Replica

by Bill Clem

  Tibek slammed the cabinet and carefully locked it, even though there was no longer anything to protect.

  “Calm down,” he told himself, trying to stem a rising tide of paranoia. “You’re letting your imagination run away with itself. There has to be an explanation. Think this through.”

  With a wave of apprehension, Tibek went to his desk to logon to his laptop. At first, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The spot that always occupied his computer was empty. “What the hell?”

  Telling himself to remain composed and think logically, he had a sudden realization. This was no imagination going wild, no mistake, no simple case of misplaced materials. Someone had stolen his data and was now going to use it against him.

  And he knew who that someone was.

  Tibek would fix Carlson once and for all. And he would do it himself.

  Well, almost by himself.

  Forty-Five

  * * *

  SHARING HER TRAIL WITH IMAGINARY spiders, snakes, beetles, rats, bats, monsters and the ghostly image of Roger Sippolt, Tracy continued to run down the trail toward a distant light. Suddenly without warning, the ground gave way beneath her.

  Flight or Fight.

  All logic and reason had evaporated from Tracy Mills’ mind. She held no thoughts of the plane crash, the mysterious lab, Jack, the victims, the horrific attack of the others. There was one matter at hand.

  Survival.

  The ground skimmed by in a blur beneath her like a sleek endless highway. Whether her body was numb with fear or numb from injury, Tracy didn’t know, but she didn’t feel any pain.

  Sliding on her side, Tracy was stretched out, her arms above her, hands clawing at the wet ground as she continued to accelerate down the canyon.

  Suddenly, the ground beneath her was no longer soft. She realized to her horror that she sliding toward the sandstone cliff she’d seen from above.

  She had arrived.

  The waterfall!

  The wall of water loomed for only an instant before she was in it. The blow to Tracy’s chest when she hit the base drove the wind from her lungs and rang the bells in her head.

  The dark pool felt like a charged chemical vat.

  Tracy’s body shuddered. Cold water streamed over her shoes and numbed her legs. Like a diver tied to a cinder block, Tracy felt herself being dragged down to the bottom of the falls. She struggled back to the surface for an instant. As if to give rise to Tracy’s own dumbstruck terror, the high-pitched scream of a wild animal cut through the air.

  Then the falls pulled her under again.

  Forty-Six

  * * *

  THE AWFUL SMELL HIT HIM like a baseball bat and Frank Tibek had to stifle his gag reflex. The big room was in semidarkness, illuminated only by a few dim ceiling lights. Tibek tried to be quiet, but his entry alerted the occupants, whose burning red eyes tracked his every move. Tibek felt like a menu item at a buffett.

  He ran his flashlight along the wall until he found a switch. As the room flooded with light, a chorus of snarls filled the air as the creatures retreated to the back of their cages. Perceiving after a moment that Tibek was no threat, they crept back and pressed their nightmarish faces against the bars.

  Tibek sensed that these creatures were regarding him with more than just feral hunger. They were curious, and their low growls and mutterings were a form of communication. He reminded himself that they had carried out more than one murderous rampage since their creation on this island. It would be a grave mistake to think of these creatures as mere animals. They were part human, and they could think. The other part was what was unthinkable.

  Tibek tried to ignore their unwavering gazes and went about the task for which he’d come. For a moment, he hesitated, thinking about the hellish forces he was about to unleash.

  Get on with it.

  He hit a switch labeled DOOR. A motor hummed and the cage slid open with a metallic clank. Several creatures inched forward in the cage, not sure if this was some kind of trick. Tibek hit another switch and a second cage opened. Still, none of the creatures ventured out. They were snarling at each other and pawing in some sort of primitive communication. Beyond the doors, it was a short distance to the exterior of the compound and the creatures could merely walk through a concrete culvert to get out. Tibek turned and raced out of the room. He had unleashed the demons. Now it was up to them to do the rest.

  To do what they do.

