Deviation

by Heather Hildenbrand

  Chapter Thirteen

  The moon is nowhere. I look for it out the windows as the scenery changes from urban to rural and the lights fade away behind us. The highway is less bumpy out here, the wheat fields stretching for miles on either side. It reminds me of a ride I took on Linc’s motorcycle. It was months ago now but feels like yesterday. I remember the urge to flee into the forest and my decision to stay. Mostly it was for Linc but, even then, I felt an underlying determination to help the rest of my kind.

  Not that I’ve done any of them a bit of good.

  Ida’s face swims in my mind. It blends with Obadiah’s but I shove his away. I don’t want to think about him and Morton and the others right now. Even within the safety of my thoughts, it feels dangerous with Titus sitting three feet away. I think instead of Ida and Lonnie. They are in the sleeping room, lulled by the hum of the pipes and the steady breathing of a room full of girls.

  I miss it. I miss them. The meticulous schedule, the bland clothing, the rough sheets. Everything about my life in Twig City is a bittersweet loss, a fragmented piece of who I wish I could be again if only it meant leaving this life behind.

  Except … Linc.

  Just thinking his name brings with it such a warmth that I know I’m lying to myself. I would never go back. I accept this life—the swollen eye, the bruised cheek, all of it. And I know without a doubt I won’t willingly leave a shred of it behind unless he comes with me. Twig City is my past and I hope with everything in me that Linc is my future.

  As if my thoughts have manifested him, my ears prick at a faint growl in the distance. It is the sort of noise only a two-wheeled engine can make. I stare past Alton’s shoulder and out the back windshield, straining to see a single headlight somewhere behind us. But the darkness in our wake is undisturbed on this rural, unlit road. A moment later, the sound fades and it’s only me and a limousine full of villains.

  The car slows and turns left. I glance at Titus questioningly but his expression gives nothing away. He is typing on his phone, not even looking at me. I peer out the window. On either side of the narrow highway, grassy fields extend into the darkness, disappearing into forests in the distance. I can’t see what’s ahead with the partition in the way, so I continue to watch out the window for some clue of where we are. The farther we go, the closer the trees become until the forest’s edge encroaches on the now-winding road. Tall pines line both sides of the narrow lane.

  We slow again, taking a sharp left curve. The trees drop away and, even in the dark, I can see a well-manicured lawn stretching as far as the darkness will reveal. It feels familiar. I scan the sparse scenery, trying to place it. It’s all open, moonless sky and grassy lawn until suddenly a gray wall slides into view. It rises high into the air and spans wider than my vantage point will allow.

  The smooth stone, the glass front that disappears high into the sky like a pointed finger; it’s so familiar …

  I twist sharply toward Titus. He’s watching me with a glint in his eye. “What are we doing here?” My tone is snapping to cover the fear. He’s changed his mind. My assignment is finished. “Am I … terminated?” I ask.

  “No, you’re not terminated. You’re my daughter,” Titus says with such dripping sarcasm I don’t know whether to take him seriously.

  The guard on my right stares up at the building like he’s never seen it before. Alton shifts uncomfortably, making a point not to look out the window. The car rolls to a stop and I hear the driver’s door open and close. No one moves. The door to my left opens and Alton slides out at the same time a gust of cool air whooshes in. It tucks underneath the collar of my coat, trickling a cold sweat down my back.

  In this moment, all of the daydreaming and longing I’ve done over returning here is thrown in my face. Now that I’m back, I’m paralyzed with fear over what it means.

  “Coming?”

  I blink and find Titus out of the car, leaning in and watching me expectantly. His leather-gloved hand extends toward me. I slide out without taking it and he steps aside to let me through. I stare up at the expanse of stone walls in front of me in awe. It’s an imposing structure even if you don’t know the bulk of its space is hidden below ground; a prison barred by the earth itself.

  “Alton, Deitrich, come along,” Titus snaps. “The rest of you wait here.”

  The second guard pushes past me, his mouth hanging slightly open as he sends curious glances back and forth between Alton and Titus. “Is this …?”

  “Yes,” Titus snaps. “And you’ll do well to keep your mouth shut. Don’t ask questions or this won’t be the last car ride to nowhere you’ll take.”

  Deitrich blinks and keeps silent. Message received.

  Titus shakes his head at no one in particular. “One of these days I’ll get that DNA structure right and won’t have to deal with imbecile humans.”

  I wonder why he’s risking bringing a new guy for … whatever it is we’re doing here. I can only assume it’s because he’s done away with all of his regulars. I think of Williams. I haven’t seen him since the night he let himself into my room, thinking he’d find me in bed. I can’t bring myself to ask about him. The answer is too frightening. I shiver and fall into step behind Alton as we make our way toward my former home.

  It’s strange to be on this side of the walls. The day I left is such a blur of movement that I don’t remember noticing much about the outside of the City. My memory contains a flash of stone and glass as I’d glanced out the back windshield just before the trees swallowed it up and I was delivered to Titus. Now, I take the time to look around. The drive is a large paved circle with a stone fountain in the center. It is turned off now but I can see the mirrored glint of water in the tiered trough. On the top is a carved tree with gnarled branches extending outward over the basins.

