Replication (21 page)

“We need to burn these boxes,” Martyr said to Bean Bag, remembering Dr. Goyer’s instructions. He went back to where Dr. Goyer had hidden the clipper tool, and found the items to help him set the fire. A wide roll of gray tape, a yellow can that said “lighter fluid,” and some
matches
. He pointed to a box of paper under the desk. “Crumple up that paper and pile it on the computers.”

Hummer and Bean Bag dragged the box of paper into the center of the room and began to wad it into balls. Martyr took a roll of gray tape, stood on a chair underneath one of the
sprinklers
, and wrapped tape around it. Dr. Goyer hadn’t been certain this would work, but he’d hoped it would give the fire time to destroy the evidence. Once Martyr had taped all the sprinkler heads, he poured the lighter fluid onto the computer boxes. It smelled terrible, seeming to burn the inside of his nose. He hoped Dr. Goyer’s instructions on how to
strike a match
would work, and that Dr. Goyer had succeeded in disabling the fire alarms.

“Can’t you make it go back?” Abby asked Runstrom. The image of a huge fight between Jasons and guards in a room with computers had flashed away and not returned. Instead, the monitor flickered to other locations: an empty hallway, a dark room with sleeping toddlers, then another empty hallway. Abby was thankful, but somewhat horrified, to see Fido’s body lying at the bottom of the slide and no sign of Marty. Did that mean Marty was up with the others, fighting the guards?

“It’s not me,” Runstrom said. “The monitor flips from camera to camera on a timer. I have no way to control it from— Did you see that?”

Abby had. The image of Dr. Elliot injecting her father with something had left the screen, but the sliver of fright it left on Abby remained. “How long until it repeats?”

“Almost a minute. There must be over thirty cameras on this loop.”

Abby stared at the screen, hoping whatever Dr. Elliot had given her dad was only a sedative. “Any word from Allam?”

“Not yet.”

Abby watched the black and white images flashing on the monitor for any sign of her dad or Marty.

The empty cafeteria. The track. A classroom. An image of a single Jason walking down one of the hallways on level one, a phone pressed to his ear. “That’s him! That’s Marty!” The image flashed away.

“How do you know?”

“I saw the number on his sleeve: J:3:3.”

“Who would he be calling?” Runstrom asked.

Abby checked her jeans pocket; her phone was still there. “I don’t know. He doesn’t have a cell.”

“He must have gotten one from someone.” Runstrom tapped his fingernails on the desk. The image on the monitor flashed from one to another until finally landing on the image of Abby’s father.

She whispered, “Daddy,” but he was gone in a moment. She furrowed her brows. What was Marty up to? Why hadn’t he tried to find her dad yet?

An image of Dr. Kane sitting in his office, speaking on the phone, flashed by.

“Maybe the kid is talking to Kane,” Runstrom said.

Abby scoffed. “How would Marty know the phone number of a secret lab?”

“Maybe Kane called him.”

Abby couldn’t shake the feeling she was missing something obvious. To ease her concerns, she went to check on Baby. Shortly after Wesley had brought him a pair of socks and boots, Baby had fallen asleep on the floor in the corner, curled into a ball.

Runstrom’s agitated voice broke the silence. “The feed’s gone! It’s nothing but fuzz.” He slapped the side of the monitor.

Abby ran around the desk and stood beside Runstrom. It was true—the screen had gone to salt and pepper. She looked down at her thumbnail and realized there was little left. She glanced at her watch instead.

The lock expert had been at it a while. The elevator expert was still on his way from Anchorage, and would be at least another fifteen minutes. Her dad was down there, Marty was down there, and they were out of time. She had to do something.

The CB radio crackled, jolting her heart. “Runstrom? You copy?”

“I copy you, Allam. You find anything?”

“Affirmative. We’ve got a storm cellar of some kind. Pitch black down here. We’re getting some lights brought in. We’ve also got a vault door, not quite the fortress of that one in the barn, though. Can you spare the locksmith? Over.”

Runstrom ran his hand over his mouth. “How you coming on that thing, Joe?”

The locksmith kept working as he answered, “I still got a good ten, fifteen minutes. But I’m not confident it will work. I feel like I’m trying to rob a bank.”

Runstrom sighed and brought the CB to his mouth. “Allam, I’m sending Joe over to take a look at that door. You send him right back when you’re inside, copy?”

“I copy. Over.”

Runstrom led Joe out of the room. Abby quickly set her cell phone on the desk where Runstrom’s phone lay, slipping the officer’s cell into her jeans pocket. She hoped he wouldn’t notice her red phone right away. She felt almost felonious, but this would be the easiest way to call him if she needed to.