  Tibek heard the sound of laughter coming from the guard shack as he passed by. Then quite suddenly, the laughter was replaced by high-pitched screams, a gunshot, and then more screams, dripping with pain and terror.

  Tibek could only imagine the bloodbath that was going on, and he couldn’t help but pity the guards. They were decent-enough guys. But he knew that Carlson was prepared to have the guards lock him up. They were collateral damage. Tibek looked back to see a guard stagger a few feet from the shack and fire off a round at one of the attackers. But before he could get off another round, three more of the beasts jumped on him. Tibek could see his arms and legs flailing under the mats of fur that swarmed over him. The guard finally went still and the creatures dragged what was left of him into the shadows. They always did that—drag their prey into the dark. Why did they do that?

  Tibek took one last look at the twitching bodies of the guards and ran inside, just as one of the creatures spotted him and loped toward him. He heard a thump as he slammed the steel door.

  Now, to get the hell off this island.

  Forty-Seven

  * * *

  AS THE CURRENT SUCKED HER under, Tracy kicked her legs and pushing sideways, fought her way back to the surface.

  Hold on! Tracy’s brother’s voice called from beyond the grave. The same way he had when she had floundered in the icy pond as a child. Hold on! I’m coming!

  The wrenching yank on her arm nearly dislocated her shoulder and expelled what little air Tracy had left in her lungs. As she was pulled up onto the sandstone boulder, a dark form appeared before her. He worn a loincloth and carried a long bamboo spear in his free hand.

  An aborigine.

  As the water drained from her clothes, Tracy lay in terrified silence, listening to the sounds of the waterfall. Then feeling the onset of nausea, she dragged herself to her hands and knees.

  The Aborigine smiled, but said nothing.

  Delirious and in pain, she crawled back toward the others.

  Forty-Eight

  * * *

  PETER CARLSON WAS NOT SURE how long he’d been lost in thought when he got the call. It took him a moment to recognize the tired voice on the other end.

  It was Prince Habib. Carlson jumped on the opportunity to spill what he knew. “I don’t have much time, Habib. I’ve uncovered some problems. The whole project has been compromised. Frank Tibek—”

  “Dr. Carlson, I have everything under control. I know about the compromise and I assure you it’s being handled. I received a phone call this morning from the CEO of Gem/BioTech. He says they have synthesized the compound I need to save my son. At this point, I can’t care how they came to have it. It’s my last hope.”

  “Your Highness, if you use that compound, it could kill your son... or worse. You don’t know—”

  The prince cut him off. “Peter. I appreciate everything you have done, but the race is over. It’s not your fault. Perhaps later, we will finish what we’ve started. For now, I have only one priority. You understand. Arrangements are being made and you will be amply compensated. I will contact you when you get home. Good luck.”

  The line went silent.

  Peter took one last look around the lab.

  If I get home.

  Forty-Nine

  * * *

  THREE THOUSAND MILES AWAY, a Grumman 360 executive jet circled the airport at Raghed, Dunali. After getting the tower’s okay, it landed on the 110-degree tarmac. The heat caused ripples in the air.

  Ron Powers closed his laptop and packed it away. When the jet rolled t
o a stop, Powers looked out the window of the custom plane to see a procession of officials waiting for him. He had to admit, for all the ass-backward ways of this desert country, they sure knew how to treat a guest.

  Christ, I feel like the President.

  Powers descended the narrow stairs of the plane and saw Prince Habib waiting to greet him. Powers approached and extended his hand, but instead of Habib returning the gesture, a guard in a military uniform stepped from beside him and snapped a handcuff on to his left wrist, then pulled his other arm in front of him and secured the other cuff.

  Powers face flushed. “What’s going on here, Habib?”

  “Why don’t you tell me, Mr. Powers?”

  “I don’t understand,” Powers protested.

  Habib smiled. “You will very soon, I assure you.”

  With that, they blindfolded Powers and whisked him away in a white van to a staging area three miles away. When the van stopped, a guard took off the blindfold and led Powers to an area that looked like a town square. His vision now unobstructed, he stood again facing Prince Habib.

