“Maybe it’s both,” he said. “Chu-Lung called the people who live in the wards participants, but I think a better word for them would be patients.”
“So whatever goes on must involve cloning of some kind. But why all the secrecy?”
“Because the methods of cloning being used here probably fall beyond the scope of what’s considered ethical. Whatever they’re doing obviously results in many deaths.”
“And our girls are growing up in this miserable compound. That means The Van Winkle Project was supposed to take place here until we demanded it happen in Tasma.”
A muffled ding pounded with the rain.
“Did you hear that?” he whispered. “Someone just entered the next room.”
“It could be a bot, but if it’s not…” I held my breath and linked my arm with Michael’s while he used his other hand to ready his spear.
Footsteps sounded on the other side of the door, each tap getting louder. I exhaled slowly and felt the blood pulsing in my neck. “Let’s go,” he mouthed, pulling me up with him.
With the E-Paper rolled and shoved into my waistband and under my tunic, we snuck from the storeroom and stood outside with our backs pressed against the building. The storeroom erupted with light. A gaunt male face appeared in the window, his eyes narrow, his lips tight. I tugged on Michael’s hand, leading him around the corner.
“Do you think he saw us?” I asked.
“Not sure.”
The rain stopped, and the clack of shoes hitting the slick concrete moved toward us. “He’s coming this way. Come on,” I whispered.
We crept through the compound, our route back to the storeroom changing each time we spotted a SEC or worker making the nightly rounds. We passed the wards, rectangular one-story buildings with thick, narrow windows.
With rippled roofs, beige exteriors, and windows large enough to be practical, there was no mistake that Residences One and Two were set aside for the employees. Outside the step on one door sat a potted plant with red flowers, the only flora we saw within the entire compound.
Behind Residence Two stood a two-story, unmarked building with wrought-iron- wrapped balconies, giving it a Bourbon Street vibe. Compared to the other buildings, it looked like a 5-star hotel.
“Must be for the people who run this place,” he scoffed.
As the moon re-appeared and the rain ceased, we jogged back to the supply closet. My heart didn’t stop pounding until I was sitting on the floor in the supply room with my knees pulled into my chest, trying to keep warm in my wet clothes.
“We can only hope whoever that was doesn’t return to this room,” he said on his knees, peering out the window.
The tap of footsteps echoed once again in the next room, but before we could stand up and make a dash back into the rain, the door slid half open, and the gaunt face we saw earlier poked through it.
I sucked in a quick breath, and Michael raised his spear.
“You two are?” he asked, his wet face eager, yet apprehensive.
What the hell was he talking about? Michael aimed his spear.
“You two are?” he asked again, stretching his neck towards us like he was fishing for the answer.
And then I remembered the lady at the convenience store. Before we left, she had told us, Don’t forget that that’s what you are: newlyweds.
“We’re…we’re newlyweds,” I said hesitantly.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. He took a step backward and the door closed.
“A society member is here?” I asked. “Magnum, that ass. He knew about this place all along. He lied to us. He knew about the twins. He knew they were here,” I huffed.
“Wait,” said Michael in a calm voice. “Magnum may not privy to everything involving the society. Just like Chu-Lung.” He put his arm over my shoulder.
Maybe he was right. I hoped he was right. Magnum already betrayed my trust once, to do it again would be unforgiveable.
“At least now we know there’s someone’s here who’s on our side,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess, and maybe he’ll help us if he can. But we still need to figure out how to find the twins and get out of here without getting caught.”
“And find Shen-Lung, if he’s here.”
Red—suddenly everything flushed red—the inside of this room and out—the concrete, the buildings, my clothes, even the backs of my hands as I rose up to join Michael at the window.
The top of every light post became a siren of ruby-colored light beams with sound.
The artificial screeching was almost unbearable. I dropped to the floor, closed my eyes, and pressed my hands to my ears, ready to give up.
“It’s not us. We didn’t trigger the alarm. Look,” he said into my ear as he nodded to the window. The siren and the flash of red lights ceased, and the courtyard burst with light. We sat in the darkened storeroom with the door cracked so we could not only watch the horrible spectacle but hear it, too.
A bare-foot man wearing a white cotton gown stumbled into the center of the yard thirty feet from us. An electric defense beam radiating from the hand of a SEC hit the man in the center of his back. He fell face-first onto the wet concrete, and seconds later, he seized up, his arms and legs twitching.
When the man stopped flailing, six security officers approached, one with electric cuffs to restrain the prisoner.
“Please, no. Don’t send me back in there,” screamed the bound man after he came to. A pair of officers lifted the man to his feet, but the man’s knees gave out, and he sank back to the ground. His face and the front of his shirt were wet with blood. “I can’t be in the same room with him anymore. Don’t make me do it. Please. Put me in another ward,” he cried. A fine mist of blood sprayed from his lips as he spoke. With his hands fastened behind his back, he slumped forward and sobbed.
“Now you know we can’t do that,” rang a voice from the shadows of the next building.
