Replication

by Jill Williamson

  [CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR]

  THE FIRE WAS BLAZING NOW. Water sprayed from every spout in the ceiling, except the center four Martyr had disconnected before lighting the computers. A rotten smell came from the melting plastic, accompanied by a thick, greenish smoke that billowed from the pile. Martyr risked a deep breath and choked on the rancid air. He had sent Hummer and Bean Bag after the others when the water first began to fall. It was time for him to go too.

  The fire hissed and popped behind him, warming his back as he walked to the exit. He wrenched the door open and slipped out into the cool hallway, sucking in clean air. A cloud of dense smoke poured out of the room, forcing him to creep to the corner of the hall in order to fully catch his breath.

  Once his lungs and eyes cleared, Martyr peeked around the edge. Empty. He ran all the way to Dr. Goyer’s lab, but his heart sank—there was no sign of Abby’s father. He locked the door and sat at Dr. Goyer’s desk, trying to think. If Dr. Goyer was in Dr. Elliot’s office, Martyr needed a plan. I should have kept some of the Jasons with me.

  He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on a vial sitting on the counter.

  He went immediately to the cupboards above the counter. Dr. Goyer wasn’t like the other doctors—he hadn’t used injections. But the day Martyr had been injected with the EEZ, Dr. Kane had told Dr. Goyer he would have to do testing too. Perhaps he had the same vials.

  Martyr dug through the cupboards searching for the letters EEZ. When he couldn’t find them, he slipped next door to look in Dr. Max’s office. He found the vial in the back of the top cupboard and filled two syringes up to the twenty mark with the yellow liquid. Martyr didn’t want anyone to expire, but he needed to be ready for the doctors who were after his kidneys. Better to be prepared.

  The phone rang.

  Abby paused on the landing between levels three and two, fumbled to free Runstrom’s phone from her pocket, and managed to flip it open. “Yeah?”

  “Where are you?” As expected, Runstrom didn’t sound happy.

  “I’m going to help my dad.”

  “We’re almost in, Miss Goyer. It’s not safe for you to be down there.”

  “Why didn’t you send a man down the dumbwaiter?”

  “Because Allam’s working on the tunnel. I’d rather send several men in so they can cover each other. I certainly wouldn’t send a sixteen-year-old girl.”

  “I’m seventeen.”

  “Oh. Well that’s different, then.”

  Abby scowled. “No one’s down here, not even the toddlers. I checked their rooms. They must all be upstairs or something.”

  “A good reason for you to come back up.” Runstrom’s voice faded a moment as he barked, “Wesley! Get over here.” His voice was loud when he spoke again. “Wait in the kitchen. I’m sending Wesley down now.”

  Abby chewed her thumbnail. She could wait a moment longer. A lot could happen in a moment, though. “I can’t. My dad’s in trouble, and I’m going to get to him before it’s too late.” Marty had been right when he said there were times arguing didn’t get anything done. Abby had to act before the opportunity passed her by.

  “No offense, Miss Goyer. But what exactly are you going to do?”

  Abby pushed his comment aside and ran up the remaining flight of stairs. Someone had propped open the door to level one with a rolled up white T-shirt, and a haze now filled the stairwell.

  “Miss Goyer? Miss Goyer, are you there?”

  “There’s smoke.”

  She heard a muffling on the other end. “Wait for Wesley. He’s coming down now.”

  “No time.” Abby clicked the phone shut and switched it to vibrate as she crept up the last few steps. She pulled her shirt up over her nose, held her breath, and darted through the door, only to be met with greenish smoke that seeped out the cracks in the doorframe opposite the stairs. She ran back into the stairwell and dialed her cell phone.

  “Miss Goyer?” Runstrom’s voice sounded strained.

  “Someone started a fire. Call some fire trucks and ambulances, maybe even Hazmat.”

  “What kind of fire?”

  “I don’t know. It’s in the room across from the stairs on level one, but it smells almost chemical.” She snapped the phone shut, tucked it back into her pocket, and held her breath. Setting her mouth in a grim line, she ran out of the stairwell, past the smoking door, and around the corner. The acrid smoke gave way to sweet air. She crept down the hall, listening for voices and clues to what lay ahead.

