His mouth twitched up in a grin. “Smart girl.”
The voracious capacity of his eyes shot a nervous thrill through Abby’s limbs. She walked it off by going to her passenger door to unload her schoolbooks. Every sense was aware of his presence as she pulled the books into her arm, shut the door, and walked up the porch steps. They creaked behind her.
She whirled around. He stood inches from her; the toes of his shoes bumped against hers. Before she could react he put one hand against the doorframe in his characteristic lean. Abby felt herself swimming until his aggressive cologne snapped her back to her senses.
She slammed her books against his blue-and-white letter jacket. “Hold these, will you?”
He leaned back to balance all the books in his arms, and she took advantage of his vulnerable state to lay down some offense. “Kylee will be here any minute. Try anything and I have a ten-pound flashlight that masquerades as a nightstick.”
A smile flitted across his face, and she was suddenly aware that her lack of interest probably fed his persistence. Nothing like a challenge to interest a guy who could have anything—anyone—he wanted. She frowned, shoved her house key into the lock, and turned it.
She might have to change strategies.
JD shadowed her through the house. She upped the thermostat and settled into the armchair in the living room, leaving him to choose between the couch, the loveseat, or the barstools at the kitchen counter. JD dropped his stack of papers and Abby’s books on the counter then sat down on the couch and stared at her with hungry eyes.
Einstein padded into the room and leapt onto her lap, and she ran her fingers through the cat’s fur to calm her nerves. Maybe she should have waited for Kylee outside, thirty below or not. How many episodes of CSI would it take to remind her that inviting a guy into your home when you were alone was S-T-U-P-I-D? Where was her brain?
She tried to give off an air of nonchalance, as if the hunky predator in her home was no big deal. “Let’s see that brochure.”
He didn’t move at first, then clambered to his feet and wandered to the kitchen counter. He brought the pile of papers to Abby’s chair, kneeled in front of her, and pulled out a brochure.
When she reached for it, he pulled it back out of her grasp. She reached again, and he lifted his arm into the air.
The doorbell rang.
Abby pushed Einstein off her lap and jumped up. She snatched the pamphlet out of JD’s hand on her way to the door, thankful her reinforcement lived so close.
Abby opened the door.
“Study buddy to the rescue!” Kylee squeaked out. She held her calculus book in front of her face, but Abby could still hear her chomping her gum.
“You. Are. My. Hero.” Abby shooed Kylee inside and secured the door. She led her friend into the living room. JD was no longer in sight.
“Where is he?” Kylee’s voice was still not quite normal. And her eager expression made Abby smirk. Her new friend should make a more-than-willing distraction for JD Kane.
“JD?” Abby tipped her head back to peer up the stairs. She didn’t see him. Where did—
Suddenly Abby was airborne and floating in JD’s arms. He’d scooped her up and was spinning her around and around.
She screamed, “Put me down!” and clutched the front of his jacket. The room blurred around her, making her stomach lurch.
JD laughed deep and long, and finally stopped spinning. He didn’t release her, though. The room still whirled as she tried to focus on Kylee’s face. JD’s right hand shifted too close to inappropriate, and Abby slapped him. He cursed and dropped her. Her tailbone bashed against the wooden floor and sent smarting pain up her spine.
Kylee rushed to her side. “Are you okay?” She glared at JD. “I can’t believe you!”
JD’s lips parted. “Me?” Shock and surprise were foreign expressions to his usual smugness, as was his whining tone. He rubbed his cheek. “That really hurt!”
Kylee smacked her lips. “Oh, poor baby.” She helped Abby to her feet and whispered, “His stock just dropped a few points, girl. That was so out of line.”
Kylee’s chagrin was the perfect bandage for Abby’s sore tush. She inched back to the armchair and nestled her aching rear into the soft leather. Einstein instantly jumped back into the chair, settling protectively on her lap.
“You have a cat?” Kylee sat on the couch, leaving JD standing in the middle of the room.
“Einstein,” Abby said.
“He’s so cute!”
“He’s a Silver Persian.”
“Is that expensive?”
Abby had never considered it. “He’s a purebred.”