Whose voice was it? Why did it sound so familiar, its tempo and tone marked with arrogance? The voice’s owner walked from the shadows with his arms folded across his belly and I shuddered. Michael grabbed my hand and squeezed it, signaling that he recognized the voice, too.
Dr. Little stepped before the sobbing man.
“Bastard,” I whispered.
“You have to go back. We haven’t completed our study,” said Dr. Little with fake sympathy.
Another man in uniform came up beside the doctor. “You are very important to us,” the man explained in a sickly-sweet tone.
“But I don’t want to end up like him. I will if you keep us together, won’t I? You told me just a few more days, but I know it’s been longer than that.”
Dr. Little shook his head. “I don’t like being awakened in the middle of the night by any of our ‘participants,’ and neither does the warden.” He nodded at the uniformed man.
The patient wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his gown. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. I don’t—”
“Thomas Three, we have a very important visitor this week,” said the warden. “President Harrington will be here tomorrow, and he wants to see you.”
“See me? I don’t want to see him. I want to kill him.” Thomas Three’s sob ignited with anger, and he stood, barely keeping his balance. A security officer grabbed his arm.
“You are quite the troublemaker. This is the fourth time you left your ward this month and possibly the fifth. Someone smashed one of Dr. Heart’s flower pots two days ago. Now she only has one left. We suspect it was you.”
“It wasn’t me!” Thomas Three screamed.
“That’s funny. The next day you came to roll call with a red flower tucked behind your ear.”
Thomas Three smiled.
“Oh, so you think that’s funny,” said the warden. “You won’t think it’s funny when—”
“When what, you punish me again?” Thomas Three spit in the warden’s direction, but missed, the glob of bloody phlegm splatting onto the damp concr
ete
The warden casually stepped away. “Get him out of here!”
“Tell the president to watch his back,” he sneered.
Kicking and shouting thirty-first-century obscenities, Thomas Three was led away by two security officers and a SEC bot.
“How the hell did he escape from his ward?” asked the warden. His hands tightened into fists.
“He was secured when I left him,” said Dr. Little.
“We’re still trying to figure that out, Warden,” answered one of the officers.
“I want a complete investigation. President Harrington will be here tomorrow afternoon. Something like this can’t happen while he’s here.” The warden started to walk away and stopped. “I want extra patrols for the rest of the night—and not just SECs. Your men can lose a night’s sleep. It will be part of their punishment for letting Thomas Three elude them.”
As the warden and Dr. Little walked away, the lead officer shouted orders to his men and spoke into his L-Band.
“Great,” I whispered, closing the gap in the door. “The last thing we need is added security.”
“We should be safe here. Didn’t you recognize him?”
“Who?”
“Thomas Three.”
“Oh, my gosh. He’s the society member who was just here. Maybe he was trying to help us by getting caught. Trying to keep security away from this building.”
“Maybe, but I bet people rarely come in here, and if a JAN enters, all we need to do is stay still.”
Unknowingly, Thomas Three destroyed any chance of finding our girls that night by costing us a precious hour or more. I kicked a box away, making enough room for both of us to lie down. “I can’t believe Dr. Little’s here. I never wanted to see that asshole ever again.”
“He’s here because the twins are here. He’s obviously been put back in charge of The Van Winkle Project.”
“Then Victoria would have been taken here, too,” I said, rubbing my cold arms through my wet shirt.
“Magnum might have known and didn’t want that to happen, which is why he took her somewhere safe.”
“She was safe with me. I miss her so much. I can’t stand it.” I gave the floor a soft pound with my fist.
“She wouldn’t be safe with you right now. Not here.”
“We wouldn’t be here if Magnum hadn’t taken Victoria and sent us to Chu-Lung’s.” But then again, where would be instead? Still on the run in Region Three? Hiding out at Trail’s?
“Actually, I think it might be a good thing Dr. Little’s here,” said Michael. “He’s afraid of you. He never admitted it, but I saw it in his eyes. You’re his biggest threat. If you two come face to face while we’re here, he’ll crumble.”
“Maybe, but let’s hope neither one of us comes face to face with Dr. Little or anyone else who has the ability to stop us.”
“Especially Harrington. He’s going to be here in tomorrow, and if he comes anywhere near me”—Michael lifted his spear—“I’ll kill him.”
“I bet he’s coming to see the twins and get an update on the program. If we want to find out where the girls are, all we have to do is follow Harrington to Ward One.”
“It’s almost morning. We need to get some sleep, and then tomorrow night we’ll get our girls.”
We took turns drinking from the sink in the small attached bathroom, and then lay on the hard floor, but I couldn’t get Thomas Three out of my mind.
What was he talking about? What was he putting himself through, in order to spy for the cause?
Chapter Thirteen
What was that sound? Some kind of buzzer? Whether it was a dream or something real, it rattled my brain, shaking me from sleep.
“Michael? Did you hear something?” I stretched my hand in the direction where he’d slept next to me, and it landed on the cold, glossy floor.
“I’m over here by the window. I heard it, too. It was a bell.”
“It sounded more like a hundred tiny bells going off all at once.”