  Abby paused outside the reception area and tried to remember which lab was Dr. Elliot’s office. Think, Abby … The first one.

  She hurried to the door and slipped inside. Her father still lay strapped to the exam table, unconscious, gray duct tape covering his mouth. She ran to his side and ripped the first binding free, then removed the adhesive from his mouth slowly, not wanting to hurt him.

  Before she could get the tape off, pain exploded at the back of her head, and she slumped to the floor.

  Abby woke to the sound of clinking glass. She blinked a few times and discovered she was sitting in a wheelchair, her wrists and ankles bound with plastic cinch ties. Dr. Elliot stood at the counter on the other side of the exam table, where her dad still lay.

  Abby rose in her seat, nearly losing her balance. “What did you give my dad?”

  Dr. Elliot spun around, his bulging eyes fixed on hers. “Oh, Miss Goyer. Only a sedative. I’ve seen enough spy films to know that if the hero is left awake, he can rescue the damsel.” He picked up a syringe and started toward her.

  Abby flinched, but he capped the hypodermic needle and tucked it into the chest pocket of his lab coat. Just as calmly, he pushed Abby back into the wheelchair.

  “Where are you taking me? What about my dad?”

  “You and I are going to evacuate, Miss Goyer. Your curiosity has exposed this lab, and, like you, the world is not yet ready for our miracles. Once our valuable subjects are safe, we will set fire to this building, eliminating your father and what he knows about this lab.”

  “I think someone already beat you to the fire.”

  Dr. Elliot opened his office door. A fog of thin smoke now filled the hallway. “What?” He grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it out.

  Abby leaned forward, throwing herself onto the cool tile. She cried out as her shoulder slammed into the hard floor.

  Dr. Elliot kicked the wheelchair aside, grabbed her under the arms, and dragged her backward. She feared her arm might rip off the way he swung her around the corner. Her boots slid over the tile of the reception area, then dragged onto a fine oriental rug. Dr. Elliot dropped her at the front end of a conference table, before an antique desk.

  “Miss Goyer. How good of you to return to us,” Dr. Kane said from behind the desk. “One less person I have to track down.”

  “How can you sit here so calmly?” Dr. Elliot screamed. “The building’s on fire.”

  Dr. Kane stood up. “What kind of fire? Why didn’t the alarm go off?”

  “How should I know? I saw the smoke coming from down the hall.”

  Dr. Kane turned and opened a file cabinet on the wall behind his desk. “If the alarm didn’t go off, it can’t be terribly serious. Anyway, the van will be here soon. Any sign of our boy?”

  Dr. Elliot sank into a chair at the conference table on Abby’s left. “No.”

  A row of Jasons sat along the wall to her right, arms bound behind their backs. Eight of them. The oldest might have been seven or eight, the youngest mere toddlers. A few had deformed limbs.

  “Hi, Abby.”

  She pushed herself upright and turned back toward the entrance to see Marty sitting in a chair at the other end of the conference table. The sight of him tore a sob from her lungs. “Marty!”

  He chuckled, a sarcastic grin splitting his face. “Fooled you. You really thought I was him? What do you see in that lab rat anyway?”

  “Oh,” breathed out her lips as she registered JD’s arrogant tone. But the
resemblance was even more uncanny. His head and face were clean shaven, and he was dressed in white Farm clothes. Even the number J:3:3 appeared on his sleeve. “You were the one on the cell phone. What are you doing down here?”

  “Took your advice and followed Dad to work yesterday. You were right—well, obviously.” JD gave her an apologetic grin. “What was really odd though, Dad doesn’t use the top entrance. He comes in through an underground tunnel. So when the cops came to the house with a warrant to search Dad’s office and told Mom about some mad-scientist hostage situation, I took your clone dude’s clothes—the ones the cops gave Dad thinking they were mine—and snuck into this place. I wanted to show you I could be a hero too. Turns out the hostage call was a hoax.” He glared at Dr. Kane, then sobered as his gaze traveled to the little boys. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know what is going on here. In case you didn’t notice, all these kids have my face.”

  “No. You all have his face.” Abby raised her bound hands and pointed at Dr. Kane. “Your dad is the mad scientist, JD. He cloned himself. A lot.”

