Replication

by Jill Williamson

  She should have told him he didn’t have to individually name each one: a summary would have sufficed. When he spoke of his sin of abandoning Baby and running away from the Farm, Abby wanted to interrupt and tell him that wasn’t a sin, that he was being held prisoner there, but his voice cracked like he was going to cry, which instantly brought tears to her eyes.

  She decided to let him keep going.

  “Most of all, please forgive me for Dr. Woman. I know it wasn’t all my fault; the J:1s tricked me. But even when I realized they were hurting her, I couldn’t stop them. I tried to but they wouldn’t let me. I’m sorry they broke her until she died. I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.”

  Hold up. Who was Dr. Woman?

  “And that’s all I can think of that I did wrong. If I forgot something, please forgive me for forgetting—”

  Good grief.

  “—and please help me to know the purpose for my life. Not the plan the doctors at the Farm designed me for, but the plan you have for me. I promise to do all I can to fulfill that plan. Thank you in Jesus’s name.”

  Marty gave one long sniff, and it was as if he never shed a tear. What was up with that? Abby had only been sympathy crying and she probably looked like pounded steak. She wanted to ask about this random Dr. Woman but thought she’d give him a moment.

  She smiled. “How do you feel?”

  His eyes searched hers, then he examined his hands. “The same. Although I do feel safe. If I must go back to the Farm, if I must expire, this is not the end. I will be with the Creator of Everything.” Marty finally picked up his slice of pizza and bit into it. His eyes grew wide, and he devoured the slice in four bites.

  “Who was Dr. Woman?” She’d meant to give him a little more time, but she was really curious. If too much time passed, and he wasn’t so open, he might not share. And if someone had died on the Farm … someone who was not a clone …

  “She was a doctor who worked at the Farm for as long as I could remember. She was the only woman there. She was special. And she made us feel special. She was kind, and when she smiled …” He sighed and picked a green pepper off his plate. “It was almost like the kiss.”

  Abby brought her hand to her chest. “My kiss?”

  Marty grinned. “Almost.” Then he broke out into deep laughter. His sparkling eyes locked onto hers, and the laughter became contagious. Abby laughed until her sides hurt, unsure why he found this funny, but unable to stop because Marty was just too cute. Somehow his random laughter was charming, where JD’s had been geeky.

  Finally his face sobered. “I’m sorry. What happened to Dr. Woman was not something to laugh about. When we got older, the J:1s began to act strangely around her, like it really mattered she was so different. They talked about her hair and her body and they wanted to touch her. A few had tried before and received many marks and stings and beatings with the stick.”

  “The stick?”

  “The guards strike us if we disobey.”

  Charming place, this Farm. “Go on.”

  “The J:1s made a plan. Bones—he was J:1:3—asked me to help.” Marty picked up a lost green pepper that was on his plate and put it back on his slice of pizza. He kept his gaze on his food and lowered his voice. “I wanted to touch her too, so I went along with them.”

  Abby and Marty had both become very still.

  Marty glanced at her, his forehead creased as if pleading. “Dr. Woman liked me. When I was given marks with her, she never did experiments. I was younger then—we all were—but I still took care of Baby. Dr. Woman often asked what I was thinking when I helped the Brokens. She told me I was brave to face the bullies, as she called them.

  “She requested me to visit her lab room often. The J:1s teased me about being her favorite. Maybe I was. She told me things she didn’t tell the others. When they made the plan, they told me I was an important part. They wanted me to play sick, so I went to the toilet in Section Five and waited. The J:1s were hiding behind a bunk bed. Bones lured her in to help me. When I saw her, I confessed right away. But she didn’t understand. She put her hand on my forehead and …”

  Marty drew in a ragged breath. Abby was glad he’d stopped, because his story suddenly horrified her. She’d seen enough episodes of CSI to guess what happened next.

  “Rock grabbed her first because he was the strongest. She fought well, but Gumby took her radio away and she couldn’t call for help.”