“I have two cats. I’ve had one forever. Shadow’s totally black. The other is some kind of calico mix we got from a box at the mall. I’m a sucker. Named him Bitsy.”
“I’ve had Einstein for two years. Dad got him for me—”
JD cleared his throat.
Abby glared at him, ignoring his pouty frown. “Are you ready to work?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He walked to her chair and stood beside it. “You want to read me that pamphlet?”
She exchanged a quick eyebrow raise with Kylee. “Do you mind, Kylee?”
“Not at all.” Kylee opened her calculus book and picked up a pencil.
Abby shook open the pamphlet, and read aloud.
“Systemic lupus can be mild or severe and sometimes fatal. For mild cases of lupus, when there is little disease activity and no major organ involved, treatment may be managed by a primary care doctor …” She stopped reading aloud and continued in silence.
… such as a pediatrician for children and teens, a family practitioner, or an internal medicine physician for adults. However, when lupus is active and the person needs to be watched for complications, he or she should be under the care of a specialist, usually a rheumatologist.
If lupus has caused damage to a particular organ, other specialists will be consulted: a dermatologist for skin disease, a cardiologist for heart disease, a nephrologist for kidney disease, a neurologist for nervous system involvement, and others as the symptoms require.
JD perched on the arm of Abby’s chair. “Anything good in there?”
“Yeah. This will totally help with our project.”
“You think they’ll ever find a cure?”
“For lupus?” Abby shrugged. “If my dad has anything to say about it, there will be a cure for everything.”
“Your dad interested in medicine?”
Abby huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”
[CHAPTER SEVEN]
MARTYR FINGERED THE KEYCARD UNDER his pillow. He felt bad about stealing from Dr. Goyer. He would likely get many marks—maybe ten—if he were caught, but it didn’t matter because tonight he would see sky.
A rattling rose from below his bunk. Brain, snoring. Martyr listened to the steady drone, and wondered if everyone was sleeping now. He leaned over the side and saw that his skinny bunkmate lay above his covers, eyes closed. Brain hated covers or close spaces or being confined. Marks were very hard on Brain.
Martyr scanned the other bunks; everyone appeared to be asleep. He withdrew the keycard from under his pillow and climbed down. As he crept to the exit, he placed a quick kiss on Baby’s forehead, the way Dr. Woman had once done for him. He waited to the side of the narrow window in the door until the night guards, Erik and Wilson, passed, heading toward the cafeteria. Martyr counted to thirty, knowing it was thirty steps to the cafeteria from his room. He’d checked twice today.
Martyr swiped Dr. Goyer’s keycard in the slot at the door, the way he’d seen Johnson and Rolo do so many times. The light turned green, like peas. Without a sound, Martyr twisted the handle and pulled the door open a crack. He peered down the hallway and caught sight of the guards rounding the corner. Martyr slipped out the door, closing it gently behind him, and padded on bare feet to the exit at the end of the hall. He didn’t need to use the keycard at the door to the stairwell—it didn’t have a lock since the J
asons moved between levels two and three daily. He darted inside the stairwell and ran up the stairs two at a time, stopping at the door to level one. He had never come this far without an escort. No Jason had.
The door to level one was locked. He swiped the keycard and pushed the door in, hoping no one would still be working at this hour. His heart pounded as he stepped across the cool, white tile. What would he do if he got caught? What would they do to him? Isolation? More EEZ?
They would use the stinger on his ankle, that much was certain.
Martyr shuddered, heart racing as he crept slowly down the white hallway. Everything seemed so bright. He counted three doors and paused in front of Dr. Goyer’s lab, hoping to borrow his white lab coat. But as he glanced in the window on the door, he saw Dr. Goyer still sitting behind his desk.
Martyr shrank back against the wall, heat flashing over him. He crouched and scurried to the next door. A quick peek in the dark window confirmed Dr. Max had gone. Martyr slipped inside and rummaged through a closet until he discovered a white lab coat and a pair of eye goggles. He put both on, hoping to look like a doctor, or as much as was possible. Unfortunately, his bald head was a giveaway, he was too tall and thin to be mistaken as Dr. Goyer. And he didn’t have shoes.
