by Patti Larsen
Chapter Three
I hear an engine roar to life, the purr of a motor as I round the side of the gas station and see Duet doing a happy dance near the open hood. She waves to me when she spots me, running forward lightly, though her body moves like a machine, to grasp my hands in hers, one warm skin, the other hot metal, and pulls me toward the SUV.
“Working now,” she says with a huge grin to which her steel half has already adjusted. She's been smiling for a while.
I find myself frowning in answer, feeling doubtful despite her confidence. I don't mean to discard her idea, and having a working vehicle is a bonus, but I'm only now considering the consequences of such transportation.
“What will we do for fuel?” I set down the bags of food, leaning them against my legs while Duet's grin only spreads.
“No fuel,” she says. “Just me.” She points at the engine, still humming softly along. Only then do I realize it glows faintly green, the same eerie light emanating from her eye, from her blood, shining through the metal making up the car's motor.
I lean in, see what used to be her blood running through tubes in a steady stream, marvel at the beautiful creepiness of it. “How?” I mean to ask a more intelligent question, but only that single word emerges.
She shrugs, understanding anyway. “We make metal live.” As she finishes her cryptic comment, the engine sputters once and dies. But instead of being disappointed, Duet pats me on the back. “Almost there.”
I nod slowly, leaning away from the car, feeling the pulse of the life inside it ebb, a tickle of sadness for its passing stronger than it should be. It's an inanimate object, after all. But I'm still tender from saying goodbye and, no matter how much I tell myself it's just a car, knowing of what Duet's Tek blood is capable, I can't help but think of this metal monster as a living thing.
I shake my head as I back away, not sure what to do or say, except to agree with her. “Almost.”
Duet hugs me suddenly, her grip painful though I don't pull free, welcoming the feeling despite the hurt. “Be happy, Trio,” she says.
I know I should be, if only for her. I've found her, against the odds, been reunited with my sister clone. A sister who shouldn't even be alive, according to what her savior told me. Ever and her Tek family saved Duet, filled her with life, their blood, when they found her badly hurt, damaged beyond normal repair, both on the inside and the outside. I still struggle with the timeline—according to Ever, Duet has been here about seven years, lived among the Teks almost a decade. It feels wrong, like it was only yesterday the two of us... what?
Nothing. I can't remember.
Part of me whispers, asking over and over if I've made some horrible mistake walking away from my friends and the train, with only Duet for company when there is still so much I don't know.
Duet goes back to work and so do I, intent on shaking my self-doubt in as physical a way as possible. By the time the sun is setting, I have the back of the SUV stocked with cans of food, bottles of water, a few blankets that survived time, even a pair of pillows still wrapped in their plastic casings.
I curl up on the ground after a quick meal and watch Duet work. It must be my imagination playing tricks, my half-awake state warping reality, for as I lie there, sleep claiming me, I'm certain I see her metal parts seem to move as if of their own accord, like extensions of her, but with life beyond what she gives them.
My sleep is troubled despite the soft pillow under my head, and I wake often, each time finding her working still. Nightmares, likely fed by her activity, hurtle me from one frightening scenario to another. If I'm not fighting a living house, eyes staring from blank windows, red front door flapping as it roars its fury, I'm fleeing down an endless track into darkness while the train chases me, front grill gnashing like giant metal teeth. Chime, a twisted and half-metal version of herself, laughing maniacally from where she perches out the side window, firing balls of green flame at me.
When dawn comes, the first light touching my eyelids, shaking me free of my uncomfortable slumber, I find Duet has finally come to rest, curled up beside me, her cheek cupped in her human palm, metal hand holding mine. She smiles in her sleep and I can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness for her, as strong as I ever felt for the puppies, for Poppy. My sister clone might be powerful in body, but I know she needs guidance. Ever treated Duet like a hurt child and I'm well aware of the implications. Duet's inability to control her temper, her attack on the boy who tried to hurt Poppy, is a warning. As much as I'm happy to have her in my life, I must watch Duet carefully.
