Replication

by Jill Williamson

  “I don’t see what’s so special about him,” the bare-legged Jason said. He was still sitting atop his bunk bed.

  Tighty-whitie boy fisted her hair. “His hair’s soft.”

  “And long and twisting,” said the boy holding her hand.

  “Like the dog.” Iron Man clutched her left arm at the bicep.

  She sucked in a small gasp at the pain his grasp caused. Dog?

  “His pants are like Rolo’s eyes.”

  “What color is his shirt?”

  “Purple,” Marty said.

  “He’s small, like a Broken or a J:10.”

  “No, like a J:8. Like Mikey.”

  Someone honked a dorky JD laugh. “Mikey! That’s funny.”

  “Can he speak?”

  “Is he like Baby? Martyr, does he speak signs too?”

  Marty crushed her hand, almost at Iron Man’s strength. He didn’t look so hot at the moment. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was pale—smooth since his recent shave. He wore an expression a father might give a guy taking his daughter out on a date.

  The boy holding her left hand had nearly rubbed it raw, like it was some sort of stress ball. Up, down, up, down. Tighty-whitie boy raked his fingers through her hair again. Iron Man still gripped her arm. And Marty still held her right hand. Far too many people were touching her.

  She fought to think rationally. The only way out was the elevator or the tunnel, right? She concentrated to remember Marty’s map of the facility.

  The dumbwaiter she’d seen while snooping. It came out somewhere down here. Marty hadn’t mentioned it, but if they could get away, she could look for it. The kitchen perhaps?

  “It’s my turn,” someone called from the back.

  “Me too.”

  Close to twenty Jasons crowded around. Abby surveyed the room and spotted four cameras, one in each corner. Was her dad watching, worrying? Did he know what had happened to Dr. Markley? Abby gulped. Would the same thing happen to her?

  “Dr. Kane lied to us,” Marty said suddenly.

  She turned to find him scanning the faces around them.

  “The air outside is not toxic. There is no disease to cure. Abby and Dr. Goyer live in a large house. I saw the sky and a moose eating a tree. Abby has her own cell with lots of colorful clothes. A tiny white dog lives with them. She made me bleeding eggs to eat.”

  Say what?

  “I saw birds and dolphins and huge dogs on a TV, which is a monitor with moving and talking pictures. I saw many cars. Some are called trucks and some are called vans. I saw people with different faces and different hair. I saw many women and colors I never dreamed existed. I ate red and green pizza and wore socks.”

  “Like Rolo’s socks?” the tighty-whitie Jason asked.

  “Yes,” Martyr said, “but they were red and warm and had green triangles on them.”

  They were pretty rockin’ Christmas socks. Abby had got them 50 percent off.

  The Jasons all started to talk at once about socks and creatures that ate trees. Marty pulled Abby toward the door, but Iron Man’s grip on her sore arm remained tight.

  Marty yelled, “Quiet!”

  The Jasons settled down.

  Marty released Abby’s hand, reached down, and pulled something out of his waistband. He held it above his head and the Jasons gasped.

  “A keycard.”

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Can I look at it?”

  “Martyr, let me see.”

  “It’s how I was able to go outside. Listen.” The murmuring stopped. “What Dr. Kane has told us is a lie. We don’t expire because we turn eighteen years old. Dr. Kane kills us.”

  The mumbling started up again. A great ache seized her arm as Iron Man released it and blood started to flow. He stepped up to Marty and snatched the keycard, examining it up close. “It’s what the doctors carry.”

  “It will take you outside,” Marty said.

  Which wasn’t exactly true. Two cards were needed to work the elevator. Plus the guards were upstairs. The Jasons wouldn’t know that, though. Abby doubted anyone was going anywhere.

  Iron Man strode out of the room. A herd of Jasons trailed after him.

  Abby pulled Marty close and whispered, “Wait.”

  They were the last two to leave the room. Baby stood in the hallway outside the door. Abby hadn’t seen him in the room. Had he been out there the entire time?

  “Can we get to the kitchen? If we can, I think I know a way out.”

