Murder Genes (2 page)

Outside the clinic, a small black car with darkened windows was waiting.
 
Trees shivered, shedding leaves from some frigid breeze's passing.
 
The Enforcer opened the door and motioned with the gun.
 
The chances had been so small, so nearly impossible that he had The Code.

"Get in," the Enforcer ordered.

Seeing the gun pointed at him, he realized he wasn’t really afraid of it, not compared to the car.
 
If he got in, he'd never see Kyle again.

"I WILL shoot if necessary, Mr. Nelson."

Even hidden behind the darkened lenses, Jay knew the Enforcer was serious.
 
This was a job in which he'd surely killed before.

Perhaps he was afraid of the gun after all.

He got into the car.

But as he did, it felt like he was betraying Kyle.

The ride was silent.
 
The Enforcer sat across from him, gun trained on his chest.
 
There was a thick, tinted pane dividing them from whoever drove and Jay felt like he was suspended in a black box, unable to see the world around them.

Like a trapped animal.

The low hum of the car, the Enforcer with the gun, and Jay.
 
On their way to Murderer City in Arizona.
 
When the news began about the construction of the murderer cities throughout the world, this one in particular had garnished heavy attention.
 
Because of its size.

It was massive, large enough to fit a small country inside it.

"What's going to happen to my son?" Jay asked.

No answer.

He tried again.
 
"Just let me know he'll be all right.
 
He doesn't have anyone besides me."

Still, nothing.

They rode in stiff, quiet, hell.
 
Until the Enforcer abruptly spoke.
 
"Who have you killed?"

The question shocked him.
 
"No one.
 
I've never killed anyone."

"Who have you
wanted
to kill?"
 
The lenses turned and like a mirror, Jay's reflection looked back, accusing.
 
He wanted to tear the lenses off and see the man's eyes.

He hated the accusation.
 
He wasn't a murderer.
 
"No one," he said, spitting a glob onto the seat between them.
 
"How about you?
 
Taking innocent people and destroying their lives?
 
You may as well be murdering them yourself."
 
It was the first he'd voiced it.
 
Most people believed in The Code and this whole genetic thing where you were born a certain way and acted a certain way because of what your genes said.
 
Jay never bought it, but then again, he wasn't an educated man.

The man smirked.
 
The gun wavered and the Enforcer tapped the side of his gun where it clicked.
 
He turned the weapon, handing it handle first to Jay.
 
"Kill me," he said.

Jay stared at the gun.
 
It had to be a trick, but he acted anyway.
 
He snatched the gun and pointed it at the Enforcer, feeling the hard weight in his hands.
 
"What are you playing at?"
 
He glanced at the darkened driver window and lowered the gun beneath the frame.

"Shoot me.
 
Shoot the driver.
 
Go to your son," the Enforcer said, his tiny smile--his smirk became a grin.

Jay would've switched the gun to tase if he knew how to work it.
 
"Tell the driver to pull over."

"No," the Enforcer said.

"Tell the driver to pull over!"
 
His hands shook.
 
He'd never held a gun in his life.

But the Enforcer didn't do anything.
 
Just smile.
 
Jay pointed the gun at the window and pulled the trigger.
 
The violent recoil punched into Jay's neck and he felt a wild thrill as the window exploded into pieces.
 
He hadn't really believed it would be loaded.
 
"PULL OVER!" Jay yelled again.

The Enforcer shrugged.
 
He tapped on the driver's window.
 
The window lowered and Jay darted his eyes back and forth, not certain where to look.
 
"You had your chance," the Enforcer said.

Jay spotted a tiny barrel at top of the window's opening, too late.
 
A dart hit him and in seconds, his vision began closing in.

"It'll be easier this way," the Enforcer's voice soothed.
 
A hand touched him, taking the gun from his limp fingers.

Chapter 2

The Human Genome Project has changed our understanding of genetics and disorders.
 
Researchers have associated genetic basis for physical behaviors including aggression, impulsivity, nurturing.
 
This movement of behavioral genetic determinism has been growing at an untamed rate, I worry about the consequences of this social perception.

-Steven Hothstein, Behavioral Genetic Determinism: Our Culture, Our Future, Biology, 112-116.
 
April, 2012.

Pa should have been home by now.
 
When a strange car pulled up, Kyle knew what had happened.
 
A woman in a grey business suit and a man trailing her like a shadow craned their heads around like they were worried they'd miss something, someone, a kid maybe.

Kyle charged downstairs from his computer and opened the door before they could ring the bell.
 
"Where's my dad?" he demanded.

The woman looked surprised for a second and she bent down, kneeling awkwardly in a half-squat.
 
"Hey there.
 
It's Kyle, right?"

"Yeah.
 
Where's my dad?"

She hesitated.
 
"That's why we're here.
 
Your dad got in some trouble.
 
He wanted us to come get you."

Kyle glanced at the man behind the brown-haired woman.
 
He had short blond hair and he gave Kyle a fake toothy smile.
 
"He had The Code, didn't he?" Kyle said.

She pursed her lips.
 
"Yes.
 
I'm sorry."
 
She hesitated.
 
"Would you tell me...did your father ever hurt you?
 
Yell at you?
 
Hit you?"

