He stepped toward the dark opening where two bright red lights stared at him, humming loud and moving away. He ran after them then stopped as his feet left the cold floor and touched the freezing white ground.
Ice. Very, very cold icy ground.
Was he outside? Why was it dark? He looked up to see the sky, but everything was black. He sucked in a hesitant, icy breath, heartbeat thudding in his head. Did the cold and darkness have something to do with the toxicity?
His feet burned, so he ran back inside and found the floor warm compared to the icy whiteness. He turned back to face it, body quaking from cold and the thrill. Snow. Dr. Goyer had told him about the white substance that covered the ground in winter. A slow smile spread across Martyr’s face.
The door he’d come out of opened slowly. Martyr dove behind a stack of the yellow rectangles and sat down, rubbing his cold, stinging feet, hoping no one had noticed the keycard missing from the elevator.
“Even I need to use the can sometimes,” a voice said, “although Dr. Kane probably wouldn’t approve. But I don’t ever get a break up here and it’s a long night.”
“I’ll bet,” Dr. Goyer’s voice said.
“Again, sorry to keep you waiting, doc. You have a nice evening.”
“You too, Stan. And be sure to tell Dr. Kane about the missing keycards. I likely misplaced mine, but the one gone from the elevator is strange. If Dr. Jeng hadn’t still been here, I might have been stuck in the office till morning.”
“Will do, doc.”
Martyr heard the door click shut, the clacking of shoes across the floor, and then crunching as Dr. Goyer walked over the snow.
Martyr looked out from behind the stack of prickly bristles and watched Dr. Goyer approach a place where many cars sat. Martyr had never seen a car, only a drawing Dr. Max did a few years ago to explain how he came to the Farm each day.
Dr. Goyer climbed inside a big car with a long, flat back. Martyr breathed hard and fast, trying to decide what to do. A roar split the silence, and Dr. Goyer’s car lit up and rolled backward. This could be my only chance.
Martyr sprinted over the icy snow in a crouch. The car stopped. Martyr peeked inside the flat back of the car; it was a pocket. The car lurched forward, so Martyr grabbed the cold metal and climbed inside, lying flat on the cold, hard, vibrating surface of the pocket. He curled into a ball to warm himself, but it did little to help. The snow had melted on his feet, leaving them wet and numb.
With each lurch Martyr slid forward, and his head struck the metal wall of the pocket. The repeated bouncing banged his limbs against the rigid surface. Just as he felt he could take no more, the car suddenly went very fast and smooth. Above him, black tree branches reached toward a lighter black background full of tiny lights like those on the keycard box, but very far away, and not green or red, just white. Martyr reached up a hand. Yes. They were very, very far away.
Why wasn’t the sky blue? Could it be because of the toxic air? Martyr stopped breathing a moment, then sucked in a short, icy breath. The cold air entered his nostrils and burned slightly. Something was wrong. If the air was toxic, shouldn’t he be having some difficulties breathing? If Martyr’s blood carried the cure, perhaps he would be immune. But Dr. Elliot had implied Martyr might already carry a disease. If so, could he infect others?
He shivered and hoped Dr. Goyer would not be angry once the car stopped.
[CHAPTER EIGHT]
WHO KNEW JD KANE COULD COOK?
Abby promised herself this interesting fact would not alter her feelings toward him, but the fact that he volunteered to cut the onions—and diced them like a sous chef—carried more weight than she liked to admit. She loved cooked onions, but raw ones were lethal on her eyes.
JD diced on the cutting board. Chop, chop, chop. The conversation had been pleasantly surprising, centering on genetic disease before drifting to treatments and how everything could relate to their assignment. Now they were talking about research and cures. JD actually knew more than most about science. Against her will, her respect for Mr. Full-of-Himself had taken a major upturn.
Poor Kylee added little to the conversation, her furrowed eyebrows proof the subject matter was not one of her interests.
JD dumped the onions, peas, and carrots into a frying pan of heated olive oil. A hiss of steam rose up around his face. “Yeah. But clinical trials are essential to developing drugs. If the laws weren’t so strict against human testing, we’d have cures by now.”