The barn was empty and still dark as she padded through the interior. Abby’s eyes stung from lack of sleep, and she hoped her feet stayed steady. She peered out the open barn door. A handful of cops stood out in the parking lot, corralled around Officer Runstrom as he shouted instructions on how to meet up with Officer Allam.

Abby hurried to the dumbwaiter and opened the door. She flipped the switch to call it back, but didn’t know what to do next with no one to flip the switch once she was inside.

Behind her, boots crunched over dried hay. Abby spun around, shocked to see Baby standing before her. “Baby, Marty is still inside. And my dad. I need to go down. Can you help me do that?”

Baby nodded, grunted, and banged his chest.

“I’ll get in, and you close the door and flip the switch down, see?” Abby pantomimed each action.

Again he nodded and banged his chest.

The dumbwaiter stopped, and Abby tried to climb in. It was much more difficult than it looked, and she was glad Marty had gotten all chivalrous last time. Baby tried to lift her, but he wasn’t strong enough. After many awkward attempts, their pathetic teamwork finally managed to get her inside.

Abby smiled at Baby before pulling the door closed. The humming started almost immediately.

T
HE FIRE WAS BLAZING NOW.
Water sprayed from every spout in the ceiling, except the center four Martyr had disconnected before lighting the computers. A rotten smell came from the melting plastic, accompanied by a thick, greenish smoke that billowed from the pile. Martyr risked a deep breath and choked on the rancid air. He had sent Hummer and Bean Bag after the others when the water first began to fall. It was time for him to go too.

The fire hissed and popped behind him, warming his back as he walked to the exit. He wrenched the door open and slipped out into the cool hallway, sucking in clean air. A cloud of dense smoke poured out of the room, forcing him to creep to the corner of the hall in order to fully catch his breath.

Once his lungs and eyes cleared, Martyr peeked around the edge. Empty. He ran all the way to Dr. Goyer’s lab, but his heart sank—there was no sign of Abby’s father. He locked the door and sat at Dr. Goyer’s desk, trying to think. If Dr. Goyer was in Dr. Elliot’s office, Martyr needed a plan.
I should have kept some of the Jasons with me
.

He glanced around the room and his eyes fell on a vial sitting on the counter.

He went immediately to the cupboards above the counter. Dr. Goyer wasn’t like the other doctors—he hadn’t used injections. But the day Martyr had been injected with the EEZ, Dr. Kane had told Dr. Goyer he would have to do testing too. Perhaps he had the same vials.

Martyr dug through the cupboards searching for the letters
EEZ
. When he couldn’t find them, he slipped next door to look in Dr. Max’s office. He found the vial in the back of the top cupboard and filled two syringes up to the twenty mark with the yellow liquid. Martyr didn’t want anyone to expire, but he needed to be ready for the doctors who were after his kidneys. Better to be prepared.

The phone rang.

Abby paused on the landing between levels three and two, fumbled to free Runstrom’s phone from her pocket, and managed to flip it open. “Yeah?”

“Where are you?” As expected, Runstrom didn’t sound happy.

“I’m going to help my dad.”

“We’re almost in, Miss Goyer. It’s not safe for you to be down there.”

“Why didn’t you send a man down the dumbwaiter?”

“Because Allam’s working on the tunnel. I’d rather send several men in so they can cover each other. I certainly wouldn’t send a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Oh. Well that’s different, then.”

Abby scowled. “No one’s down here, not even the toddlers. I checked their rooms. They must all be upstairs or something.”

“A good reason for you to come back up.” Runstrom’s voice faded a moment as he barked, “Wesley! Get over here.” His voice was loud when he spoke again. “Wait in the kitchen. I’m sending Wesley down now.”

Abby chewed her thumbnail. She could wait a moment longer. A lot could happen in a moment, though. “I can’t. My dad’s in trouble, and I’m going to get to him before it’s too late.” Marty had been right when he said there were times arguing didn’t get anything done. Abby had to act before the opportunity passed her by.

“No offense, Miss Goyer. But what exactly are you going to do?”

Abby pushed his comment aside and ran up the remaining flight of stairs. Someone had propped open the door to level one with a rolled up white T-shirt, and a haze now filled the stairwell.

“Miss Goyer? Miss Goyer, are you there?”

“There’s smoke.”

She heard a muffling on the other end. “Wait for Wesley. He’s coming down now.”

“No time.” Abby clicked the phone shut and switched it to vibrate as she crept up the last few steps. She pulled her shirt up over her nose, held her breath, and darted through the door, only to be met with greenish smoke that seeped out the cracks in the doorframe opposite the stairs. She ran back into the stairwell and dialed her cell phone.

“Miss Goyer?” Runstrom’s voice sounded strained.

“Someone started a fire. Call some fire trucks and ambulances, maybe even Hazmat.”