“It was—over one hundred L-Band alarms going off at once, signaling roll call. Come check this out, Cassie. You won’t believe it. As soon as their alarms went off, they scrambled to get to their numbers.”
I crouched down at the window like Michael, letting just enough of my head stick up, so I could see. A grid of men, each on a number, stood perfectly still like a platoon of soldiers. They wore white canvas shoes, and white pants and tunics, the material so thin, I could see their underclothes.
“Do you see Thomas Three?” I asked, squinting and shifting my eyes from face to face to find him. “I hope he’s okay.”
“He’s not with this group from Ward One, and the men from Ward Two are too far away to recognize if one of them is Thomas.”
“Only men. That’s odd.”
“But they’re of various races and ages. I bet there’re women here, too. Maybe in Wards Three and Four to keep them separated.”
While the men from the first ward remained standing on their numbers, the warden and a SEC walked the rows, the warden giving a speech of some kind. He carried something in his right hand that looked like a flashlight, and every so often, he stopped and aimed it at one of the patients, who immediately fell to his knees in pain. As one man recovered, stumbling back on his feet and teetering in place, another man went down, courtesy of the warden who smiled before continuing his speech.
“Son of a clone! Michael, look at the first guy in the second row, and then the second man in the fifth. Do you notice something?”
“I sure do.”
The two men had more in common than matching clothes. Everything about them was identical—their height, weight, build, hair, and faces—and they were more than just twins.
“Reclones,” he said. “They’re cloning clones here.”
“But I thought you couldn’t clone a clone. Remember Travel’s reclone? It was braindead.”
“That’s because the DNA from a clone isn’t a clean copy. It’s too fragmented. But neither one of those men appear to have any major medical issues, at least not from here. That’s what this place must partly be all about—DNA and cloning experimentation to produce reclones. I bet it started even before your cryogenic chamber was found.”
“But now that they have our girls, why does it have to continue?”
“I can only guess that the presidents have already invested too much time and too many resources into the program, and from what we can see, they’ve already solved some of the problems that come from recloning. Thomas Three must be the third in a series of reclones, and somehow he managed to find out about the secret society and join it.”
While Michael spoke, he morphed back into Dr. Bennett. From his excitement, I could tell he found the idea of a reclone revolting but fascinating at the same time.
The warden continued his rounds, gesticulating violently.
“What do you think he’s saying to them?” I asked.
“Well, it’s certainly not a pep talk. He’s probably reminding them about the president’s visit and warning them not to pull a ‘Thomas Three.’”
I cringed as the warden hurt another patient. “I can’t watch any more of this. Just tell me what happens next,” I said, and dropped cross-legged to the floor.
“Now they’re getting into a line. The SEC’s in the lead. They’re coming this way.” Michael ducked his head and then took another peek. “Oh, I see where they’re going. The SEC’s taking them to Lab One. What the hell?”
“What? What is it?”
He didn’t answer.
“What did you see?” I pulled at his arm, and he shrugged it away. “What happened?”
“Nothing. It was nothing,” he said, moving away from the window.
But I could tell he saw something that bothered him, something that pulled the pink from his cheeks and made his body tense.
“Are you sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. It just bothered me to see their faces up
close. They aren’t ghosts, but they look dead.”
He was right. I rose and watched the last five men in line march like bots and disappear into Lab One, their eyes glassy and soulless.
For the next several hours, we took turns recording everything we saw from the window onto the E-Paper map, guessing the time of day and noting the approximate time the patients were led from the lab, probably to one of the commons for breakfast, and then returned. Roll-call was taken after each trip, and when the line of patients trickled passed the window, I dropped and moved away, determined to keep their terrified, anxious faces from my mind.
Dr. Little arrived outside of Lab One mid-morning in a forest-green uniform, and just before noon, a pack of GROWs strolled the yard, sucking plant debris and dirt from the concrete with vacuums attached to their hands. Our supply room was raided twice by JANs for cleaning cartridges and disposable uniforms, their stoic, non-gender-specific faces and flashing eyes never meeting our gaze. As their rubbery bodies and built-in scrub-brushes clunked against the floor with each step they took, Michael and I remained motionless, holding our breaths.
A chorus of tiny bells announced the next roll call before lunch, and the men scrambled to their numbers. They scurried like mice to reach their numbers. This time, a handful of numbers remained vacant, but the officers appeared unaffected, only pausing once or twice to record their findings in their Liaisons.
Just as one of the officers finished his tally, the man standing in the first row fell to the ground with a hand clamped over each ear. As he squirmed in torment, his mouth wide with a scream, his shirt rode up his chest, revealing a series of bruises across his ribs, some purple and fresh, others faded to a sickly green.
Within seconds, another man dropped, mimicking the actions of the first, and as he rolled and his face turned in our direction, I could see he was the other man’s double.
The other clones remained at attention, their arms at their sides, their heads forward, and their faces passive, as if the screams radiating from the fallen men were commonplace. A team of bots dragged the suffering men away, and all was still once again.
“Are you sure you want to watch this?” asked Michael.
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