  Again he stopped and took a deep breath. His eyes filled with moisture. Abby recalled the words from his prayer. I couldn’t stop them. I tried to but they wouldn’t let me. I’m sorry they broke her until she died. I’m sorry I couldn’t save her.

  “Rock held her down and—”

  “Marty.” Abby put her hand on his. “You can stop now. Thank you for sharing the story.”

  Marty reached for another slice of pizza out of the box on the floor.

  But Abby had one more question nagging at the back of her brain. “Why did they call her Dr. Woman?”

  Marty’s lips curved in a wistful smile. “Because she told me she was a woman, and I told the others.”

  “Will you tell me her real name, Marty? Did you know it?”

  Martyr turned, his eyes locking with Abby’s. “Doctor Corrine Markley.”

  [CHAPTER SEVENTEEN]

  ABBY JUMPED UP. “Did you say Corrine Markley? That’s … wow.”

  Martyr found it strange that Dr. Woman’s name gave Abby joy. She opened her cell phone, pushed buttons, and held it to her ear.

  “Kylee? What are you doing right now?” Abby brushed a crumb of pizza bread off Martyr’s shirt. “Can you come and get me? I left my car at school, and I need a ride to get it … Thanks! … Okay, bye.”

  Abby closed the cell phone. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but we can’t stay here much longer. Dad hasn’t answered his cell or texted, which is really weird.” She bit her thumbnail. “But your story might be what we needed. If we can get the cops to believe us, knowing what we do about Corrine Markley should be enough to close down Jason Farms. We simply need hard evidence.” She walked to the front door and rummaged through her bag.

  “Why would they not believe us?” Martyr asked.

  Abby came and sat beside him on the sofa, carrying a large green book. “Because in the real world people don’t trust each other. You always need proof, which is called evidence. Surveillance footage would be a start. I’m sure there were no cameras in the bathroom, and even if there were, that footage has probably been destroyed. But I doubt they destroyed everything with her on it. That would be too much valuable scientific research to just throw out. Any footage of her working there would be enough to at least interest the detectives. And that’s all we need, reason enough for the cops to search Jason Farms.”

  Abby twisted her lips. She opened the book and pulled out a sheet of paper. “This is a statement from Dr. Kane’s insurance provider. It’s not hard evidence in itself, but it shows he is taking prescription immune suppressants, which proves he’s sick.” She shut the paper back inside the book. “Could you draw the layout of Jason Farms—as best you can? The way the rooms are?”

  “Yes.” Martyr could do that easily.

  Abby grabbed his arm and dragged him to a small room on the other side of the kitchen that held a large table with six chairs around it. She pushed him onto one of the chairs. “I’ll get you some paper.”

  Abby returned with paper, a pencil, and a ruler, and Martyr started drawing. Abby drifted away. He could hear her rummaging in the kitchen. He finished level two first, then started on level three.

  A loud, musical sound caused Martyr to jump out of his chair and seek out Abby. She stood before the entrance of the house, peeking out a window that ran alongside the front door. Martyr stayed out of view, just behind the wall separating the entrance from the living room.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Abby turned, a finger over her lips. She shrank back and squatted beside a mismatched pile of sh
oes. She forced her foot into a boot while her hands scrambled in the pile for the other. The doorknob rattled and someone pounded on the door.

  “Abigail Goyer? Hello?”

  Abby tossed her bag over her shoulder, grabbed the boots Dr. Goyer had loaned to Martyr, her coat and Pastor Scott’s flannel, and scurried toward him in a crouch. She pushed the boots into his arms and whispered, “Put them on!”

  Martyr obeyed, not sure what else to do. While he put on the boots, Abby raced into the living room, grabbed her book, and ran through the kitchen. The pounding on the door continued. Martyr found Abby in the room with the table, where she was stuffing his drawing materials into her bag. She shoved the thick shirt at Martyr, put on her own coat, then swung her bag onto her back.

  Martyr had barely put his arms into the shirtsleeves when Abby grabbed his hand and towed him through a dark hallway to the exit in the back of the house.

  She whispered, “I think JD talked to his dad.”

