Your One & Only

by Adrianne Finlay

  Jack eased himself to his feet, surreptitiously retrieving the discarded sickle as he rose. However dulled from hacking grains, the blade would still cut if propelled with enough force. He held the handle in a loose grip close to his thigh.

  “Monkey-boy’s gone down in the world, sleeping in a field like a cow,” Carson-312 said as they approached. “I know what’ll wake you up.”

  “Carson, there are things you don’t know.”

  “We know what you did to our brother,” one of them said.

  Jack had never been good at distinguishing one clone from another. He kept his eyes on Carson-312, who inched closer, concealing something behind his back.

  Jack could take one of them easily. Given his strength, he guessed he could handle a few of them. But his odds against all ten were not good.

  The Carsons surrounded Jack, trapping him in a circle. Jack held his sights on Carson-312, calculating quickly. If Jack could talk him down, this would end. If they did fight, attacking Jack all at once, Carson-312 was his target. Take down the brother whose eyes glinted with cold resolve, and the rest would fall away.

  Or at least, that’s what Jack hoped.

  He nodded to Carson-312’s injured shoulder. “That wasn’t me,” he said. “I’ve been locked up. You made sure of that.”

  “I know what I saw.” Carson-312 pointed to his bandages. “You think you can try to kill me? Attack me, attack an Althea, and get away with it?”

  “What about Althea?” Jack said, taken aback.

  “I know she’s been coming to see you. You’re trying to turn her against us, her own kind.”

  “I’m not trying to do anything. She can do what she wants.”

  “And what she wants is to kiss you?” he said. He saw the surprise on Jack’s face. “You think I didn’t see? You did it right in front of me. I guess the Nylas weren’t enough for you, now you want all the Altheas, too.”

  It took a moment for Jack to realize that Carson didn’t mean last night. But Althea hadn’t mentioned kissing Jonah when she’d told Jack about her encounter. That was part of what she’d left out.

  Jack’s hand slackened on the sickle.

  The Carsons saw his distraction and took advantage by moving in. Carson-312 edged closer, confident and aggressive. Jack stepped back and bumped into the Carsons behind him.

  Jack’s gaze swept the field, hoping for anyone, maybe a Hassan. There was nothing except an untended basket and another mindless thresher churning up the east field.

  In the corner of his eye, Jack saw a Carson to his left move uncertainly out of the circle. Despite the solidarity, they didn’t all have Carson-312’s fiery certainty. They might still back out.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Jack said to the hesitant Carson.

  “Yes,” Carson-312 said. “We do.”

  With no warning, a stabbing pain seared through Jack’s shoulder and vibrated down his spine, dropping him to his knees. When he opened his eyes again, the pain had stopped, but every limb trembled, and barbed lines shrouded his vision.

  Carson-312 held his hand out for Jack, showing him the cattle prod he held. “Like a cow in a field . . .” he said, grinning.

  While Jack gasped for air, trying to regain control of his body, the cattle prod hit a second time, immobilizing him. He fell to his side, teeth clenched, pain hammering his body. When the prod released, Carson-312 didn’t expect that Jack, ready this time, would recover quickly. From the ground Jack grabbed the device and twisted, wrenching it until he held it himself. Still shaky, he swept the prod at the circle of Carsons and they edged away.

  His breath rattling his ribs, he said, “You can still stop.”

  “Not till you’re dead.” Carson-312 lunged. Jack dodged the blow and sliced the sickle across Carson-312’s arm. He reared away, and Jack hit him with the prod. Carson-312’s body shivered in spasms against the current, like Jack’s own had. Jack pulled the prod away, wishing he felt more triumphant in the other boy’s pain, but feeling only sickened. Blood oozed from the gape on Carson’s biceps, and Jack almost tossed the sickle aside. It was sharp enough to kill, and he didn’t want that.

  Some of the Carsons held back, stunned at the bloodshed. They didn’t want to fight either. Jack turned from them to concentrate on the others. One of them grabbed Jack around the neck, and Jack elbowed his ribs. Two more attacked, but Jack rolled clear. He lost the prod, but used his leverage to topple one brother onto the other before Carson-312 lurched to his feet.