  Marty stared at her, nodded, then led them after the Jasons down the hallway, keeping a few yards back. The hallway ended, just like the one did on level three below, only instead of ending by the track, this one led into the cafeteria and playground. The small play structure sat off to the left of the open space, and long cafeteria tables stretched across the right.

  Marty pulled Abby up to a door and held out his hand. “Give me your keycard.”

  Abby glanced at the mob charging toward the double doors. She quickly handed the keycard over. Marty inserted it in a smaller reader above the knob and opened the door.

  They entered a kitchen lit only by two dim, long halogen bulbs that flickered from the ceiling. Marty waved Baby in and closed the door behind him. “What must we do in here?”

  Abby’s lips parted, hope swelling inside like a breath of hot air. A steel door of similar size to the one she’d seen on her barnsleuthing day was set into one of the walls. She walked toward it, trembling slightly. Could it be this easy? A switch hung on the outside of the door, identical to the one in the barn above. Her heart thumped wildly as she pulled the metal door open.

  She laughed out loud. “Here!” But it wasn’t big enough for everyone. Maybe two, barely. Maximum Capacity 300 lbs was etched just above a small latch on the back of the steel door. Abby did the math. Not so good.

  Marty walked to Abby’s side. “What?”

  “This is a dumbwaiter—a mini elevator that goes outside. It’s how they get food down to you. I think we can ride it to the outside.”

  Marty crouched and gathered her into his arms like she was a damsel in distress.

  Abby squeaked. “What are you doing?”

  Marty carried her toward the dumbwaiter. She put her right hand against the edge of the opening to keep him from putting her inside. “Wait! Marty, please!”

  His brown eyes locked onto hers. “Is something wrong?”

  Without thinking, she grabbed the back of his neck with her right hand and pulled his beautiful lips to hers. They were soft and slightly parted, spilling warm breath onto her face. He didn’t kiss back at first. But when he did it was like something primal clicked and he suddenly knew what to do.

  Her heart fluttered. She could feel his strong arms trembling around her. She wanted to stay here forever in the safety of those arms.

  Something shifted beside them. Abby pulled back, saw Baby staring from Marty to her and back to Marty, whose eyes slowly opened. Breathless, he hefted her in his arms, stepped forward, and settled her into the cramped dumbwaiter. With extreme care he began tucking her boots inside and smoothing her hair, which clung to the wall with static.

  “Will Baby fit also?” he asked.

  Wha …? Not a word about the kiss? No cute thank you or asking for a second? “I … um … I think so.” She squished into the corner, tucking her body into itself.

  Marty helped Baby inside. Now that they were so close, she noted the little guy smelled like a hospital. He sat on Abby’s toes, wedging his feet next to her left hip. Cozy was not quite the right word. Sardines said it better.

  “Baby, you must stay with Abby,” Marty said. “She will keep you safe.” His eyes met hers, all business. “Send the dumwater back down so I know you got out.” Marty gripped the door to swing it shut.

  “Marty.” Abby grabbed his arm. She had never felt like this about any guy. She couldn’t just leave him behind. What if he couldn’t escape? What if he wouldn’t? “You’re coming up next, right?”
<
br />   Marty’s eyes flickered away. Under the low lights, his long eyelashes cast geometric shadows down his cheeks. His words came in a strained whisper: “I must help your father destroy Dr. Kane’s research.”

  Tears welled in Abby’s eyes. It made sense that he and her dad should try and stop Dr. Kane, but she didn’t want to leave them behind. “Marty, you can’t do this alone. Come up with us. We’ll go get the cops. Helpful ones this time.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “We want the same things, Abby Goyer. But I cannot yell at policemen or push buttons on a cell phone to convince anyone I speak truth. That’s your way. My way is to use my hands, my head, and see my goal accomplished with my own eyes. That’s what works best for me.”

  Abby swallowed. “But you’ll come up as soon as you destroy the files, right?”

  He closed his eyes. “Good-bye, Abby Goyer. Pray that the Creator of Everything will help me.” Marty swung the metal door closed with a snap and everything went black.

  Baby whimpered and shifted with a force that shook the metal box.

  Abby’s throat felt ready to close up. She blinked back her tears and groped around in the dark until she found Baby’s hand. She squeezed it. “It’ll be okay, Baby.”

