Surrogate

by David Bernstein

  Tom left the kitchen and headed over to the front door. Without checking to see who it was, he opened it. Two men—one with short-cropped, bleached-blond hair, and the other with a dark, slicked-back mane tied into a ponytail—stood before him. They wore nondescript onyx-colored suits, were well over six feet tall and weighed easily 250 pounds each.

  “May I help you gentlemen?” he asked, wanting to slam the door shut and lock it, as a feeling of unease crept over him.

  “We need to come in, Mr. Hardwick,” Blondie said.

  “What’s this about?” Tom’s stomach dropped.

  “We’d prefer to talk inside, Mr. Hardwick,” the man said.

  Tom wasn’t about to let these men inside his house, but as if sensing his intentions, Blondie stuck his foot out, preventing Tom from shutting the door.

  “We’re from the Agency,” Blondie informed him. “We need to talk.” The man’s gaze bore into Tom like searing lasers. “Mr. Hardwick, I suggest you permit us inside on your terms. We just, for now, need to speak with you. Don’t turn this into something else.”

  Tom swallowed, his mouth as dry as if he’d eaten cotton balls for dinner. He was trembling. It took all he had not to call out and tell Rebecca to grab Anna and run. He held his fear in check. The two behemoths could’ve already forced themselves inside and killed him and his family if they wanted to. Maybe everything would be okay if he played it cool. And besides, what choice did he have?

  “Please, come in,” Tom said, moving aside.

  The men entered, turning around to face him. “We’ll be in the living room,” Blondie told him. “Put the child in her room. She doesn’t need to be present for this.” The men turned in unison and headed into the living room.

  Blondie’s words echoed in Tom’s mind. She doesn’t need to be present for this. Were they planning on hurting him? Rebecca? At least Anna would be safe and not subjected to anything that might scar her. He knew it wasn’t that the men cared, because they didn’t; they were just following orders. Dr. Kotrich’s orders. Tom screwed up by sending out for a DNA test. It was the only thing he did that broke the rules, the Agency’s rules. Damn, he’d been so stupid. But he was so careful. How did Dr. Kotrich find out?

  Panic seized Tom’s body like some paralyzing disease. He liked to believe he was a rational man; and thinking rationally, he had to believe the men weren’t here to kill or hurt him or his family. No, they were here because of his breaking the rules—exposing Dr. Kotrich and the Agency. He still had no idea how they could possibly know about what he did, but guessed he was about to find out.

  He kept beating himself up inside, hammering away at his face and chest with imaginary fists while he stood motionless in the foyer. How could he have been so stupid? The answer was easy: because he wanted to make sure, to know. He should’ve thought more about what he was doing. Dr. Kotrich was running a highly illegal and very profitable enterprise. The man must have security protocols with connections to places like DNA facilities and scary men like the two gorillas waiting in the living room. The doctor probably had a network of cyber-geeks to watch his clients, even after years had gone by. Tom felt like he was in the center of a sci-fi/horror movie, filled with secrets, deception, and monsters. He didn’t know what to do, but he needed to get the men out of his house as soon as possible. Get life back to normal.

  “Honey?” Rebecca called from the kitchen.

  Shit! Rebecca! He’d forgotten about her. She had no idea what was going on. He had to tell her, but had no idea how. She was going to be furious with him, and frightened of the visitors.

  Tom hurried to the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Who was that?”

  “Take Anna upstairs,” he told her. “Then come back down.”

  “Oh my God,” Rebecca cried, covering her mouth. “What’s going on? Did someone die?”

  Anna paid no attention to her mother’s frantic state; the little girl was too busy shoveling down her food.

  Tom was almost giddy with relief that his wife was assuming something so dreadful, and forced a smile. “No one died, so stop worrying.”

  Rebecca’s face brightened and she seemed to relax a bit. Frowning, she said, “Tom, tell me what’s going on.”

  “Please, take Anna upstairs and come to the living room. We have…guests.” He turned and walked away.