  Jack still felt the electric shock from before zinging through his nerves, and his muscles were tiring as the Carsons continued their attack. Still, if he conserved his energy, he’d hold them off for a while yet. Half of them were on the ground groaning, and more were inching away. The remaining three were poised, but tentative and afraid, holding their heads as they felt the pain of their brothers.

  Carson-312, up and fighting again, stumbled. He was still bleeding from his arm, and he favored the shoulder that had taken the arrow. Jack would outlast him. It wouldn’t even be hard if his brothers would only give up.

  He braced for Carson-312’s approach. Anticipating the punch telegraphed by the other boy, Jack poised to grab Carson-312’s arm midswing. At the last second, Carson-312’s bloody teeth appeared as his lip curled into the same grin Jack had seen on Carson-292 in the barn. Jack didn’t have time to register the smile before an intense pain hit him from behind. It radiated out with a white heat that arched his back as if it could break his bones.

  Even as the first shards of pain jerked through his body, too late he realized he should never have dismissed the Carsons who’d backed away from the fight. They had taken up the cattle prod. The sickle fell from Jack’s fingers as the prongs on the end of the white stick dug into him and didn’t let up. A scream he didn’t recognize as his own ripped from his throat. He writhed on the ground, and still it didn’t end. Finally the stabbing fire ceased, but by then his lungs were closing. He struggled to take in a breath. An inhaler was in his pocket, but he had no way to reach for it; his hands were useless as bags of sand. The familiar panic settled over him like a suffocating blanket. Then all ten bodies of the Carsons blocked the sun.

  Jack twisted in on himself, shielding his face with his arms, and they descended from all directions. Heavy shoes rained down on his back, his arms, his legs and head, until there were so many they were meaningless, an endless haze of pain.

  Jack heard their yells, their grunts of loosed energy as they kicked, the high drone of the prod striking blistering flesh, but it all grew faint, replaced by the high-pitched whistle of rasping breath. He fell slowly into a black void, and was grateful at least for the privacy given him by that dark place.

  He knew, of course. He’d made a mistake, and it was a bad one. He’d misjudged the force of their bond. Jack may have been stronger than them, and quicker, but they had each other.

  Dimly aware that he would lose consciousness and still the blows wouldn’t stop, Jack realized how fitting it was. He’d always failed to grasp the essential nature of the clones; he’d never be one of them, he’d never understand them, and now he’d die because of it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Althea

  Althea arrived late for breakfast at the dining hall. Her sisters were already seated and passing platters of eggs, sausage, and pineapple. She had ruined the night of the Pairing, again, and given the way she felt at the moment, she wasn’t at all sure slipping away before the ceremony to see Jack had been worth it. None of her sisters said anything as she took her usual chair, and they regarded her with carefully placid expressions.

  She’d spent her entire life with her sisters, every waking moment, so it was as natural for her to scan the mosaic of their emotions as it was to braid her hair and brush her teeth. There was no doubt about the aching questions she perceived from them. Why do you want to be different from us? Why have you stopped trying? Why don’t you love us anymore?

  Althea ate silently, barely tastin
g the food. She touched the bracelet Jack had given her. It was no longer around her wrist, but tucked into the pocket of her dress. She’d taken it off, knowing her sisters would see it right away and ask why she was wearing such a strange trinket.

  She was still bewildered by what had happened in the barn. What Jack had done with the guitar had left her dazed. She’d been dancing as if at the Pairing Ceremony, and he’d made the noise with the strings she’d heard before, only this time she hadn’t experienced it as a jangling clamor that scoured her nerves. The music coming from the guitar freed something within her, like the sun burning away a heavy mist. The sounds he made reverberated in her chest and stomach, as if coming from somewhere deep inside her, not from Jack.

  At first she’d felt weak from it, ready to collapse. It was too much, crushing and heady. Then all of a sudden, the dance felt . . . easy, almost obvious in a way it never had before. She’d never felt anything like it, and she’d wanted to give something back to him.