  But she couldn’t convince herself.

  A sudden hum jerked the dumbwaiter up. A flood of heat tingled over Abby. Yes, she would soon be above ground. Free, unless the guards were waiting. She hadn’t thought to look for a camera in the kitchen.

  The dumbwaiter continued to rise. Abby hoped the door would open from the inside. She didn’t want to be stuck in this tiny, dark space any longer than necessary. The kitchen was on level two, but there was no guessing how far underground level one began.

  Claustrophobia and the darkness brought more maniacal CSI-like musings as she rode topside. The episode where one of the characters had been buried alive had always creeped her out. She chewed on her thumbnail and continued to squeeze Baby’s hand while considering the myriad of ways this could play out.

  A faint sucking bled into the hum of the machine lifting them. Baby had pacified himself with his thumb. Must be nice. Abby’s nail chewing never brought actual relief.

  Not like being with Marty had.

  The dumbwaiter jerked to a stop. Abby scrambled for the latch, pulled, and exhaled when the door clicked open. A burst of cold air filled the tiny space, sending a shiver over Abby’s sweaty body.

  Praise God.

  “Baby, you’ve got to get out first.” She wiggled her toes to urge him along.

  As Baby eased his feet out the hole, the door swung wide with a jerk. Abby screamed.

  “I’ve got people here, in the dumbwaiter.” A young police officer peered inside at Abby. “Are you Abigail Goyer?”

  “Yes.”

  The officer turned and told someone behind him, “One of them is the girl.”

  The girl?

  Baby kicked and moaned as the officer helped him out the door.

  “It’s okay, Baby.” Abby pivoted and pushed her legs out the hole. A maddening tickle inched through her feet, legs, and rear end. She gasped and shook her lower limbs, desperate for blood flow.

  The officer reached in, grabbed her waist, and lifted her out. He was a state trooper, young with black hair and cheeks pink from the cold. His name badge read WESLEY.

  “Miss Goyer?” Officer Runstrom appeared at her side. “Could you come with me, please?”

  Abby scowled at Runstrom and folded her arms. If he would have listened to her in the first place …

  “Please?” Runstrom added in a small voice.

  Abby shut the dumbwaiter and sent it back down, earning a puzzled look from both officers. She took Baby’s hand and followed Runstrom down the row of aluminum storage cabinets and through the metal vault door, which had been opened somehow. It was slightly warmer inside the small, steel-walled chamber. A wide elevator covered the wall opposite the entry door; she hoped Marty or her father would come through it. The officers seemed to be turning the area into a makeshift command central. Runstrom walked behind a small, black desk to her right. Three more chairs lined the fourth wall.

  Wesley ran into the room behind her, holding a black bundle. He draped a scratchy wool blanket over Abby’s shoulders. She passed it to Baby, and Wesley handed her a second blanket.

  She pointed to Baby’s bare feet. “He needs shoes or socks or something.”

  “I’ll see what I can find.” Wesley left again.

  Abby tucked the blanket around Baby and helped him sit down in one of the empty chairs against the wall. She sat in the seat beside him and the cold leather crackled under her weight.

  Runstrom was intensely studying a monitor.

  Abby’s shoulder throbbed, but she didn’t want to be taken to the hospital before she knew Marty and her dad were safe. “Officer, what made you change your mind?”

  “A couple things happened all at once.” Runstrom folded his hands and leaned forward on the desk. “First, your car was found, wrecked and abandoned. Then your friend, Kylee Wallace, brought this sketch to us along with some interesting paperwork. She also brought her brother, Scott Wallace, who corroborated your story. But what really did it was another fellow, named Jim Markley. Markley had a photograph of his wife standing next to a young JD Kane. Only he seemed to think it wasn’t JD at all, but your boyfriend, Marty.”

  When this is all over, I’m getting Kylee the most amazing thank-you gift she could ever imagine. Abby gestured to the vault door. “How’d you get this door open?”

  “Markley found a keycard in his wife’s things. Just one, unfortunately. But it worked to open the outside door. We discovered we’ll need two to work the elevator.”