Kyle stared at her.
 
Pa had never allowed himself to get angry enough to yell, much less hit.
 
It made no sense.
 
But he dropped his head.
 
"Sometimes," he lied.
 
He knew where these people wanted to take him and he knew where they were taking his father.
 
He couldn't let them take him because Kyle also knew they'd be testing
him
for The Code soon, too.

If they took him now, he couldn’t try to rescue Pa.

He couldn’t believe it, Pa was being taken to Murderer City.
 
Murderer City was for murderers, not people like Pa.

 
"Will you come with us?" the woman said.
 
"We're here to find you a new family.
 
A family that's safe for you and one that won't ever hurt you.
 
Doesn't that sound nice?"
 
The way she said it sounded nice, like syrup on poison.
 
Kyle knew that with all the kids split from their parents, there were far more kids than parents willing to adopt.
 
Especially kids with Murder Gene parents.

They'd put Kyle with anyone they could qualify.

Kyle nodded his head.
 
"OK.
 
Let me get some stuff."
 
She seemed puzzled by his casual answer but Kyle smiled at her in a shy manner and she smiled back.
 
"I'll be right back."

He slammed the door closed and locked the smaller lock that didn't make much noise.
 
Then he ran up to his room.
 
He grabbed a backpack and came back downstairs to get as much food as he could from the refrigerator.
 
A loaf of bread, some fruit, a chicken leg, a jar of peanut butter.
 
He paused when he saw a picture of Pa and him playing chess together.
 
Pa had been losing, you could tell by his scowl.
 
Kyle knew it would be dangerous to take it with him if they could use it to identify him, though.
 
He left the picture but took the half peeled orange Pa had given him.

There was a loud knocking on the door.
 
"Kyle?" the woman's voice called.
 
"He locked it," he heard her say.

"I'm coming!" Kyle yelled back.
 
The doorknob jangled.
 
He ducked behind the counter when he saw a shadow peer through the window.
 
He army crawled across the floor and once he was sure he was out of sight, he sprinted back up the stairs back into his room.

If they caught him he'd have no choice where he'd go.
 
He could get stuck with a family he didn't know, or he'd never get a family at all, or get one he hated.
 
He couldn’t let them catch him.

The reality and hopelessness of his mission to rescue Pa was already working its way into his mind.
 
What was he going to do?
 
Find and chase Pa’s car or plane or whatever it was secretly bringing him to Murderer City?
 

He’d try something, but he needed time and
freedom
to think about it.

Kyle put on his backpack and climbed out the window, around the sandpaper shingles of the roof until he was above the front door where the woman and man waited.
 
He heard them discussing and the woman called out again.
 
"Kyle?"

This time Kyle didn't answer.

She called out two more times before she spoke to the blond-haired man.
 
"Go around back, make sure he doesn't try to run away."

The blond man left and Kyle heard a bang and a crash like the woman had kicked down door.
 
A few seconds later and he did the bravest thing he'd ever done.
 
He jumped from the roof.
 
He fell sideways into the grass as he hit the ground but his backpack caught most of the impact.
 
In a moment, Kyle was up and running as fast as he could.
 
In the small neighborhood there were a hundred places for a kid his size to hide.

He knew all the best spots.

He darted into shadows and hid in holes and ducked behind fences until he was far away.
 
They never got close to finding Kyle, there were only two of them after all.

Kyle waited in an abandoned fort off the side of a hidden road for about an hour.
 
Then, on the same road, he started towards the only place he knew he'd be safe.
 
Ms. Sanders' place.
 
She was friends with Pa and Ms. Sanders didn't have kids but she always said that if she had a son like Kyle, she'd never stop smiling.
 
She'd take him in and then they could decide what to do to help Pa together.

It took all day and most the afternoon and evening for Kyle to get to her house as far as it was.
 
He ate some bread, but saved most of it just in case.
 
Ms. Sanders lived on a farm where animals got in the way of your feet and snorts and clucking could keep you up at night.

The whole time, Kyle thought about Pa.
 
Kyle was confused, but sitting down and crying his head off wouldn't help anything.
 
Wouldn't do anything.

He walked right into Ms. Sanders house.
 
She never locked the doors.
 
It was really late by the time he'd arrived and Kyle didn't want to wake her so he thought he'd plop down on her couch and wait for her to wake up in the morning.
 
But when he entered, he saw the lights on upstairs.
 
Kyle put his backpack in her ugly wooden rocking chair and climbed the stairs.
 
He poked his head forward to see inside her room.

Ms. Sanders was in her bed wearing a faded nightgown.
 
She was reading an old-fashioned book with pages.
 
She was biting her nails.
 
Kyle tapped on the door frame with his knuckles.
 
"Ms. Sanders?" he called softly.

Ms. Sanders gasped and dropped the book, she lunged toward the edge of the bed and fell off it.
 
When Kyle saw her head bob up on the other side of the bed, she had a bat in her hand.
 
She wiggled it at the doorway.
 
"Who's there?" she called.

"Ms. Sanders, it's me," Kyle stepped into the room.

"Kyle?"
 
The bat lowered and she stood up with alarmed and big eyes.
 
"What are you doing here so late?
 
Where's your father?"