  Which had made it that much more confusing when he’d rejected her ribbon. It didn’t seem possible that she could have read him so poorly. While she danced, he had followed her every movement, his eyes clear as water. He desired her, and she wanted him like she’d never wanted a Viktor, Carson, Hassan, or Samuel. But something had gone wrong, and she had no idea what it was.

  Carson-312 had accused her of being jealous, saying she wanted Jack to touch her the way he’d touched Nyla. She didn’t want to be jealous, certainly not of her friend, but she had no other word for the jagged teeth gnawing at her insides. Breakfast was finally winding up when a murmur rippled through the hall. The sound moved like a living thing, growing steadily louder, until everyone stood, asking what was happening.

  A Viktor rushed past the Altheas’ table, and then another, their faces severe. Althea-312 tugged the sleeve of an Inga at the table behind.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “It’s Copan,” she said. “Something’s wrong in Copan.”

  Kate-280 entered the hall and waited coolly for the crowd to fall silent.

  “The Council has received word from Copan,” she said with a voice loud enough to carry across the huge dining hall. “It is with great sadness that I bring you terrible news.” She paused a moment for that to sink in. “The community in Copan is in ruins.”

  The crowd in the hall erupted with cries and shouts. Kate-280 raised her hand, calling for silence.

  “As far as we can tell, Copan’s water supply became contaminated with large amounts of Somnium, and the resulting hallucinations led to panic, violence, and widespread destruction. Their grain mills are destroyed, their food stores burned, and the town itself is rubble. The Council will organize the generations of Vispera to help in the wake of this calamity. We’ll load boats with supplies of food and medicine and deliver it to Copan.” Kate looked around the Hall. “Some of you will be sent to assist in restoring order. If reconstruction is possible, we will devote our resources to it. If it’s not . . . well, I must be honest with you. I don’t know if our brothers and sisters in Copan can survive.”

  With that, Kate-280 left. For several moments, the hall maintained a stunned hush before erupting in exclamations and fear-ridden chatter.

  Like all the Gens, the Altheas had linked fingers under the table while Kate-280 spoke, and Althea felt their anxiety alongside her own. She allowed her hand to intertwine with those of the others.

  “How could this happen?” Althea-317 asked. “How did Somnium get in their water supply?”

  “We have to help,” Althea-312 said, and the sisters nodded agreement. No further discussion was needed.

  Althea felt herself nod along with them, and the fingers of her sisters tightened around her own. At least for now, they’d forgotten the ruined Pairing and she was back in the fold as the communal rush of distress and excitement overpowered the disconnection they’d been experiencing. Their eyes softened with relief when she murmured, “Yes.” She would help in the campaign for Copan.

  Someone touched Althea’s back, and she turned from her sisters to see Nyla-313 kneeling beside her chair.

  “Althea, I’ve been looking for you. Something’s wrong.”

  “I know. Copan. Kate-280 just said.”

  “No, not that.” Nyla glanced at the other Altheas and lowered her voice. “The Carsons told us they were going to the fields to deal with Jack. Those are the words they used—​deal with.”

  Althea’s hand dropped out of the linked chain of her sisters’ fingers. She clenched Nyla’s arm. “When did they leave?”

  “Just a few minutes ago. Carson-312 told us because he thought we’d be glad to see Jack punished, because of the fire and everything, but that’s not what we want at all, Althea. I’m worried. I think Carson-312 might be fracturing. His brothers can’t hold him together anymore. Carson-315 mentioned a Binding Ceremony, but they’re scared of what that means.”

  “I don’t care about Carson-312,” Althea said. She stood, ready to race out of the dining hall, but Althea-318 grabbed her wrist.

  “You can’t go. We need each other right now.”

  “I have to,” Althea said.

  Now all her sisters stood and gathered, unsure how to deal with their particular crisis being swept up in the general one.

  Althea-316 pushed forward. “You can’t come back from this.”

  The nine of them huddled closer. Their nervous fingers slipped through one another’s hair, touched the sleeves of dresses. Their fingers twined. Tears filled all their eyes except those of Althea-316, who glared. They already knew she was going to leave them.

  “What is wrong with you?” Althea-316 said.

  Althea backed away, grateful for Nyla’s hand in hers as she left behind the sensation of her sisters’ roiling emotions.