  The men were seated. Ponytail on the sofa, Blondie on the recliner.

  “Would either of you like something to drink?” he asked.

  Neither man spoke.

  Unnerved, he took a seat on the sofa, sitting as far from Ponytail as possible.

  A few minutes passed before Rebecca finally arrived.

  “Tom?” she asked, stopping just inside the room.

  “Mrs. Hardwick,” Blondie said, standing. Ponytail remained seated, his head rotating in Rebecca’s direction.

  “What the hell is going on, Tom?” Rebecca looked angry and nervous at the same time, and Tom wondered which emotion would win out.

  Ponytail reached into his jacket and produced a handgun. He gently placed the sleek-looking weapon on the glass-covered coffee table next to a card Anna had made for Father’s Day.

  Rebecca’s eyes bulged in terror; her jaw fell open.

  Tom went to rise, but the man ordered him to stay seated.

  “There’s no need for that,” Tom said, referring to the gun.

  “Mrs. Hardwick,” the man said again, motioning to a spot on the sofa next to Tom. “Please have a seat.”

  Rebecca approached Tom, who scooted over so she could be the one sitting as far from Ponytail as possible.

  Blondie sat. “This is a most regrettable visit, but unfortunately a necessary one. You two were made aware of the stipulations before, and again after you signed the contract with the Agency?”

  Tom nodded. Looking at his wife, he saw that she was staring ahead at the wall, unresponsive.

  “Mrs. Hardwick?” the man asked.

  “What?” she said, coming out of her daze.

  “Did you understand the terms of the contract you signed? The rules of the Agency?”

  “Yes. Of course. We haven’t done anything. There must be some misunderstanding.”

  “DNA testing of an Agency child is against policy.”

  Rebecca looked confused for a moment, thinking, then she said, “DNA? What are…” She stopped. She knew. Turning to face her husband, she asked, “Tell me you didn’t.”

  Tom was on the verge of losing it. The men, the gun, and now his betrayal. It was all too much. He looked into his wife’s eyes, then at the man doing the talking. Tom’s uneasiness melted away, revealing the anger beneath.

  “You’re damn right I did,” he said. “I needed to know—especially before we go back for another child.”

  Rebecca looked stricken.

  “We’re here as a reminder,” Blondie said. “Breaking the Agency’s rules carries severe consequences.”

  “How could you do this to us, Tom?” Rebecca quickly turned to the man speaking. “My husband’s an idiot. And he’s truly sorry. It’ll never happen again. We promise.”

  “I believe you, Mrs. Hardwick,” the man told her. “But it’s your husband that worries me. And I think we need to make sure you both understand the severity of your actions.” The man pulled a gun from his jacket, but one resembling a kid’s space toy. It had a traditional gun handle, but the barrel was thick and squared off with two tiny yellow doors at the end where the barrel was usually located. He pointed it at Rebecca and a red laser focused on her abdominal area.

  The next thing Tom knew, his wife was on the carpet, her body convulsing in agony. Protruding from her stomach were two curly wires leading back to the weapon. Tom knew immediately what it was: a Taser.

  “Stop it!” he yelled, jumping out of his seat. Ponytail moved with lightning speed and had his arms wrapped around Tom, holding him down. Rebecca’s body stopped convulsing, but the man pressed the trigger on the Taser again, sendin
g volts of electricity into her.

  “Please stop it,” Tom begged, tears flowing down his cheeks.

  Neither man showed the slightest hint of emotion. They had a job to do. Something they earned a paycheck for.

  “Please stop,” he begged. “You’re hurting her.”

  While holding Tom down, Ponytail produced another gun and aimed it at Rebecca.

  Tom got the message and stilled himself. It was either pain or death for his wife, and he chose pain.

  After three long rounds of shock treatment, Blondie released his finger from the trigger. Rebecca’s body went limp.

  “Next time,” Blondie warned, “we use bullets.”

  Ponytail put his gun away and released Tom, leaving the other gun on the table.