I hate that Beckett is right about her and I've probably taken on more than I'm able to handle.
And then Duet's eyes open and meet mine. Her smile warms my heart, cyborg hand squeezing mine ever so gently.
“Trio,” she whispers. “I love you.”
Her eyes close again, a happy sigh lifting and dropping her chest before she snuggles around for a more comfortable position and goes back to sleep.
My heart swells, Duet's love filling the gaps leaving my friends opened inside me. There's no way I can abandon her. And I've made the right choice after all.
I leave her to sleep and examine the SUV. I'm shocked, not expecting the armored vehicle now waiting for us beside one of the gas pumps. It reminds me of the Crawler trucks, the soldier-like people in pursuit, wanting to control me. But this vehicle seems alive, almost pulses with breath.
No Crawler has this kind of power. I nod to myself as I gently run one hand over the plates of metal welded to the passenger's door. I have chosen correctly.
Her hand falls on mine as I pause and admire her handiwork.
“Cool, right?” She laughs, winks at me with her real eye. “All done, Trio.”
I find myself laughing with her as the SUV seems to purr at our combined touch. “It's beautiful, Duet.”
She bobs her head, human cheek flushing as she offers a shy smile. “She is beautiful,” she whispers while the truck vibrates softly, as though the life she's given it understands her. “Like Trio.”
I should probably be creeped out by the living thing she's made. Instead, I pat its surface as though it were the dog before I hug Duet. “Like both of us.”
Again my sister laughs, claps her hands together. “Ready.” She twirls in a circle. “Ready now.”
I'm ready too. And we are, indeed, ready for anything. “Ready,” I say. “Time to go.”
***
Chapter Four
We climb inside Duet's monstrous SUV, its heart pulsing to life the moment she touches the steering wheel. I feel the whole thing shaking slightly from the added weight of the metal panels and try to quiet my sudden nerves. Duet knows what she's doing, I have no doubt. But it doesn't mean what she's created won't just fly apart under stressful circumstances. I strap in, not sure what kind of a driver she is, wondering as I settle into the passenger's seat if letting her take the wheel is such a good idea but not sure if the Tek truck will answer to my commands.
It turns out Duet isn't just the builder of this Frankenstein, she's its master as well. The truck rolls smoothly forward, answering her every command perfectly, the shake falling away as if the vehicle is learning to adjust to its new load. Confidence in the both of them growing, I lose my anxiety and settle back to watch the world roll past my window.
We're forced to drive through town to reach the interstate. The exit near the gas station is blocked by cars, all crammed up against one another, overflowing onto the side of the road, half-covered in old weed growth. So there was a panic here after all. This is the first real sign the residents knew something horrible was happening. I refuse to look inside the cars, knowing what I'll see and unwilling to have the sight of grinning skulls embedded in my memory.
I guide Duet as best I can from my explorations, though I only went so far. Once we pass the main street, we're in unknown territory. As she guides us around a corner, the streets mostly clear of stalled traffic, my eyes catch a sign jerking me forward in my
seat to grasp her hand.
“We have to stop.” I'm swinging out of the SUV before she's brought it to a full stop, running toward the intact storefront with the Computer Guys sign overhead.
The door isn't locked, amazing really. I pull it open, breath catching at the stale and deathly smell inside, blinking against the dust of my entry. Duet is right behind me, a scowl on her face, but I ignore her and move further inside.
My eyes lock on a laptop, large and clunky compared to the sleek technology I'm used to. Aren't I? Why does a paper-thin sheet folded in half seem more current than this inches thick dinosaur? It doesn't matter. As long as it works.
I turn to Duet. “The disk.” The shining CD Ever handed me when I first met her, met Duet. Though neither of them knew what was on it, I'm certain it has some significance. Duet arrived with it, unlabeled, unmarked. If it holds answers, this is the perfect chance to find out.