  Althea and Nyla ran up the hill toward the fields. They’d just come over a steep ridge when Althea saw the Carsons heading toward them. Far beyond them, at the edge of the trees, lay Jack, still as death on the ground.

  “Get Samuel,” she said to Nyla. “Samuel-299.”

  “He won’t come,” Nyla gasped, her hands on her knees. “His brothers won’t let him.”

  “Tell him Jack needs him. He’ll come.”

  Nyla nodded and turned back to town. Althea ran. She pushed through the Carsons, but Carson-312 grabbed her arm.

  “This has nothing to do with you, Althea,” Carson-312 said. “Leave it alone. Go back to town.” He looked terrible, bloody and bruised.

  “What have you done?” she said angrily. Her accusing gaze cut from one Carson to the other until it stopped at Carson-312. “What have you done?” she said again, this time truly mystified.

  “You were there. He tried to kill me!” Carson-312 held her stare. When she didn’t back down, he cast his eyes away.

  “Let go of me. He needs help, he’s . . .” Althea stopped, her eyes landing on Jack and then farther up on the threshing machine lumbering through the field, its blades whirling, cutting deep into the ground. It was headed straight for him.

  Carson dropped her arm, seeing the same thing she did. Althea ran. It seemed to take forever to get to Jack, and when she did, she fell to her knees. Gashes of blood showed bright against his pale skin and a tinge of blue colored his lips as shallow, rattling breaths lifted his chest. The thresher continued on its path toward both of them now as if in slow motion, sluggish and measured, but inevitable. When it reached them, Jack would be devoured in its blades like so many ripe stalks of corn.

  Ignoring that his arm was surely broken, and not concerned about other injuries, she pulled at his body, trying to drag him clear. She couldn’t budge him. He was big, and she wasn’t strong enough. “No,” she cried. “Jack, get up! You have to get up!” She turned her head to the Carsons. “Help me!”

  They were already walking away again, heading back toward town. Only Carson-312 turned halfway round when Althea called, but he didn’t stop.

  “You can’t let him die!�
�� she yelled.

  Althea tried again and again to move Jack, ignoring the exhaustion overtaking her. The thresher rolled closer. It had no key, no ignition, no driver behind the wheel. The field machines were mindlessly automatic, controlled by Hassans from computers in town. Althea turned her eyes from its onslaught, refused to let it scare her into giving up. But Jack was so heavy, a dead, unmovable weight. The ground vibrated, and the rumble of the engine grew louder. She hit him, her fists beating his insensible body. “Wake up!” she pleaded. The machine was so close now that the whirring blades fanned the hair from his eyes. With her forehead pressed to his chest, she whispered, “Please.” The word was lost in the roar of the engine, a torrent of noise louder with each second. “Please, please, please.” She closed her eyes and placed her body over his.

  All at once, the noise stopped. Althea’s breath shuddered into Jack’s shirt. A bird chirped in a nearby tree.

  She looked up and was met with the tall blades of the thresher, sharp and shiny as knives, mere feet from Jack’s leg. Carson-312 was standing beside the hulking box, a metal panel open at the side, a cattle prod still buzzing in his hand from where he’d fried the controls. With a last sizzling pop, the giant engine, so much bigger now that it was practically on top of them, gave a slow, drawn-out whine and settled harmlessly into the dirt.

  Carson tossed the prod to the ground as if he was disgusted with himself. “That was for you, not him. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “He would have died. Is that what you wanted?”

  “It wasn’t . . .” Carson shook his head.

  “It wasn’t what?” Althea said.

  “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

  “Really?” She tilted her chin at the cattle prod on the ground, the one the brothers had used against Jack. “How far was it supposed to go?”

  Carson blinked at her, and Althea remembered what Nyla-313 had said, that Carson-312 was fracturing. His brothers had followed him to the fields, but they weren’t with him now. Only Carson-312 had come back. He was at risk, just like her. Althea couldn’t help Carson however, not now, not when Jack was bleeding next to her. She turned away from him. “Go home. Tell the Council what you’ve done. Let them deal with you.”