  Tom ran to his wife, afraid to touch her, but yanked the darts out of her chest. He cradled her in his arms, trying to comfort her. “Baby, baby. I’m so sorry.”

  Rebecca moaned.

  Tom turned to see the men already walking out of the living room, then looked at his wife, staring into her cold, hurt-filled eyes. Glancing at the table, he saw that the gun was gone too.

  15

  Jane awoke. Everything was black. There were no sounds. Nothing.

  Then she opened her eyes. She was in a low-lit room. She heard a beeping sound. No, not one, but many. The wall in front of her appeared metallic. A computer monitor stood off to her right. Wavy lines were traveling across it. One was jumping and beeping at the same time. A plastic tube protruded from her mouth, making it impossible for her to swallow. She panicked and her eyes opened wide, then she remembered…the crash. She’d been in a horrific accident on her way to the hospital. Her baby. She tried sitting up, but it felt like she had a ton of weight on her.

  Managing to turn her head, she saw that she was in some kind of giant crib-bed. She needed to call a nurse, find out about her baby. Oh, God, the baby. Weariness fell over her, as if all of her energy had been drained, and she lost consciousness.

  * * *

  When Jane awoke again, the tube was still protruding from her mouth, taped to her lips. With great effort, she grabbed onto it and pulled, gagging as it slinked up her esophagus and out her mouth. She coughed, but continued to breathe.

  A door squeaked open. Footsteps. Jane closed her eyes. She was afraid.

  “What happened here?” a male voice said. “How did your tube come out?”

  Jane felt hands on her. She opened her eyes and saw a young man, clean shaven, with blue eyes and a scar where a hair lip used to be.

  “Holy shit,” the man said and jumped back.

  Jane tried to sit up, made it halfway, then fell back. She managed to see part of the room she was in, like something out of a science-fiction movie. Various tubes were protruding from her thighs and stomach. There were other people to the right of her, in similar beds, also connected to machines with hoses and tubes.

  “What the hell?” the man said, leaning over her. “You’re…alive?”

  Jane tried speaking, but her throat felt like it had been sliced up by razor blades, so she nodded instead.

  The man’s mouth hung open, his eyes wide. “I have to tell the doctor.”

  Jane reached up, and managed to squeak out a no.

  The man simply stared at her.

  Jane wasn’t sure what was going on, but one thing she felt certain about was that she wasn’t in a hospital.

  16

  Oliver couldn’t believe the clone was awake, conscious. It talked; knew things about life. It had a name, Jane.

  Nothing great had ever happened to him. He never got the girl, was never popular and never had many friends. It was one of the reasons he agreed to work at the Agency. They paid well, and he was given responsibility. He was trusted.

  His job was to look after the hibernating clones, the ones not carrying. He cleaned them, shaved them, and changed their fluid and waste bags. He loved talking to them too. Some were ugly, but some were extremely hot, swimsuit model-like. What a waste, he often thought. Empty shells with no spirit, no consciousness. Of course, he took advantage of the situation—who wouldn’t?—and liked to cop a feel once in a while. Free tits and pussy to look at while he relieved himself in his sock.

  Security never checked there.

  Sure, feeling up a living shell of a person was a little morbid, but he wasn’t hurting anyone. They weren’t even people. He’d thought about having sex with the clones, especially 76, who for some reason just clicked with him. He thought he could love her if she was a real person. It would be like having sex with his blowup doll, except the flesh would be real, warm. But there was no way he was risking getting caught. Something like that, screwing with a clone, meant severe consequences. But a little touchy-feely was okay, he thought.

  Then, the most incredible thing happened. Clone 76, his favorite, woke up. He let her use a pen and paper to write with, her throat too sore to talk. She told him she was special, a secret for only him to know about.

  The next day, she was able to speak, and explained that she was an angel, sent from heaven to do a job. Oliver told her that she was a breeding clone, and that she was in an underground compound in upstate New York, in the small town of Crown Point. Jane seemed shocked by the compound’s location.

  Oliver found out he was to be rewarded if he helped her escape. She’d be his and only his to do as he pleased. She had an important job to do first, so it was important that he help her. She wanted to know where her child was being held, but Oliver didn’t know. Only Dr. Kotrich, the owner of the compound, and his partner, Dr. Tuber, had knowledge of where the babies went. They both lived hours away in a town called Newburgh. Dr. Kotrich was more the man in charge, and visited the compound twice a month unless he was needed otherwise. The lab was just where the babies were bred. She then asked if he could find out when she’d given birth. That was easy, it was on her chart. When he’d told her it was just over five years ago, she said that was impossible. He was wrong.

  “How long have I been here?” she had asked.

  “Says you were made a little over five years ago, just before you gave birth.”

  “What year is it?”

  “2015.”

  Jane’s face paled, and it looked like she was going to pass out. That was when Oliver found out that it had taken Jane five years to travel from heaven to Clone 76.

  Of course, Oliver found the whole situation unbelievable, but every day he went to her, she was awake, getting stronger thanks to the real food he brought her, and the exercises they performed.

  The clones were all hooked up to electrodes that kept their muscles working and in shape. Real food was pumped into their bodies too, the same food the Original ate, but it was broken down into liquid form. Jane had to work on eating solids.

  When Oliver was off duty, she pretended to be asleep whenever anyone checked on her, keeping the respirator tube in her mouth and the feeding tubes in her legs.

  Two weeks had gone by, and Jane said she felt ready to leave. During that time Oliver was preparing a map of the facility, with detailed descriptions of the hallways, and the guards’ schedules.

  The whole escape figured to take about twenty minutes to half an hour depending on how it went with the guards, and whether they all had master key cards. As a low-level employee, Oliver only had a key card to the clone rooms, not to all the doors leading to the surface. A guard was stationed at the door of each level of the compound while others patrolled the grounds. Oliver, like many other employees, needed the guards to let him through the various levels. He had no idea if all the guards’ keys were the same, or if each one only had access to the specific door or hallway they were guarding. So Jane might have to acquire multiple key cards. She wouldn’t have to worry about the scientists or doctors as they would be fast asleep in their rooms.

  17

  Jane guessed that if her spirit had gone into the clone’s body, then her baby’s must have too. She tried to come up with an answer as to why it happen
ed, why she hadn’t died like a normal person, or why there was a five-year gap between when she had passed and now. According to what Oliver had told her, she was still in Crown Point. She’d died right above this place. Somehow her spirit had found a home in another body. She guessed a higher power was involved, but could never be sure. Either way, she knew she had a purpose, and a second chance. She’d lived in Crown Point her whole life, and never once had any idea such a place existed just below the surface. Her and her child’s rebirth was nothing short of a miracle.

  Jane was eager to leave. She’d been cooped up for two weeks, and with Oliver, a nitwit if she’d ever seen one. All she wanted to do was get the hell out of here, but getting her body ready was important, as was a plan to escape.

  “Does this place have a self-destruct button?” Jane asked. She sat on the bed she’d been sleeping in for the past two weeks. “You know, in case the shit hits the fan?”

  “You mean if we’re raided by the authorities? Of course.” Oliver was leaning back in a chair against the wall, scooping out a spoonful of blueberry yogurt from a small white cup. “We’ve all been told about it. It’s designed to obliterate this place. The whole compound will implode and burn within itself, keeping the destruction contained.”

  “And knowing that, you still want to work here?” Jane asked.

  “I’m not worried about it. This place is über-secure. You’d never get out of here if it wasn’t for me—your inside man. And the outside, well, it’s the opposite of the inside.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The entrance to the compound is in the basement of a colonial farmhouse. The house is in the middle of nowhere, and appears as normal as anyplace else. It’s right off a one-lane backcountry road. There are cameras all over the property. The guard surveillance room will see anyone coming from a mile away, giving us all time to escape. The only way we wouldn’t have time is if we were under attack. The self-destruct would go off quicker.”