  “That’s crazy.” JD rubbed the back of his neck and looked to Dr. Kane, who was pulling file folders out of the file cabinet and piling them on his desk. “Dad?”

  “Ignore her, son.” Dr. Kane opened his briefcase and loaded the stack of files into it.

  “Why is Abby tied up, Dad? You can’t just tie up girls.”

  “She’ll be a surrogate, of course,” Dr. Elliot said. “Why else would—”

  “No.” Dr. Kane glared at Dr. Elliot, then turned to JD, his expression earnest. “It’s only until we’re safely gone.”

  “Whatever,” Abby said. “JD, are you aware they strapped my dad to an exam table in Dr. Elliot’s office? They’re going to leave him to burn with the lab.”

  JD looked back to Dr. Kane. “Is that true?”

  Dr. Kane added one last file to his briefcase and shut it. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  JD ran a hand over his bald head and glanced at the boys again. “Am I …?” He cleared his throat. “Real?”

  Dr. Kane punched up a number on his cell and held it to his ear. “Of course you’re real.”

  “A real clone,” Abby said.

  JD’s eyes narrowed. “Take that back. It’s not true.”

  “Of course it’s true,” Abby said. “JD, look around you.”

  “Dad? Am I just the pick of the litter or what? Do I have a-a … number?”

  “Johnson,” Dr. Kane barked into his phone. “Call me back. Now.” Dr. Kane ended the call.

  “Answer me, Dad!”

  Dr. Kane rubbed his right eye. “You’re J:3:1, the first in the J:3 batch. Your mother desperately wanted a child and couldn’t conceive. The first two subject groups seemed to be coming along, so it appeared you’d live a normal life. In addition, you had the highest protein counts, which meant you’d likely be a poor transplant candidate.”

  JD squirmed in his seat. “Wh-What does that mean? Transplant what?”

  “I have lupus.”

  “I already know that.”

  “Which means you’ll have lupus. I wasn’t officially diagnosed until I was thirty-six.”

  This set Abby on meltdown again. “You cloned yourself knowing you were sick, knowing that your clones would be sick too?”

  “I only wanted to clone my kidneys at first, but the technology that presented itself was too tempting to bypass. Over the years we’ve tried manipulating the chromosomes, hoping to slow down the disease in the candidates. The pharmaceutical experiments alone have more than funded this lab over the years. I’ve had four transplants in my life, and the one from this lab has lasted the longest. My body is a perfect match for my body. No complications.”

  “Except the organs have lupus, too,” Abby said, “so in the end they die.”

  “Raising my kidneys from birth is the best way, and J:3:3 is the healthiest subject we’ve had yet.”

  Abby paled. “But Marty’s a person. You can’t just kill him.”

  “See? This is why I dislike having women in the lab.”

  “Because we have a conscience?” Abby asked.

  “Because women are weak. Dr. Markley thought the boys were so cute. She disliked injecting them, hated the electroshock treatments and the tasers. Look where her love of the little beasts got her.”

  A voice from behind Abby said, “You’re wrong.”

  She turned to see JD standing just inside the doorway, while at the end of the table, JD still glared at his father. She gasped. “Marty?”

  “Excellent,” Dr. Kane said. “J:3:3. The time has come for you to serve your purpose.”

  Marty glanced at Abby, then to Dr. Kane. “Dr. Markley always made me feel like I mattered, like my purpose was worthy. Since I met Abby, I never felt more alive. I love my brothers. They’re my family, and I try to take care of them, but Abby makes me want to be better, the same way Dr. Markley did.”

  “No matter.” Dr. Kane waved to Dr. Elliot, who stood and walked to the center of the room. “One last injection, J:3:3, and it’ll all be over. You’ve lived a good life. You even got to see the sky. You’ve taken care of everyone, now, let Dr. Elliot take care of you for a change.”

  Dr. Elliot lifted the syringe out of his pocket and uncapped it.

  Abby tried to crawl after Dr. Elliot, inching her way like a worm. “Marty, don’t listen to him.”

  Marty walked into the room and stopped when he met Dr. Elliot.

  In response, the doctor lifted the syringe. “Give me your right arm.”