It was okay. He only needed to see the sky for a moment.
He stole back into the hallway and edged along the wall, listening for voices. The last door on his right—Dr. Elliott’s door—creaked open. Martyr darted left through an open doorway. Chairs lined up along one wall. On the other wall, a vacant desk sat in front of an open door.
“Dr. Elliot? Are you coming?” Dr. Kane’s voice called from beyond the doorway.
“Yes.” Dr. Elliot’s steps drew near the place where Martyr had entered.
Martyr dove onto the cool floor underneath the desk and pulled the chair in.
Dr. Elliott’s brown leather shoes with the tassels passed by the desk and stopped in the open doorway. “How are you feeling?”
“As well as can be expected. Have you confirmed everything?”
“Martyr is still the best choice.”
Martyr tensed at his name.
“J:3:3, Dr. Elliot. Calling them pet names will only make us all feel like jerks.”
Dr. Elliot shifted from one foot to the other. “J:3:3 is by far the healthiest specimen in batch three, almost in all of Section Five. Iron Ma—er, J:3:2 is physically stronger than J:3:3, but only because he does weightlifting in the athletic program. Also, J:3:2’s urine has high protein counts, so he’s out.”
Martyr’s mind filtered this dialogue. Healthiest for what? Every Jason had the same purpose. Health didn’t matter, did it?
“Which program is J:3:3 in?” Dr. Kane asked. “Is it art?”
“Knowledge. He’s top of Section Five under Brain. Excuse me, under J:4:1.”
Dr. Kane chuckled. “Well, I don’t need anyone’s brain, just a pair of kidneys.”
Martyr sucked in a sharp breath, making a soft noise in his throat. He clamped his hand over his mouth.
“The surgery is still scheduled for the twenty-eighth. Falls right on the J:3s’ expiration date. We’ll take the other two first, that way we won’t have to rush with Mart—with J:3:3. Of course you know there are no guarantees. Martyr is the best—”
“You mean J:3:3.”
Dr. Elliot cleared his throat. “Yes. J:3:3 is the best candidate, but he’s a clone. His kidneys likely carry the disease as well. Only time will tell.”
“Time is all I’m looking for, Dr. Elliot. Time. Dr. Parlor is making excellent progress tweaking the hybrid chromosomes at Gunnolf. We’ve only lost three this year, so far. The others appear to be perfectly healthy.”
“Should you need my assistance at Gunnolf, the offer is still open.”
“I have a surgeon at Gunnolf. And she’s not nearly as reckless with her experiments as you.”
“It was a safe dosage.”
Dr. Kane came out of the open doorway, wearing a long brown coat, a black hat, and black gloves. The light in his room went out. “Good night, Dr. Elliott.”
Dr. Elliot followed Dr. Kane into the hall. “I wouldn’t have done anything to jeopardize his health.”
Martyr released his mouth and a silent breath. None of this made sense. Dr. Elliot thought Martyr might already carry a disease? How could he be used for a cure? And what did Dr. Kane want with Martyr’s kidneys? He’d implied transplant. A cold tremor ran up Martyr’s arms. They had talked about transplants in biology class, as a procedure doctors used to help sick patients, but the organs came from dead people who had volunteered their bodies for the cause in the event of a premature death.
Martyr relaxed slightly. The Jasons were special. They were created to die, to save the earth’s population from the toxic air. It made sense that their organs would also be used after their blood was taken.
I must have misunderstood the conversation. Everything was on schedule for his expiration. That was all that mattered. He gripped the keycard to his chest. Once he saw the sky, he would feel much better about—
The elevator dinged. Martyr peeked out from under the desk to see the elevator doors slide open. Dr. Kane stepped inside. When the doors closed, Martyr crawled out from his hiding place and into Dr. Kane’s cell. As far as he knew, no Jason had ever been inside.
He was afraid to turn on the lights, so he pulled off the goggles and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The light streaming in from the doorway was just enough to see by.