  Martyr listened to the voice behind the door and thought so too. At the sound of breaking glass, he pulled Abby into his arms.

  “We have to move quickly, Marty.” She broke away from him and opened the door. They stood at the top of the steps facing the vast clearing surrounded by forest.

  “Where are we going?” He followed her carefully down the icy steps to the ground.

  “Out.”

  Martyr wanted a better answer, but Abby ran across the clearing and into the trees. He traipsed after her, his legs sinking up to his knees in the deep snow, causing the freezing crystals to fall over the top of his boots. He gasped at the cold running down his legs, but kept moving. He hoped they wouldn’t come face-to-face with the horse.

  “There they go!” a voice shouted.

  “Martyr!”

  Martyr spun around. A tall man wearing a pancake-colored jacket and red hat emerged from the back of the house.

  “Johnson,” Marty said.

  “What?” Abby called.

  “That man is Johnson. A guard from the Farm.”

  “Then let’s move!” Abby threaded her way between the prickly trees. “The main road is just through here. If we get a good lead and they decide to drive, we should beat them there.”

  Martyr looked back to see Johnson run down the steps, slip, and crash into the deep snow.

  Rolo appeared in the doorway, wearing a blue coat that doubled his size. Martyr turned and ran, ignoring the pain from a tree limb that snapped against his cheek. He plunged after Abby with his hands out in front, pushing the other limbs aside.

  “We’re heading toward Dawson Road.” Abby held the cell phone to her ear. “Can you swing that way?”

  Another limb managed to get by Martyr’s hands and scraped his forehead. Abby didn’t seem to be having as many problems with the trees. Maybe it was because she was so short. Martyr crouched lower.

  “We’re coming out right behind Salmon Laundromat … Yeah … Hurry!”

  Abby pocketed her cell phone, and her pace increased. The snow in Martyr’s boots caked around his numb ankles. The trees began to thin out, though. He was thankful there were no more sharp limbs.

  They approached a large, gray facility, with steam pouring out of silver pipes in the back wall. Martyr followed Abby to the front and slipped in dirty snow that had turned gray and mushy. He barely managed to stay on his feet.

  Two loud sounds burst from a small, black, two-door car on the edge of the road, and Abby ran toward it. A girl sat behind the driving wheel. Her skin was the same dark brown color of Pastor Scott’s.

  Abby opened the passenger door and climbed in the back seat. Martyr tried to follow, but she pulled the front seat back into place.

  “You can ride shotgun,” she said. “Hurry.”

  Shotgun?

  “Girl, what’s going on? What are you all running from?”

  Martyr squeezed himself into the tiny front seat and pulled the door closed. The dark-skinned girl stared at him, eyes narrowed. “What’d you do to your hair?”

  Martyr ran his hand over his scratchy head, uncertain how to answer.

  “This is my friend Kylee,” Abby said.

  “Hello, Kylee,” Martyr said.

  “What happened to his face?”

  “I got scratched,” Martyr said at the same time as Abby said, “JD hit him.”

  Kylee frowned at Marty. “You hit yourself?”

  Abby leaned between the two front seats. “Oh, Marty.” She pressed her fingers to his scratched cheek. “Does it hurt?”

  “It stings.”

  “Why’d you call him Marty?”

  “Because he’s not JD, he’s Marty. Kylee, I need you to get us out of here. I have an amazing story—you’re going to freak out—but if we don’t move, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

  Kylee still stared at Martyr. “But he sounds just like him.”

  “I know! Just drive.”

  Kylee steered the car out onto the road, and Abby told the story of how she found Martyr in her room, what was going on at Jason Farms, and how JD had attacked him.

  Kylee’s long black hair fascinated Martyr, but the way she stared made him nervous, so he tried not to examine her too much. She drove them down a winding road until they came to a big clearing with four large, wooden facilities painted brown. Even with so much looking his way, Kylee was a much safer driver than Abby.

  “Abby lives in a house, Marty,” Kylee spoke slowly, “but I live in an a-part-ment.” Kylee stopped the car between two trucks and pulled a clicking lever between the seats. She turned to Martyr and said, “Ah part ment.”