Human testing? Abby should have known more cons were lurking below the surface. This was worth two strikes on JD’s already con-heavy list. “Um, those are good laws, JD.”
JD stirred the sautéing veggies. “Whatever.”
An eerie déjà vu moment flashed over Abby. This was her mom and dad’s late-night arguments all over again. What was that saying about girls choosing guys like their dads?
Not in a million years.
Abby took a deep breath. JD would not win this debate; she knew her stuff. “Pharmaceutical companies sometimes go too far. Most have no code of ethics when it comes to dollar signs. Do you know what happened with testing on prisoners?”
JD popped a slice of carrot into his mouth. “Doesn’t matter. They were volunteers.”
“It was abuse. Inmates earned ten times more as human guinea pigs than they ever earned from whatever prison jobs were available. Those who did agree may have been mentally ill or addicted to drugs, and some were probably too illiterate to read what they were agreeing to. Plus, they were offered the worst types of testing. Sensory deprivation, chemical treatments, psycho surgeries—”
“You don’t know that’s fact. Besides, it’s their bodies.” JD dumped in the rice and stirred. “If they wanted to donate their bodies for science, I say, good for them. It’s a noble cause.”
The food smelled fabulous, but Abby was too annoyed to savor the aroma. “It’s insane. People were warped for life after some of that stuff. I agree that certain amounts of human testing are necessary, but only after the results on animals prove it’s safe. The laws the FDA set up are to protect people.”
“You think they should test on animals?” Kylee’s voice took on a high-pitched squeakiness.
JD cracked an egg into a glass bowl. “That’s what they’re here for.”
“You know what …” Abby should never have let JD into her house. She’d already marked him as trouble. What had she been thinking letting him worm his way inside for a second chance? Being an animal lover herself, she smiled at Kylee and tried to word things more sweetly. “Testing on animals saves human lives. Virtually every medical achievement of the twentieth century relied on the use of animals in some way.”
Kylee smacked her gum. “That is so mean.”
“Uh,” JD said in a nasty tone, “cancer is mean.”
Kylee asked, “Why can’t they find cures without testing on animals?”
“They can,” JD said. “If the FDA would ease up. They’ve got such strict rules on testing these days. It needs to change, or we’ll never cure anything.”
Abby fumed. “You think it’s right to harm one person to cure another? If a healthy person gets sick trying to help, then you’re only making more people sick.”
JD rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Which is why embryonic stem cell research is so perfect. But there are lots of people against that too. Mostly religious types.”
Abby set her jaw. An inner heat cascaded over her. “Embryonic stem cell research is testing on humans, JD. It’s the same thing. That’s why people are against it. Human beings are not guinea pigs.”
“Um … it’s cells in a petri dish, Abby. Last time I checked, embryos don’t need to eat, sleep, or use the john.”
“An embryo is alive from the moment the sperm fertilizes the ovum. It’s called conception.”
His mouth twitched. “So you say, religious type.”
“Are you trying to insult me by calling me religious?”
He lifted his hands, then had
the audacity to wink.
Abby jerked the spatula from his hand and pushed him away from her fried rice. “You think this is funny? I suppose you think we should destroy life to prolong life? That concern for the people on earth inflicted with diseases demands we sacrifice the lives of those waiting to be born?”
“Abby,” Kylee said. “These are really cool stools. I like the cushions.”
JD mumbled, “Girls.”
Abby raised her voice. “Excuse me?”
“You think you’re so smart. You’re just emotional. Oh, poor little micey wicey. Poor little cells.”
Abby’s jaw lowered in slow motion, like a drawbridge.
JD smirked and motioned to the frying pan. “You need to add the egg now, or are you afraid it’s alive too?”
Abby dumped the egg into the pan and vented her frustration by stirring the mixture. What a surprise to discover that JD was more than a self-centered wonder jock—he was also a chauvinist and a liberal extremist.