Could it hold my memories?
Duet crosses her arms over her chest. “We have to go.”
“I know,” I say. “But this is important.”
She refuses to look at the bulky laptop, green glowing eye bright in the dimness of the silent store. “We have to go,” she repeats.
I grab the computer and follow her out, returning to the SUV. The sun hides overhead, covered by a bank of heavy clouds and I wonder if we'll be driving through rain soon. I can't think of the weather or how it might affect us, not while the means to understand our task might be so close at hand. The laptop opens easily, untouched by time, as I set it on the hood of the truck. A moment of fishing in my backpack and I'm eagerly pressing the power button on the computer while the disk faintly glints in rainbow hues in the light of one brave sunbeam escaping the cloud cover.
It feels like an omen. Until I laugh at myself and my expectations. The battery of the laptop is dead. Of course it is. I'm not sure why it strikes me funny, this automatic reaction to technology, that it should work. But when I turn to Duet, see her frowning, I can't help the smile on my face.
“We need to make this work.” I point at the dead, black screen. “Please, Duet. This is very important.”
She hesitates again, though this time I see the weariness in her face and understand. She's put out a great deal of energy in the last twenty-four hours. How much has giving life to the SUV cost her? Not to mention her lack of sleep, though I have no idea how much rest she needs, considering her Tek blood. I reach out and pat her shoulder, easing the cover of the lap top closed.
“It's okay,” I say. “We'll try tonight.”
But Duet moves the moment I touch her, as if reaching out was all she needed to choose to help. Her metal hand opens the computer again, the smooth surface of the monitor untouched by time or damage. “We'll see,” she grunts as one of her fingers slides into the power port, the green glow of her blood flickering to life. A light comes on the front of the computer and I almost cry out in joy at the sight. I quickly slide the CD out of its plastic case and insert it in the drive.
The computer hums softly, the sound of the disk spinning inside torture to me. Within moments, a window pops open, blinking cursor waiting for my action.
I guide the arrow to “Open File” and click, releasing a huge gust of air as I do, held breath finally released.
A page opens, filling the screen, a logo of some kind of DNA strand. Beneath it in bold white letters, “The Clone Project”. I click the enter button and wait for the second screen to load.
It's here, it's all here. Information on the project, on me, on Duet and our sister, Clone One. My excitement dies when I try to open individual files, only to be met with a garbled mess. It's either encrypted or the information has been corrupted and I haven't the memory or the means to repair it.
I sigh and close the first screen only to see I've missed something. The Clone Project isn't the only file available. Next to it are “Human Replicant” and “Time Reparation Initiative”.
My mind clicks, chugs, whirs almost as if I'm made of metal like Duet. “Time,” I whisper as Duet stares at me. “She said time is running out.” I turn to my sister, struggling with understanding. “Is this initiative what she meant?”
Duet's green eye flashes, face blank. “Time travel,” she says in a voice devoid of life.
I shudder and squeeze her human hand. “Are you remembering?”
She shakes her head finally, pulling away from me. “Time to go,” she says.
Time, always with time. The pressure I feel to reach my destination, how this computer seems so far behind what I know. The fact Duet's been here far longer than I have despite the fact I'm certain that shouldn't be the case. Could it be we've traveled through time? It makes the most logical sense, now that I consider the possibility. I feel my excitement growing despite the fact I have more questions than before.
But what does time travel have to do with the Sick?
I'm still clicking through unreadable files when Duet pulls her hand free and the computer dies. The manual button allows me to retrieve the disk at least while she turns and leaves me there, climbing behind the wheel.
I close the lid of the computer, storing it in the back, replacing the precious, if somewhat useless, disk in my bag before joining her, pulling the door shut behind me.
“Time,” she say.
I nod. “Yes, Duet,” I say. “Time.”
She smiles happily before pressing the accelerator and carrying us away.