  “My son, he grows weaker everyday. You and I had a deal. You cheated me, Mr. Powers. You had no intention of completing the project. Instead, you sold out to the highest bidder. You gave what was mine, what was my son’s, to someone else.

  Powers started to protest. “No, it was Tibek who—”

  “Silence!” The Prince barked, waving his hand. At that, the larger guard gave a roundhouse to Powers midsection, dropping him to his knees.

  “Do you think I’m a fool, Mr. Powers? Did you really think I wasn’t watching you? Do you not know the resources I have at my disposal? In your case, I barely needed them. You are the fool, Mr. Powers. Now, you must be punished. In my country it is an eye for an eye.” The Prince waved over the guard who had just decked the traitor. “Stand him up.”

  The brute yanked Powers to his feet. “Wait a minute. I didn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Ahh, but you did. You hurt my son. You hurt my honor. Now, you must hurt.”

  “You can’t do thi—“

  “You remain arrogant right up until the end, Mr. Powers.”

  “What do you mean, the end?”

  “You shall see in a moment.”

  They herded Powers to a small sand-filled rectangle where a large wooden basket sat in the middle of it. Powers was momentarily confused.

  A huge Arab stepped forward brandishing the largest sword Powers had ever seen.

  Then he understood.

  He felt his bladder let loose and the sand beneath him became wet. The guard behind him shoved him to his knees. He was kneeling in front of the basket, pleading for his life.

  “Please, Habib, don’t do this...”

  “You did not do your homework, Mr. Powers. You thought I wouldn’t see through your deceit. You thought I wouldn’t find out about your treason. You thought I wouldn’t find you in San Lupos. You are a very stupid man. Anyone who deceives me does not live to regret it.”

  Powers felt the prod of something in his back that caused him to instantly jerk his head upwards. The last thing he heard was the whoosh of the huge saber as it swung down.

  Fifty

  * * *

  JACK BAKER HAD BEEN IN the jungle enough times to know it claimed its victims without remorse or hesitation. As he stood at the top of the cliff looking down, he knew he should have never let Tracy set out alone.

  We’ve got to get out there and find her; she has twenty-four hours at best.

  * * *

  The numbness that spread through Tracy’s body was like a welcome anesthetic. She managed to get to her feet and staggered a few yards more before collapsing to the ground.

  * * *

  Jack Baker, along with Captain Hammond and Michael Whiting, fought their way down the cliff. Baker showed them how to repel with vines and the three of them were standing at the base of the huge rock when they heard the high-pitched screams.

  Tracy.

  * * *

  Tracy Mills felt like she was being burned alive. A terrifying sensation was spreading through her body. Everywhere—jabbing—faster and faster. Thousands of tiny hypodermic needle pricks, intensifying whenever she moved.

  Tracy, her vision blurry, tried to focus on the men standing over her. She wanted to speak, but her mouth didn’t get the command from her brain. The stinging sensation in her skin was giving way to sudden deep waves of pain that rolled through her body like seismic tremors.

  “Fire ants,” one of the men said. “Get her off the ground!”

  Strong arms lifted her. Tracy felt hands flicking the stingers from her skin. She was being placed on a rock and something was being rubbed all over her skin. Willing herself, she focused her vision. Another man had joined the other two and was the one doing the rubbing. The Aborigine that pulled her from the falls. She felt the coolness of the liquid on her skin.

  “What is that?” she asked.

  The man just smiled, continuing to rub her skin.

  Then she heard a familiar voice. “It’s Tea Tree oil,” Jack Baker said. “It’s an old jungle cure for fire ant bites.”

  “Jack!” she squeeled.

  “Trust me, it works.”

  Who ever this native was or how he had found Tracy and the others was beyond her. It made no difference at the moment. I’m alive.

  “Why doesn’t he speak?” Tracy asked.