  Abby inched closer and rose to her knees, her voice cracking over her tears. “Marty, please, come away from him. You don’t have to listen.”

  “Fire!” One of the Jason boys pointed at the wall behind Dr. Kane, where a large black blob had blackened the white wall. Flames brushed across the white surface, painting a trail of charcoal ash in their wake.

  All eyes turned to the flames. From her position, however, Abby watched as Marty hauled back a fist and punched Dr. Elliot. The doctor cried out and stumbled, dropping the syringe. Marty kicked it away and lunged.

  “Help him, son!” Dr. Kane crouched down, and Abby could hear desk drawers sliding in and out, banging shut.

  JD stood and stepped tentatively toward Marty and Dr. Elliot. His eyes were wild and sort of glazed over, darting between the fight and the fire.

  “No, JD. Leave him be.” Abby walked on her knees, reaching for Dr. Elliot’s pant leg.

  As her fingers inched closer, Dr. Elliot suddenly screamed. Marty staggered away as the doctor slumped to the floor, face beet red, limbs trembling a moment before his body seized in a convulsion.

  Abby forced herself to keep moving. She reached Dr. Elliot’s side and looked up at Marty. “What did you do?” It came out light as a breath.

  “Only an experiment, Abby Goyer.”

  Marty’s voice had a harsh tone unlike any she had ever heard before. She simply stared, not knowing what to do, as Dr. Elliot’s body continued to twitch and his face took on a bluish tinge. “What experiment?”

  Marty shrugged. “Something that hurts.”

  “I’ll give you something that hurts,” JD said.

  Marty turned just as JD swung. Abby shrieked as the punch struck Marty’s ear. He tripped over Abby, nearly falling.

  Abby waddled on her knees, trying to stay between them. The sprinklers came on then, spraying cold water over her and partially masking the two boys. “JD, don’t!”

  But JD lunged past Abby and struck Marty again, only to have Marty hit back. The boys came together like wrestlers and fell to the floor, punching and choking and writhing until Abby could no longer tell who was who. One of the little Jasons began to cry.

  A gunshot rang out, jolting Abby around. Dr. Kane stood in front of his desk, briefcase in one hand, gun in the other. The water from the sprinklers had plastered his graying hair to his head. The wall behind him was black now, with several gaping holes that provided a view into a room
engulfed in orange flames. Swirls of charcoal gray smoke coiled along the ceiling. It was the most hellish image she’d ever seen. Another sprinkler came on over Abby’s head, spraying her with dirty water. Two of the toddler boys were wailing now. Abby wished she could go and pick them up.

  Dr. Kane redirected the weapon from the ceiling to JD and Marty. “Stand up!”

  The boys clambered to their feet, water soaking their clothes. One had a puffy bottom lip and his left eye was starting to swell. The other had scratches down both cheeks and on his neck. His mouth was bleeding terribly.

  But which was which?

  Abby studied their body language and posture, but at the moment, exhausted from the fight, they looked identical. She sought out Marty’s scratches from his run through the forest that afternoon, but fingernails used in grappling and defense had obscured any such evidence. She couldn’t be sure without hearing them speak.

  A chunk of debris fell from the burning wall and landed behind Dr. Kane’s desk.

  Dr. Kane flinched and yelled, “J:3:3! Step forward. Now.”

  The Jasons looked at each other. The one with the scratches on his neck stepped away and crouched to pick up the syringe Dr. Elliot had dropped.

  The other Jason mumbled, but Abby couldn’t understand him. He grunted and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then patted his pants and spun around, looking for something.

  The Jason with the syringe turned to Abby. “Good-bye, Abby Goyer.” Then he furrowed his brows and plunged the syringe into his arm.

  Abby felt as if her heart was being expelled along with her scream.

  A small gasp left his lips. With apparent effort, he pushed down the top of the syringe, forcing the contents into his veins. At first nothing happened.

  “Marty?” Abby started to go to him, but as soon as she inched closer, Dr. Kane pointed the gun at her.

  “Stay right there, Miss Goyer.”

  Abby paused, trembling, shivering because of the cold water. She stared at Marty as he sank to his knees, then to the floor, a faint whimper on his lips.

  [CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE]