Two Girls Book 2: One Nation

by Justin Sirois

“Good,” Sam repeated. It was easy to take the high road knowing that Alix needed her more than she needed Alix. Without Sam and Penny, the video series would fall apart. Having Penny all but absent from the episodes could work for a while—she was becoming the mysterious Set that people would want to know more about. Alix could weave in footage of Penny’s training and physical therapy like she had before in hopes that Penny would eventually come around to being interviewed.

  Alix pointed at the granola bar wrapper. “You’re gonna need a lot more fiber than that to push the recorder out.”

  “Funny,” Sam said. “Maybe we can use my stomach gurgling for the web series. People will love that.”

  “Seriously. That thing’s worth a lot of money.”

  Sam tossed the wrapper into the garbage. “Take it out of my paycheck.”

  She walked away, hoping Mason and Dixon hadn’t overheard.

  Alix was smart enough not to follow her to her bedroom where she kicked off her shoes and grabbed her laptop. The door slid closed. Quiet, both welcome and soothing. There was something about being alone that made her feel comfortable. She had an old habit of imagining she was being watched by some anonymous admirer—sometwo who loved everything she did. The way she strutted, barefoot. Every motion of her arms and hands and fingers were like ballet. She did this when she drew and painted. Used this inner voice as encouragement. Listened to it croon over her. The voice, neither male nor female, said only positive things. The voice, both singular and Set, was always with her, but, in a way, never there. Doing this now, making every motion of her body deliberate, she wondered if Penny had the same funny habit of encouraging herself.

  If her sister had, she wasn’t doing it now.

  Sam sighed. A pain in her chest tightened and released.

  On her bed, she unwrapped her second granola bar and held it in her mouth while opening movie files. Of the fifty loaded on the machine by Dixon, she’d seen half already. Sam scrolled through the remaining titles, already bored.

  Closing her eyes, she double clicked on a random movie.

  She tried to see how long she could keep her eyes closed as the opening credits began. The granola bar sagged between her teeth. She bit it. Chewed. And in the dim of her room, she pulled her covers tight, the laptop resting next to her head. Whatever movie it was didn’t matter. All she could picture was her sister, standing in the closet. A phantom of her former self. Inner voices telling her to do violent things.

  Sam dug her phone out of her pocket and texted: Penny. Hope yr ok.

  She didn’t expect a response.

  And another: I love u.

  It hadn’t occurred to her until then that Prince might have killed Penny. Her body was here, most of it anyway, but the sister that she knew for sixteen years was gone. No more urge to be the same. No drive to be liked by everytwo. This new Penny was so different from the old that it scared her. If my sister could change that dramatically, could I?

  Moving her finger across the trackpad, Sam opened a folder with footage from the night they were attacked. Alix had only let her have it because she was helping edit videos. The movie played in the background, but the main window showed Prince leaning on the RV. She had seen this a dozen times or more. How he walks toward them, talks, and raises his pistol. Muzzle flashes from his and their guns. How his head disappears. Penny collapses. Sam paused the video on the second that the old Penny left this world.

  It was hard to believe that Alix’s plan was to show this footage to the world in the next web video. Sam wondered if that would push Penny even further. More distant. More violent. This was something she vowed to confront Alix about in the morning. She’ll quit if they don’t leave Penny out of the series, completely.

  Sam clicked the video closed. Pushed the empty granola bar wrapper off her bed. Gestured for the lights to fade off. She kicked off her jeans not even pulling them out from under the covers.

  On the laptop, giant robots smashed into one another. Tiny shards of metal smashing in slow motion. One of a thousand movies just like it. Sam checked her phone one last time for a text from Penny—nothing—before she closed her eyes. The positive voice in her head repeated what a good person she was for swallowing the recorder.

  There were dreams of two crows, but white and white, nuzzled together in the snow—rows and rows of pairing oaks, lined in the still blackness—sister crows huddled together with steaming beaks and curled up feet and nothing underneath them but cold. Sam watched them as if floating above. Wanting to touch. To hold them both. But when she reached to pick them up, one flapped and scrambled—flipping and screaming and twisting like a ripped trash bag in the wind. Underneath her, the still bird was snared, a trap clipped its crushed foot. Blood both old and new. On the bird and the snow. And Sam realized then that one crow had been holding the other’s wound closed, both of them, huddled, waiting for one of them to die.

  The airborne bird flew away, leaving its sister. Drips of blood following it.

  Sam stepped backward.

  Helpless.

  “The child,” the voice said. “And the mother, please.”

  This was a different voice. Half asleep, Sam reached for her darkened laptop to turn off the movie, but no sound came from it. Her hand slapped around in the dark, imagining this voice coming from a man inside her computer.

  “Come out peacefully,” the voice said.

  Sam opened her eyes wide enough to blur her vision. “Oh my gods.”

  There was no doubt the voice belong to Emmitt Prince. There were rumors around One Nation that the government had the ability to illegally clone people. Prince had killed one guard’s twin brother and he swore that he saw Prince die a year ago—a grenade lobbed from a rooftop, cutting Prince nearly in half. Those were stories nobody believed. Technology like that couldn’t exist.

  If there was any doubt that Gray Altar had found them, the blaring alarm erased it. Sam leapt out of bed and yanked her jeans from under the sheets. Her laptop spun to the floor. Before she could pull her pants up, her mom was at her door.

  “Get your things! We’re going to the bunker, now!”

  “That’s not…” Sam said, looking up at the intercom speaker.

  “I don’t know. I don’t care. Move!”

  “K!” Sam yelled.

  “Your sister…” Jill said as she rushed down the hall.

  “Penny…” Sam said to herself. If there was anything that would ignite her sister, this was it.

  Sam slid to a stop at her dresser, taking out socks and yanking them on. Instead of her sneakers, she reached for her combat boots and laced them, the alarm making her frantic. Guards ran by her open door, yelling, “… ain’t deflecting any bullets with no charge!” She found a shirt and rushed to the station on the wall where her mag-vest was cradled and charging.

  Sam pulled it off and slipped her arms through the vest’s holes, clapping it shut. Heat and humming vibrated her chest. The thrill of putting on armor that repelled projectiles never subsided. She felt invincible even if the vest’s charge only lasted a half hour. Sam tapped on the control panel to put it into rest mode.

  Her rifle was leaning against the far corner. As much as she wanted to grab it, she knew her mom would protest. As if the thought conjured her, Jill appeared at her door. “Your sister’s ready. Bunker. Now, please.”

  “Okay, okay!” Sam said. “Who’s with the baby?”

  “Just move!” Jill said and slipped away.

  A four-legged WarWalker jogged by her door, carrying crates of ammunition. Its pneumatic pistons hissed and squeaked.

  The intercom clicked on and off with Emmett Prince’s laughter muffled. Just that sent ripples through the swamp of her stomach.

  “Bastard,” Sam said. She ran out of her room to Penny’s. There, her sister sat on her bed.

  “Pen!” Sam said from the door. “Is that… him?”

  Penny’s expression was a contortion of hate and fear.

  Sam stepped inside. “Mom wants us
downstairs, in the bunker.”

  “Are they outside? Mason and…” Penny asked.

  “I dunno,” Sam said. “Nobody is right now, I think.”

  Jill’s echo came from within the depths of the base. “Girls! Now!”

  Penny unplugged her phone and pocketed the charger. “They’re trying to shut us down, aren’t they?”

  Sam smirked, thinking of the videos and how they must be turning the public against Gray Altar. “They’re desperate.”

  Overhead, the intercom speakers squealed. Prince’s voice broke in mid-sentence, “…and as property, we are here to take care of you, as caretakers. We only want the best for you and your family, Ms. Van Best. You attacked us first. You can be absolved of that if you cooperate.”

  Sam stared at the tiny holes of the intercom’s speaker before lowering to meet her sister’s eyes.

  “Fuck him,” Penny said, her titanium arm’s claw clamping and raising between them. “He’s probably streaming this on the web.”

  Prince kept babbling. “If you cease all activities and surrender, you and your family will have all of your rights restored. No more hiding. No more deception.”

  “Yeah, they’re desperate,” Penny said. “I’m not hiding in some hole. Not if that’s really him.”

  “Pen…”

  Penny slid past her sister and into the hall. She looked down at her pocket and took out her phone. Whatever text she received wasn’t good.

  “What?” Sam asked.

  Penny turned the phone to her.

  Mason: We’re all fighting if they breach the drone shield.

  “Girls! What are you doing?” Jill yelled from down the hall. She was holding their baby sister. “C’mon!”

  Neither of them looked back.

  “I can’t let him go out there alone,” Penny said.

  Sam reached and held her sister’s titanium arm by the wrist. Penny looked at her phone again, inhaling slow. Sam looked at the screen.

  Mason: Gray Altar gunships are dropping troops.

  There was no going to the bunker now.

  The baby’s cry ricocheted through the hall.

  “Girls!” Jill yelled.

  Sam only had to give Penny one more look.

  “Where’s your rifle?” Penny asked.

  Sam ran for her room, screeched to a stop, and knocked her rifle to the floor. “Damn it.” She scooped two magazines and slid them into her vest before picking up the rifle. From her desk, she got her earpiece and turned it on to the base’s frequency.

  Penny was already running to the front of the base when Sam left her room.

  “Samantha!” Jill cried.

  Sam didn’t turn to her mom. Gripping her rifle, she ran after her sister, hearing the first rumble outside the base. Panicked shouting pulled her to the main entrance. “Penny! Slow down!”

  Her sister listened, turned, the shine of her titanium arm reminding Sam how different the were now. She had her mag-vest on too. Penny gestured for her to hurry, not with her natural hand, but the claw. Her sister had no rifle. No weapon besides the arm. This was either suicide or, after fantasizing about revenge, night after night, Penny wanted to put her skills to the test.

  Running, they turned a corner and passed the medical bay. Teams were rushing to prep stations, anticipating the worst.

  “Mason!” Penny yelled as they approached the open gate.

  Five WarWalkers with mounted machine guns blocked the entrance, all of their barrels pointed outside. They jittered on their thin legs, each turret snapping to lock on possible targets with the reflexes of a bird’s turning neck. None of them fired.

  “Mason!” Penny yelled again, but there was nobody standing inside the entrance.

  Sam ran with her sister, tapping on her vest. It hummed with energy. Her arms tingled. “Turn your armor on!”

  Penny did, but didn’t slow her pace.

  “Wait!” Sam yelled. “Should we go out there?”

  Inside the massive open gate, she could see the open night sky for the first time in weeks. It looked as if a storm blew in. Gunships hovered, their undersides feet above the treetops. Gales rocked the branches like they were being pulled back and forth. The sky looked odd at first and it took Sam a few seconds to realize that the few hundred drones that were supposed to be circling the base were now scattered across the grass. She could see several caught in branches meaning more were downed in the surrounding woods. The base was completely exposed.

  “The shield,” she said, hand over her mouth.

  But Penny wasn’t listening. As if there was no threat outside, she ran full-speed between the WarWalkers and into the night.

  “Penny!” Sam yelled, following her, seeing the impending battle take form. One Nation guards were clustered around more WarWalkers, using them as cover from the Gray Altar soldiers approaching from the trees. The bulky machines stomped into the grass as guards flanked the oncoming legion. Just as one team of guards thought they secured a corner of the field, more Gray Altar soldiers would appear behind them. The WarWalkers snapped their turrets in the direction of the newly-emerged enemies. No two had fired. With their helmets on, it was hard to distinguish one guard from the other, but Penny was quick to spot Mason and Dixon crouching together. Clint stood between them, rifle raised.

  Sam wasn’t sure who was the first to turn and look at Penny, but she noticed a Gray Altar soldier fixed on her. Then another. One of them actually took his eyes off his rifle’s sights to stare, mouthing something to the man next to him.

  Sam followed her sister, stepping over downed drones. Now it seemed like everytwo was looking not just at Penny, but at her—awestruck by the two girls—the first non-Set twins since the Set Mutation. With her and her sister’s physical appearances so different now, their presence was more a shock to these people than she expected.

  Clint followed the sight lines of the soldiers, setting on Penny. His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing out here?” he hissed.

  “We aren’t hiding,” Sam said, standing beside Penny, panting.

  Clint grabbed Sam by the vest and pulled her behind the WarWalker. “This isn’t some publicity stunt. They’re blocking all transmissions. We’re alone here.”

  Movement from the darkness made the guards around them turn their aim. It was impossible to tell how many Gray Altar operatives were out there—a hundred, a thousand?

  “Yeah?” Penny yelled, scanning the woods and treetops. “Nobody’s watching?” She raised her arms in the air. “You here to collect the freaks?”

  “Penny,” Mason said, reaching for her.

  She backed away, giving him an irritated glare.

  “Girls!” a voice boomed from above. One of the gunships moved in from the treeline. “No need for hostility!”

  If the sound of this man’s voice made Sam nauseous, she knew Penny would be feeling it far worse. Somehow, her sister seemed unfazed.

  “Bring out the mother and child,” Prince said as the gunship lowered—an angular metal wedge stacked with rockets under its stout wings. “And no one will be hurt. Very simple.”

  Sam could overhear what the One Nation commander was staying through everytwo’s earpiece. “Everybody stay calm. Stand your ground.”

  Jill appeared at the main gate, screaming, “Girls!”

  The gunship slowly turned to the sound. Sam watched all five WarWalkers inside the doorway cluster around her mom, aiming their turrets at Prince’s helicopter. The heavy gate began to close.

  “Oh my god, Jill,” Clint said before speaking into his radio. “Get Jill and the girls inside.”

  The commander repeated through their earpieces, “Team two. Get the mother and girls to the bunker.”

  The gunship turned back to point at Sam and the group. Dirt pelted her legs. The trees creaked, their trunks groaning under the stress of the wind surging machines.

  Sam whipped her head around to her sister.

  The only warning that Penny gave was a little laugh. She was out
of Clint’s grasp as she pushed off the grass with a kick and rushed toward the gunship.

  “Ms. Van Best,” Prince began to say, but Penny had already begun to pivot, rotating once and then twice. “We can avoid conflict…,” Prince added as the first shot was fired at Penny—a silenced bullet from the barrel of a soldier zipping along the magnetized bubble of her armor. It ricochetted into the sky. Two more deflected, thumping off Penny’s shield and into the dirt.

  “Stand down!” Clint yelled, trying to control the situation. “Nobody shoot!”

  Everytwo’s eyes locked on Penny.

  With her last pivot, she swung her arm and released the wrecking ball. Sam instinctually backed away. The ball shot up in an arc as Penny aimed her open claw, bending the ball’s trajectory to hit the smaller rotor inside the gunship’s tail. It hit with enough force to tip the ship, snapping two blades and wedging inside the rotor’s circular frame.

  “Son of a bitch!” Prince yelled. His voice rattled. A bang from the gunship’s speakers like he was thrown.

  Penny crouched, still aiming her claw at the ball. One of the snapped rotors spun into the dirt—the other flipped skyward. Penny pulled, using her arm’s magnetism to yank the ball back. The gunship groaned like a capsizing boat.

  “No!” Clint yelled, running to Penny.

  She yanked again, popping the ball free. It fell to the dirt with a thud and pulled the gunship in the same direction, sending it spinning. The ball rolled and skipped over grassy divots back to Penny’s claw. Behind her, Clint grabbed her by the shoulders. “What are you doing?”

  “Get off me!” Penny screamed, bracing for the gunship’s impact.

  Smoke streamed from the fishtailing ship. Sam backed away with the men next to her, Dixon’s hand on her arm, Mason dashing towards Penny and Clint. The gunship bent in the air in a way that looked unnatural for the machine, like it might flip over. Its hexagonal patterned armor shimmered, making Sam pause and marvel at its massiveness.

  “Move!” Dixon yelled to her, his rifle aimed at soldiers backing into the woods.

  A cable dangled from underneath the gunship. A black-clad figure slid down from it and rolled into the grass. Drones followed, clustering over his head. Prince.