What a waste of a stunning male specimen.
Kylee’s small voice rose over the stirring and sizzling. “So, Abby. Would you mind going over this logarithm with me? I’m having a really hard time understanding the whole base of a positive number thing.”
Thank goodness for Kylee. Eternally grateful for the change of subject, Abby switched off the burner and opened the cupboard. “You bet. Get your book while I dish this up.”
“You need to put the soy sauce in it first,” JD said.
Abby thrust the spatula against his chest and went to the cabinet to get plates. As much as she enjoyed this lupus assignment, she couldn’t wait until it was over and she would have no more reason to mix company with JD Kane.
Dinner long gone, Abby and Kylee sat on the loveseat in the living room, working through an equation. JD slouched in Abby’s armchair, reading the genetic diseases book.
The front door whooshed open. “Abby, honey? What’s going on here? I can’t pull into the driveway.” Dad slowed to a stop, his eyes fixed on JD.
Chilled air drifted over to Abby. Dad had left the door open. She watched as he dropped his briefcase on the floor, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, eyes boring into JD like lasers.
Uh oh.
Last March, Abby had gone on a group date to the movies. Afterward, everyone came back to Abby’s house to hang out. This had sparked the first and only fight between her parents on the subject of Abby and the opposite sex. She’d been careful not to let it come up again—her parents had enough problems without her adding to them.
Now Dad wore the same expression he had the night he found them all sitting in the backyard talking. His wild eyes flickered from face to face, his lips were drawn into a tight line, and his forehead was as wrinkled as a pug’s.
JD seemed to speak the silent language of territorial father. He jumped up and started across the room. “I should get home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Abby.”
“Yeah, bye.”
Abby’s eyes never left her dad’s smoldering ones. He looked like he might blow a gasket. She hoped he waited until everyone was gone.
He didn’t.
He shadowed JD to the door. It was a humorous sight; JD’s muscular body towered a foot above her dad’s plump one, but the odds didn’t deter her father. “What’s your name, son?”
“JD Kane.”
“Ah. Hmm.” Dad’s “Hmm” morphed into a moan, an odd sound somewhere between looking to answer a question and pain.
Abby jumped up and ran halfway to the door. “Dad? You okay?”
“I don’t allow boys in this house when I’m not home.” Dad’s voice came in a hoarse whisper. “Is that clear?”
JD gripped the knob and yanked the door open. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”
“Dad,” Abby said in her most soothing, round tone. “We were just studying.”
Dad waved a hand at Kylee. “You should go home too.”
Abby’s jaw dropped. “Dad!”
Eyes wide enough to show all the white, Kylee shut her calculus book, grabbed her purse, and stood.
“Kylee,” Abby said. “Thanks for coming over. Really. My hero.”
Kylee winked. “No problemo, girl. See you tomorrow.”
Abby chewed her thumbnail as she walked Kylee out. When both vehicles had left the driveway, Abby shut the front door and rounded on her dad. “I can’t believe you kicked out my friends!”
Dad hung up his coat and scarf. “I can’t believe you invited friends over without asking, especially JD Ka—a boy.”
“Asking? Who would I ask, Dad? It’s not like you’re ever home!”
Dad picked up his briefcase and started toward the kitchen. “You could have texted. I would have texted you back.”
Abby trailed behind him. “To say ‘no’? News flash, I have a life too, Dad. It’s not all about you. Maybe I need friends. Maybe I need to study with them outside of school. If you’re never home to chaperone, what should I do? Hire someone? A nanny, Dad, for a seventeen-year-old girl? Maybe I should homeschool myself. Then I could give myself assignments I already know. Easy As.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He set his briefcase on the counter and inspected the pan of half-eaten stirfry on the stove.
“You’re right. I’ll just sit in my room each night like a good daughter and come when you call me to dinner— Wait, I’m the one who makes dinner. In fact, I’m the one who does all the housework. Maybe you should go to your room!”
Dad spun around. “That’s enough.”
“Whatever!”