Many things in Dr. Kane’s cell looked strange. There was some kind of thick fabric on the floor and a lot of color. Even in the dim light shining through the doorway, Martyr could see the flowers in the corner, the pictures on Dr. Kane’s desk, the balls in a dish—many of them red and orange.
What were all these other colors called?
Martyr picked up a small red ball and smelled it. He put his tongue to it and discovered it had a slight sugary taste. Cautiously, he placed it in his mouth and sucked on it. Sweetness melted across his tongue, and when he bit down, it crumbled and continued to melt. He set down the goggles, grabbed a handful of the colorful balls, and dumped them into his mouth.
He sat on the floor, took the glass dish in his lap, and continued to eat the little colors until they were gone.
His belly felt very full, but he got to his feet and continued to peruse the office. A large picture hung in the center of one wall. It was different from Dr. Goyer’s picture of his daughter. This one had a large frame around it and the colors were textured. Martyr ran his finger along the rubbery surface then studied the faces.
Dr. Kane sat in the center of the picture on a fancy chair. A woman stood beside him, but although she was fascinating Martyr spent little time looking at her, because of the familiar young man to her left. He had thick brown hair, dark brown eyes, and his face was identical to Martyr’s.
He was a Jason.
A sound outside the door made Martyr fall to the floor and curl into a ball. He listened carefully and forced his breath to stay even. It was only the muffled whir of the elevator. Martyr crawled to the doorway and peeked out. Dr. Elliot, dressed in a thick black coat, stood in front of the elevator. When it opened, he went inside and the doors closed.
As a precaution, Martyr stayed on the floor a bit longer before running to the elevator himself. He pushed the up arrow and it glowed. As the elevator whirred again, his heart pounded. His shirt felt damp under his arms, under the doctor’s white coat. Would this elevator take him to the sky? He stood with his nose almost touching the crack where the doors would open.
When they did, he jumped back in surprise, then grinned at his nervous behavior. He stepped inside and felt the floor move slightly under him. The doors closed, but the elevator didn’t move. He examined the buttons: G, L1, L2, and L3. He pressed G.
The elevator buzzed but still did not move.
Martyr swallowed. A new wave of heat swelled inside him. There was a slot above the buttons—may
be he needed the keycard here too. He pulled it out of his waistband and stuck it in the slot. The small light on the box lit up red.
Red was Martyr’s favorite color, but red on the keycard box was not good. Whenever the keycard box lit up red, Rolo struck it with his stick.
He pushed the card in again. Red. He whacked the box with the end of his fist.
Nothing.
Martyr looked around. Another keycard box hung on the other side of the doors, where a card dangled from the box by a chain. Martyr stuck it in the slot, then slid his card in the first slot. The light turned green. He pushed G again.
The elevator started to move.
Martyr looked around the elevator and grinned as it rose, until he noticed a camera hung in the corner, watching him. He winced. He’d forgotten the goggles in Dr. Kane’s office. Maybe the guards who watch through the cameras leave to sleep each night. He turned so his sleeve pointed away from the camera, then remembered he wore the lab coat and relaxed slightly. At least the camera could not see his number.
The elevator chimed. Martyr jumped. The doors whooshed open. He peeked out into a cold room; what if a guard, or Dr. Elliot, were nearby? To his relief, the room looked deserted. Another metal door stood in front of him with an empty desk beside it. Two keycard boxes hung on the wall, one on each side of the door. Martyr frowned. No extra keycard hung from either box.
He grabbed the keycard dangling from the chain in the elevator and pulled it off, then hurried across the cold floor to the door and stuck the card into one slot. When he inserted his card in the other slot, the light glowed green, and he pushed open the door. He reached back and snatched the elevator keycard in case he needed two cards to get back inside.
A shock of chilly air gripped him, causing him to gasp. Everything was freezing and dark. A dim light shone overhead but spots danced in front of his eyes. He stepped over the shockingly cold floor and shivered, taking in his surroundings. He stood inside a vast building. Large, yellow rectangles stacked up to the ceiling along the wall on his right. Martyr reached out to touch one. The rectangles were prickly like the bristles of a broom.
Replication Page 7