  “Apartment,” Martyr said.

  Abby groaned. “He speaks English, Kylee.”

  Kylee led Abby and Martyr to a set of glass doors, up an elevator, and through a door marked 3D. The apartment house was similar to Pastor Scott and Aliza’s home, only smaller and cluttered with stacks of papers, clothing, and books. The kitchen and living room shared the same small space, and something smelled spicy and sweet. All the windows were covered with thin strips of white metal making everything dark.

  “Look at his posture. He’s so straight.”

  Abby didn’t seem to hear her. “Marty needs a table to work at.”

  “Yeah, okay. He can work right here.” Kylee grabbed a stack of books off a small round table next to the one-wall kitchen. In a few quick movements she set the books on the floor and brushed the table’s surface off with her sleeve. “There you go, JD—I, uh …” Kylee’s voice hushed to a whisper. “Um … Marty.”

  Martyr pulled out a small wooden chair, on which sat a messy stack of papers.

  “Let me get those for you,” Kylee said. “My mom is working on her PhD. She’s gone to Anchorage three days a week, and then it’s study, study, study.” Kylee piled the papers onto the cluttered kitchen counter. “I don’t know how Mom finds anything in this mess.”

  Martyr sat down. The small chair creaked under his weight, but held together. Abby placed his drawing on the table, leaving him to work while she and Kylee went and sat on a sofa in front of the TV, whispering. Every once in a while they burst into laughter. Martyr hoped he was not the topic of conversation. Eventually Kylee turned on the TV and the talking stopped.

  He heard Abby make two attempts to reach Dr. Goyer on her cell phone, but it did not sound like Dr. Goyer ever spoke back.

  When Martyr finished his sketch, he carried it to where Abby sat. “I hope this helps.”

  “Let’s see it.” Abby grabbed his hand and pulled him down between them.

  Martyr sank deep into the sofa, and Abby and Kylee fell against him. He straightened himself up the best he could and explained his drawing. “Level three is the lowest level. It’s where we exercise and have classes. There’s a running track and exercise equipment and classrooms. Up one level is level two, where we sleep. There are four sections divided into cells by age and one other section for the Brokens. The cafeteria is on this level, as well as a play structure with an orange slide
for the children. Level one, the top floor, is mostly lab rooms. Dr. Kane’s office is here, and Dr. Goyer’s office is here. Dr. Goyer’s office was once Dr. Woman’s office.”

  Abby’s eyes met Martyr’s, dipped to his lips and back. His heart thudded at the idea of her kiss. Was she going to kiss him again?

  But instead Abby said, “Kylee, do you think Marty could take a shower? I don’t think he’s been able to for a few days. Right, Marty?”

  “Yes,” Martyr said. Today was Friday, a day past grooming. A shower would feel nice. Plus, he felt sweaty and smelled bad. Maybe Abby had noticed and this was why she had not kissed him again. The thought caused his cheeks to burn.

  Kylee sang out a sigh. “I can’t believe JD Kane’s clone is naked in my shower.”

  Abby rolled her eyes and nestled further into the sofa. “I hate to break it to you, but JD is a clone too. His crazy dad cloned himself.”

  “I thought cloning humans was impossible. Mr. Lester said so.”

  “A successful case has never been publicly documented. And since Dr. Kane is using them for his own gain, he didn’t tell anyone. As long as no one realizes what he’s accomplished, no one can stop him. I know he’s testing pharmaceuticals on them, probably raking in the bucks from it too.”

  “Human guinea pigs?” Kylee asked.

  Abby shrugged. “Who knows? The worst thing is that Marty says he’s going to expire on his eighteenth birthday. Dad says there is no reason he would—he’s perfectly healthy. That leads me to believe Dr. Kane is killing his clones.”

  “And using their organs?” Kylee asked. When Abby nodded, Kylee added, “I’ve heard about human traffickers getting good money for body parts.”

  “Marty can’t live without kidneys; he’d need to keep at least one. But it sounds like Dr. Kane planned to take both of them.”