Abby stomped upstairs to her room and slammed the door. She flopped onto her bed, and when she saw JD Kane crouched in the corner, she screamed.
[CHAPTER NINE]
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, you idiot?” the daughter whispered. She jumped off the bed and propped her hands on her hips. “You can’t be in my room. My dad will call the cops. Do you have a death wish?”
Martyr fell to the soft floor and curled into a ball. His heart thudded in his chest. Certainly he had done something very bad and would be punished. Did daughters give marks?
“What are you …? Get up.” The daughter nudged him in the back.
He would not get up so she could strike him. Martyr knew that trick—it was one of Rolo’s favorites. Besides, he liked this floor with the soft, warm fibers that cushioned his body. It was safer to stay in a ball and see what she decided to do next.
A moment of silence passed, and he slowly peeked out between his elbows to see her puzzled expression. Her hair practically glowed; the reddish orange color was so vibrant. He had never seen anything so beautiful.
“What are you wearing?” she asked. “And what did you do to your hair? JD! Your hair is your best feature.”
Something sang on the daughter, a noisy, metallic rhythm. Martyr scrambled to a sitting position and backed against the wall, afraid of the strange sound. Was it some kind of alarm?
The daughter stood up and removed a small, red device from her pocket. She held it to her ear. “Hello?”
Martyr frowned as he watched her, puzzled by the strange device and her reaction to it.
“Don’t be stupid. Who is this?” Her thin eyebrows sank low over her pea-green eyes. “It is not … Because I’m looking at you right now … You shaved your head. Is it a wig?” She leaned closer, peering at Martyr’s head. “How are you doing this?”
The daughter reached a hand towards Martyr, but a loud honk outside caused her to jerk her hand back. She went to the wall, peeked through the strips of metal that hung there, and looked out a window. “What in the world?”
She tossed the device onto the bed. “Stay here.” She pointed a finger at Martyr, who pressed back into the corner again. The daughter opened the door and went out, slamming the door behind her.
Maybe I should leave. This might be his only chance to get away. But it was so warm and colorful inside the daughter’s cell. He was thankful Dr. Goyer had left the door open when he had yelled at his daughter. Martyr rubbed h
is cold feet, which had finally started to thaw. It was so much warmer inside the facility than out in the icy darkness.
Martyr did not want to go back to Jason Farms. He did not want to expire. He did not want Dr. Kane to take his kidneys. It was selfish to run away—and he hadn’t intended to. If he never went back to the Farm, how many people who lived outside would not get an antidote? Would he still expire when he became eighteen? What would happen to Baby?
Martyr crawled to the bed and tapped the red device with one finger. It was hard and smooth and did not make noise for him. He looked around the daughter’s cell. He couldn’t name the color, but almost everything was the same shade, similar to gray but more pleasant. A huge picture hung on the door of a man with frizzy white hair and a thick mustache. Martyr stepped closer to read the words.
E=MC2
The door burst open, and the daughter closed it quickly behind her. Martyr scurried back to the corner and crouched low. The daughter leaned against the picture of the man for a long moment before turning to look at Martyr. She stepped toward him and squatted down to his level. She was holding something in her arms. A white and hairy animal. A dog?
“Who are you?” Her intense eyes trained on his.
Martyr suddenly grew very hot, saliva filling his mouth. The dog squirmed. Its round eyes met his and he noticed they were the same color as the daughter’s: green. Martyr swallowed and said in a near whisper, “I am Martyr. J:3:3.”
Her sculpted eyebrows sank over her eyes. Martyr focused on the sprinkle of tiny dots on the top of her cheeks and nose, dots the same color as her hair.
“What kind of name is that?” she asked.
Her question knotted his thoughts. His identification was not acceptable? “It’s what I’m called.”
“Where do you live?”
“The Farm.”
“What farm?”
“Jason Farms.”
The daughter sucked in a sharp breath. “No. That’s not possible. How did you get in this house?”
“I rode in the pocket of Dr. Goyer’s car.”
“Doctor? In the back of the Silverado?”
Replication Page 8
