them from developing an identity. My father understood that from a sense of being, strength came, and rebellion could be born. To be human was to have power.
When Eva escaped, I lay in the hospital. At the time, I didn’t know her well, but my body did. Long before, my flesh had physically melded with hers, through her parts, blood, and tissue. I did not agree with what my family did, trading a life for a life, and could understand why she hated me. However, I didn’t understand why she left me alive. I wouldn’t have if I were in her place, not after all my family put her through for my benefit.
Two years ago, almost to this day, the revolution started. I’d collapsed yet again, this time due to my own foolishness. I’d pushed physical limits I had no business testing. My doctors determined a heart transplant would be the only way I could have any quality of life. As was the practice in Aeropia, the parts would be harvested from a genetically compatible clone—my mother’s, as I had not one of my own.
That clone was nothing but a number at the time, but later she’d claim the name Eva, and we had much more in common than I could’ve possibly imagined.
The Book of Eva: Clone, Book One Page 1