“What kind of fire?”

“I don’t know. It’s in the room across from the stairs on level one, but it smells almost chemical.” She snapped the phone shut, tucked it back into her pocket, and held her breath. Setting her mouth in a grim line, she ran out of the stairwell, past the smoking door, and around the corner. The acrid smoke gave way to sweet air. She crept down the hall, listening for voices and clues to what lay ahead.

Abby paused outside the reception area and tried to remember which lab was Dr. Elliot’s office.
Think, Abby
… The first one.

She hurried to the door and slipped inside. Her father still lay strapped to the exam table, unconscious, gray duct tape covering his mouth. She ran to his side and ripped the first binding free, then removed the adhesive from his mouth slowly, not wanting to hurt him.

Before she could get the tape off, pain exploded at the back of her head, and she slumped to the floor.

Abby woke to the sound of clinking glass. She blinked a few times and discovered she was sitting in a wheelchair, her wrists and ankles bound with plastic cinch ties. Dr. Elliot stood at the counter on the other side of the exam table, where her dad still lay.

Abby rose in her seat, nearly losing her balance. “What did you give my dad?”

Dr. Elliot spun around, his bulging eyes fixed on hers. “Oh, Miss Goyer. Only a sedative. I’ve seen enough spy films to know that if the hero is left awake, he can rescue the damsel.” He picked up a syringe and started toward her.

Abby flinched, but he capped the hypodermic needle and tucked it into the chest pocket of his lab coat. Just as calmly, he pushed Abby back into the wheelchair.

“Where are you taking me? What about my dad?”

“You and I are going to evacuate, Miss Goyer. Your curiosity has exposed this lab, and, like you, the world is not yet ready for our miracles. Once our valuable subjects are safe, we will set fire to this building, eliminating your father and what he knows about this lab.”

“I think someone already beat you to the fire.”

Dr. Elliot opened his office door. A fog of thin smoke now filled the hallway. “What?” He grabbed the wheelchair and pushed it out.

Abby leaned forward, throwing herself onto the cool tile. She cried out as her shoulder slammed into the hard floor.

Dr. Elliot kicked the wheelchair aside, grabbed her under the
arms, and dragged her backward. She feared her arm might rip off the way he swung her around the corner. Her boots slid over the tile of the reception area, then dragged onto a fine oriental rug. Dr. Elliot dropped her at the front end of a conference table, before an antique desk.

“Miss Goyer. How good of you to return to us,” Dr. Kane said from behind the desk. “One less person I have to track down.”

“How can you sit here so calmly?” Dr. Elliot screamed. “The building’s on fire.”

Dr. Kane stood up. “What kind of fire? Why didn’t the alarm go off?”

“How should I know? I saw the smoke coming from down the hall.”

Dr. Kane turned and opened a file cabinet on the wall behind his desk. “If the alarm didn’t go off, it can’t be terribly serious. Anyway, the van will be here soon. Any sign of our boy?”

Dr. Elliot sank into a chair at the conference table on Abby’s left. “No.”

A row of Jasons sat along the wall to her right, arms bound behind their backs. Eight of them. The oldest might have been seven or eight, the youngest mere toddlers. A few had deformed limbs.

“Hi, Abby.”

She pushed herself upright and turned back toward the entrance to see Marty sitting in a chair at the other end of the conference table. The sight of him tore a sob from her lungs. “Marty!”

He chuckled, a sarcastic grin splitting his face. “Fooled you. You really thought I was him? What do you see in that lab rat anyway?”

“Oh,” breathed out her lips as she registered JD’s arrogant tone. But the resemblance was even more uncanny. His head and face were clean shaven, and he was dressed in white Farm clothes. Even the number J:3:3 appeared on his sleeve. “You were the one on the cell phone. What are you doing down here?”

“Took your advice and followed Dad to work yesterday. You were right—well, obviously.” JD gave her an apologetic grin. “What was really odd though, Dad doesn’t use the top entrance.
He comes in through an underground tunnel. So when the cops came to the house with a warrant to search Dad’s office and told Mom about some mad-scientist hostage situation, I took your clone dude’s clothes—the ones the cops gave Dad thinking they were mine—and snuck into this place. I wanted to show you I could be a hero too. Turns out the hostage call was a hoax.” He glared at Dr. Kane, then sobered as his gaze traveled to the little boys. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know what is going on here. In case you didn’t notice, all these kids have my face.”

“No. You all have
his
face.” Abby raised her bound hands and pointed at Dr. Kane. “Your
dad
is the mad scientist, JD. He cloned himself. A lot.”

“That’s crazy.” JD rubbed the back of his neck and looked to Dr. Kane, who was pulling file folders out of the file cabinet and piling them on his desk. “Dad?”