***
Chapter Five
We weave our way through the remains of town and though I feel a little ill at the sight of all these empty homes, stores, streets, I force myself to look, to bear witness to the lives that used to be.
It's not until we reach the off-ramp, this one crowded but passable, I breathe a sigh of relief. I hold my head still, look straight ahead, toward the open highway, though I catch flickers of remains, flashes of white bone and grinning skulls, out of the corner of my eye as Duet navigates us through the lines of cars. The side of the road turns out to give us the best exit and, after bouncing our way over the shoulder, through thick weeds and around growing saplings, we break past the mass of cars and onto the interstate.
It's still crowded with cars, but not for long. I begin to worry a little about bypassing cities as we go. If the road is this thick with escaping vehicles around such a small town, we might be in trouble when it comes to other places of greater size. But when we finally emerge, the only vehicle we can see for miles, I allow myself to release my concern. There's nothing I can do about it at the moment and we're making progress.
Part of me wonders if I've always been so anxious, one to plan and think ahead and I have to accept, even without any kind of memory as proof, it's likely the case.
Lots of trees and brief flashes of water in the distance are about all the scenery out there. It's not long before my relief we're leaving, moving on, finally starting our journey turns to the boredom of the open road. So strange how I can feel bored, considering our journey, where we're headed, all the horrible, terrifying, hurtful things that have happened. And yet, it's incredible how quickly I've adjusted to this life I'm living.
If rushing toward a task I can't remember while being threatened and chased can be called living.
My gaze falls to the glove box and, out of curiosity, I reach for the latch. The panel flops down after a firm blow from my fist, the hinges only needing some encouragement to get started. Duet grunts at me, pats the dash and I wince.
“Sorry,” I say. “I should have asked.” Flickers of green pass over the console as the SUV's heart pulses. It's an awkward thing, apologizing to a truck, but I do so, mimicking my sister's action with a gentle pat on the leather dash. More green light, and I can only assume it’s accepted my apology.
I return to my task and examine the glove box. More shining CD's fill the space, only these seem to host music, black marker scrawled over their surfaces. Selecting one at random, I slide it into the stereo, not even sure if it works. There is a
moment of silence, the soft sound of whirring as though the SUV is trying to understand what to do.
I'm about to eject the disk when the cab fills suddenly with the sound of guitars, drums and singing.
Duet jumps, but she's laughing too, hand reaching out to crank the volume. She hums along off-tune as she bounces in her seat in time to the music, clearly enjoying herself. I find myself smiling, feeling optimistic for the first time in a long time, fishing around inside the glove compartment for more treasures. A manual of operation for the truck makes me grin. I have no doubt the people who created this vehicle didn't foresee how much its operations would change. Another folder holds information about the owner, one Richard Paulser. I wonder if he ever had a chance to drive it.
At last, on the bottom, a treasure, something I'd failed to consider a necessity. I can't control the whoop of joy that escapes me when I pull free a map of the United States.
Duet grins, winks, goes back to her humming and her bouncing while the strains of a country music song fill the cabin between us. I carefully unfold the map, paper crinkling with age, edges powdering under my touch. But it's made of tougher stuff, the center protected after years inside the truck, and I'm able to open it without losing much of it at all. I admit I almost cringe as I peek to see how far we've come.
And am pleasantly surprised. Chicago has fallen behind us, far behind now, thanks to the train. We've crossed the majority of the country already, only about 800 miles to go to reach Manhattan, according to the map. I hug it gently to me, feeling for the first time this journey of mine, of ours, might actually reach its end the way I need it to. The way we all need.
We drive all day, the car covering a great deal of ground, though from the speedometer we're only doing about forty-five miles per hour, about the same as the train. From time to time I notice rail tracks beside us, see the telltale destruction of weeds and small trees showing me the train has passed here already. Duet doesn't seem to pay attention to anything past the latest song playing from the CDs or the road ahead of her.