  “He’s taken a vow of silence.” Michael Whiting answered. “Many Aborigines do it, out of respect for nature. It also helps them to survive. They can sneak up on their prey and they can avoid being preyed upon.”

  The native took a position on a high rock and waved his spear toward the group.

  “He’s trying to tell us something,” Jack said. He stepped over to the rock and stood next to the Aborigine. The jungle lay spread out below him.

  In the distance, the bright steel of GenSys shimmered like a mirage.

  Fifty-One

  * * *

  A FEW MINUTES PAST NOON, Peter Carlson sat in front of the laptop he’d lifted from Tibek’s office, his face a study in concentration as he scanned the emails Tibek had received over the last six months. One, regarding a shipment of Thylacene fetuses, stood out as particularly troubling:

  STATUS: > Have lost all contact with ship.

  > Please verify shipment location and ETA.

  > Will wait

  > URGENT!

  > Let me know, Alex.

  Entering the office, Frank Tibek was livid. He stormed over to Carlson, his breath coming in snorts.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Carlson?”

  For a moment, the lab was quiet. Carlson sat motionless, struggling to absorb what he’d just read, as the meaning of Tibek’s written words slithered through him.

  “Don’t seem so shocked, Carlson. You don’t think the Prince’s son is enough to keep me in this mosquito-infested shithole, do you?” Tibek ranted.

  Carlson blanched. “I’m not sure you understand what you’ve done.”

  Tibek smirked, then bore down on Carlson. “Who in the hell do you think you are, Carlson? Just because your grandfather chased some extinct animals around here thirty years ago doesn’t make you the be-all and end-all of genetics.”

  Carlson wheeled around when he heard the commotion. The sound of glass shattering; a door coming off its hinges. More banging and a gun blast rang out. Tibek ducked behind a desk and now the sound of loud unfamiliar voices entered the hall.

  “Where the hell’s security?” Tibek yelled.

  “They’re dead,” Jack Baker called out.

  Behind Baker, Tracy Mills and Eric Hammond stood staring at the maze of equipment in the room.

  “Who the hell are you?” Tibek asked.

  “Jack Baker. My friends and I here, we survived a plane crash here about ten days ago. Landed in this nightmare. Now that’s my story. You mind telling me what the hell those things are out there?”

  Peter Carlson spoke now
. “Did you say, security is dead?” Baker nodded. “The outside of this place is littered with your guards. Something tore them to shreds.” “What the fuck is it?” Tracy Mills asked. “A better question is, what was it supposed to be?” Hammond stood waiting for an answer. “Doesn’t matter, they’re gone,” Tibek said. “I released them.”

  “Released what?” Carlson demanded. “What the fuck do you think?”

  “Are you saying you have full grown animals?”

  “Had. Actually, they were Whiting’s. Crazy bastard actually did it!” Tibek let out a cackle before continuing, “Then he let most of them out, set them free. I just finished the job.”

  At that moment, Michael Whiting stepped forward. “That’s a lie, Tibek.”

  Frank Tibek craned his neck and turned clown-white. The gaunt old man with long white hair and a matching beard looked nothing like the Dr. Michael Whiting that Tibek knew.

  “What’s wrong, Frank, cat... er... wolf got your tongue?”

  “Why don’t we just feed him to them?” Baker suggested.

  “Later. Right now, we need to get out of here.”

  Part Five

  Island of the Thylacines

  Fifty-Two

  * * *

  BUCK JOHNSTON NEARLY SWALLOWED HIS cigar when he heard the mayday call. On the other end, a man sounded frantic.

  “My name is Peter Carlson. I’m on an island called Poguba. I’m with some people whose plane crashed here ten days ago. We are under attack by wild animals. I have a group of people here, seven of us in all. We need to get off the island as soon as possible or we’re doomed. I think it’s uncharted. I have the GPS coordinates, though. They are 04°38'S, 108°17'E.”

  “Hold on a second.” Johnston consulted his maps.