“Ignore her, son.” Dr. Kane opened his briefcase and loaded the stack of files into it.

“Why is Abby tied up, Dad? You can’t just tie up girls.”

“She’ll be a surrogate, of course,” Dr. Elliot said. “Why else would—”

“No.” Dr. Kane glared at Dr. Elliot, then turned to JD, his expression earnest. “It’s only until we’re safely gone.”

“Whatever,” Abby said. “JD, are you aware they strapped my dad to an exam table in Dr. Elliot’s office? They’re going to leave him to burn with the lab.”

JD looked back to Dr. Kane. “Is that true?”

Dr. Kane added one last file to his briefcase and shut it. “We’ll discuss this later.”

JD ran a hand over his bald head and glanced at the boys again. “Am I …?” He cleared his throat. “Real?”

Dr. Kane punched up a number on his cell and held it to his ear. “Of course you’re real.”

“A real
clone
,” Abby said.

JD’s eyes narrowed. “Take that back. It’s not true.”

“Of course it’s true,” Abby said. “JD, look around you.”

“Dad? Am I just the pick of the litter or what? Do I have a-a … number?”

“Johnson,” Dr. Kane barked into his phone. “Call me back. Now.” Dr. Kane ended the call.

“Answer me, Dad!”

Dr. Kane rubbed his right eye. “You’re J:3:1, the first in the J:3 batch. Your mother desperately wanted a child and couldn’t conceive. The first two subject groups seemed to be coming along, so it appeared you’d live a normal life. In addition, you had the highest protein counts, which meant you’d likely be a poor transplant candidate.”

JD squirmed in his seat. “Wh-What does that mean? Transplant what?”

“I have lupus.”

“I already know that.”

“Which means you’ll have lupus. I wasn’t officially diagnosed until I was thirty-six.”

This set Abby on meltdown again. “You cloned yourself knowing you were sick, knowing that your clones would be sick too?”

“I only wanted to clone my kidneys at first, but the technology that presented itself was too tempting to bypass. Over the years we’ve tried manipulating the chromosomes, hoping to slow down the disease in the candidates. The pharmaceutical experiments alone have more than funded this lab over the years. I’ve had four transplants in my life, and the one from this lab has lasted the longest. My body is a perfect match for my body. No complications.”

“Except the organs have lupus, too,” Abby said, “so in the end they die.”

“Raising my kidneys from birth is the best way, and J:3:3 is the healthiest subject we’ve had yet.”

Abby paled. “But Marty’s a person. You can’t just kill him.”

“See? This is why I dislike having women in the lab.”

“Because we have a conscience?” Abby asked.

“Because women are weak. Dr. Markley thought the boys were
so cute
. She disliked injecting them, hated the electroshock treatments and the tasers. Look where her love of the little beasts got her.”

A voice from behind Abby said, “You’re wrong.”

She turned to see JD standing just inside the doorway, while at the end of the table, JD still glared at his father. She gasped. “Marty?”

“Excellent,” Dr. Kane said. “J:3:3. The time has come for you to serve your purpose.”

Marty glanced at Abby, then to Dr. Kane. “Dr. Markley always made me feel like I mattered, like my purpose was worthy. Since I met Abby, I never felt more alive. I love my brothers. They’re my family, and I try to take care of them, but Abby makes me want to be better, the same way Dr. Markley did.”

“No matter.” Dr. Kane waved to Dr. Elliot, who stood and walked to the center of the room. “One last injection, J:3:3, and it’ll all be over. You’ve lived a good life. You even got to see the sky. You’ve taken care of everyone, now, let Dr. Elliot take care of you for a change.”

Dr. Elliot lifted the syringe out of his pocket and uncapped it.

Abby tried to crawl after Dr. Elliot, inching her way like a worm. “Marty, don’t listen to him.”

Marty walked into the room and stopped when he met Dr. Elliot.

In response, the doctor lifted the syringe. “Give me your right arm.”

Abby inched closer and rose to her knees, her voice cracking over her tears. “Marty, please, come away from him. You don’t have to listen.”

“Fire!” One of the Jason boys pointed at the wall behind Dr. Kane, where a large black blob had blackened the white wall. Flames brushed across the white surface, painting a trail of charcoal ash in their wake.

All eyes turned to the flames. From her position, however, Abby watched as Marty hauled back a fist and punched Dr. Elliot. The doctor cried out and stumbled, dropping the syringe. Marty kicked it away and lunged.

“Help him, son!” Dr. Kane crouched down, and Abby could hear desk drawers sliding in and out, banging shut.

JD stood and stepped tentatively toward Marty and Dr. Elliot.
His eyes were wild and sort of glazed over, darting between the fight and the fire.