  “Were there guards in here?”

  “Just one, named Stan Chestnut. Shredded his keycard when he saw us coming. We’ve already taken him in for questioning. We’ve got this place locked down, above ground, anyway. We were securing our search warrant for this location when a call came in from a Dr. Kane. Claims a Dr. Edward Elliot is holding him and your father hostage. We’re waiting for his demands now. Anyway … I understand your boyfriend drew this floor plan?” He nodded toward Baby, his forehead wrinkled. “Is that him?”

  “No. Marty’s still inside. With my dad. But that phone call must have been some kind of scam. Dr. Kane is in charge here. Dr. Elliot works for him.”

  “Employees sometimes turn on their boss. Problem is, we can’t get this elevator opened, and the elevator expert is still on his way. In the meantime, I’d like to send a man down the dumbwaiter, but it’s not on this sketch.” He smoothed his hands over Marty’s floor plan of Jason Farms. “Could you show me where it comes out inside the … farm?”

  Abby studied the drawing and pointed at the kitchen. “It’s here. But there’s a better way in.” She turned the map to face her and showed him the end of the hallway on level two. “A tunnel enters the facility, right here. I just don’t know where the entrance is.”

  “A tunnel?”

  “After those jerks ran me off the road, they took me into the woods and through a storm cellar-type door, which led to a tunnel about two hundred yards out from the Farm. There were two doors that required two keycards each, but they weren’t vault doors. I bet you guys can break them down.”

  Runstrom picked up a CB radio and spoke into it. “Allam. Get in here. We’ve got another entrance.” He glanced at the monitor on the desk and frowned, leaning closer to the small screen.

  Abby circled the desk and looked over his shoulder, staring at the black and white image. She gasped. Her dad was strapped to a table in one of the labs. And Dr. Elliot stood over him.

  [CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE]

  THE DUMBWAITER RETURNED EMPTY. Creator of Everything, please keep Abby and Baby safe. Martyr listened at the door of the kitchen until he was certain he heard no voices. The Jasons were either at the elevator or had gone back toward the stairs.

  He eased open the door. The cafeteria was deserted and
there was no sign of anyone near the entrance to the elevator. Martyr edged along the wall and peeked down the hallway to the stairs.

  He stood there a moment, unsure what to do. He needed to finish Dr. Goyer’s plans and destroy the computers on level one. He touched the top of the single keycard, tucked safely into his waistband. The stairwell was his only option.

  Martyr eased gently down the hallway. He had almost reached the doors when they flew open, releasing Iron Man, Fido, and the others into the corridor. Martyr turned around and sprinted for the children’s play structure.

  Iron Man yelled, “Go get ‘em, boy!”

  Martyr bounded over the spongy playground floor and darted under the slide just as Fido swiped sharp, ungroomed fingernails across Martyr’s cheek. Martyr scrambled back and put up both hands as a barrier. Past Fido, he could see the crowd huddled on the edge of the playground, watching with wide-eyed stares. Iron Man stood in the center of the boys, arms folded across his muscular chest.

  Martyr tried to reason as Fido inched nearer. “We can defeat the doctors if we work as a team. We’re stronger together.”

  Iron Man scowled. “You lie more than the guards, Martyr. Did you learn that from your woman?”

  Fido made another swipe, forcing Martyr to dash from under the slide and scramble up its slippery surface. He stopped on the top of the playground structure.

  “That’s right, run away,” Iron Man yelled. “You always do.”

  “Fight him, Martyr!” Teddy, a J:4, yelled.

  “Yeah!”

  “Go, Martyr!”

  Martyr did not want to hurt Fido, but it seemed he had no choice as long as Fido stood in the way of destroying Dr. Kane’s computers. What would the Creator say to that? Would God forgive him if he hurt Fido on purpose? Martyr scanned the Jasons who stood watching, calling his name. They wanted him to fight. They wanted Fido to lose.

  Fido tried to climb the slide on his hands and knees, but his pants caused him to slip backward. Forgive me. Martyr grabbed the bar that ran across the top of the slide and vaulted down the plastic chute. He crashed into Fido, and they landed in a tangled heap on the floor.