  Other than us, there are no other vehicles. No visitor parking. There isn’t even a guard tower or sign of security. I wonder how Titus keeps it secure out here in the middle of nowhere. And then I realize security is unnecessary. No one is aware of the secrets this place contains.

  Maybe I’ve returned to become one of them.

  It isn’t until we reach the smooth stone to the right of the mirrored glass front that I realize the other reason Titus is most likely unconcerned with a security force. There is no door. Or, at least, not as far as Twig City’s residents know. The only exit I am aware of is the hidden passage inside Marla’s office that I left through. No one has ever seen a front door—not that any of us Imitations ever return from the surface once we’ve gone.

  I shift and peer around Alton in an attempt to see what Titus is doing at the wall. Titus jerks his head toward me and glares. “Step back,” he says. Alton swivels and notices me watching. He repositions himself so that my view is blocked.

  From my place behind him, I watch Titus reach into his front coat pocket and retrieve something. There is a click and then a beep that seems too loud against the silence. After a pause, I hear the slow sound of stone grinding against stone and vertigo threatens. The world seems to spin—or maybe I’m falling—and then I realize it isn’t me. The wall is sliding away. An opening is revealed.

  Titus replaces whatever it is he took from his pocket and leads the way inside. Alton and I follow with Deitrich bringing up the rear. I can’t tell who is more taken aback by the fact that we just stepped foot inside Twig City, Deitrich or myself. I wonder what he knows of this place. It’s clear from the way he stares with a slack jaw that he knows enough.

  “Come,” Titus says before stepping inside.

  The lobby is large and open, the tip of the ceiling extending farther up than my eyes can reach. Through the sculptured glass far above my head, stars wink back at me. Secret keepers befitting of a hidden city. The floor beneath my feet shines despite the lack of light. Titus moves quickly across it, his shoes clicking as he hurries toward his destination.

  My thoughts are distracted as I follow Titus and Alton deeper inside a labyrinth of halls I didn’t eve
n know existed. The walls are white and softly lit by symmetrical fixtures above. There is carpet underneath my feet, a rich burgundy color that mutes our footsteps. The glass atrium disappears behind us as the hall winds left. We pass numerous closed doors, all unmarked and fitted with swipe pads that I assume must be operated by a key card like the cells at home. I wonder what’s kept in them if it must be locked in a building with no front door.

  We make another turn, still navigating the endless hallways. Deitrich stumbles, his neck craned in another direction as his boot catches on the carpet. Titus glares at him before resuming our pace.

  A long hall stretches before us. Nothing but locked doors interrupt endless wall space. There is no décor, only red lit signs at the ends of each hallway signaling “A Hall” or “B Hall.” This part looks nothing like the City I lived in. And despite the lack of doors or windows, I don’t feel sealed in. Not like I did when my world consisted of the layers below where my feet fall. There is something modern about these halls, like it’s still a part of the outside world. What lies below doesn’t feel that way.

  Titus pauses in front of a door three from the end. We all gather as Alton takes his key card out and swipes it to allow our entry. When the panel clicks, Titus pushes open the door and we all follow him inside. A light comes and then my feet are crossing the threshold and I stop, staring.

  The room is large, narrow but extending so far back I can’t make out the opposite wall. Two rows of shallow basins encased in plastic extend the length of the room. They’ve been raised to table height, giving me a clear view inside. Each basin contains a body, all of them unresponsive to the point of lifeless. The basins themselves are filled with a strange blue liquid so that the limbs float eerily on the surface.

  None of the bodies are covered in any way. Their skin, white and black and every shade in between, is smooth and translucent. Large tubes run from their mouths to bags of milky liquid hanging at each bedside. Monitors blink red but there is no sound to indicate the readouts that scroll across the screens.

  Imitations. Babies. Unborn.

  My throat constricts. Why does Titus want me to see this?

  I know how it works. The clinical details have been more or less explained to me, but seeing it is different. It’s a stark reminder that I was once in a tub of my own, fed juice that would eventually give me life enough to imitate a soul. But I am not human. I will never be human.

  “Raven.”

  Titus calls me back. I jerk my head and find him watching me, curiosity and amusement play across his features. “This way,” he says, gesturing to the doorway behind him. Alton and Tamlin hover just on the other side, waiting.

  I duck my head to hide my shame and slip past him into the next room.

  This one is less a science lab and more a security booth. A bank of smaller monitors sits mounted on the opposite wall. Below them is a desk with several keyboards and what look like corded two-way radios. A man in a black and gray uniform sits at the desk. He is wearing earphones but the moment Titus walks in behind me, he sheds them and springs to his feet. His neck is nonexistent below his massive chin as he nods at Titus. The buttons on his shirt strain against his gut but then he sucks in and the fabric loosens a little.

  “Evening, sir,” the man says. He checks his watch. “Or, er, morning.”

  “Silverton,” Titus greets the man. “Have a seat. Anything exciting to report?”

  “No, sir. Everything’s tight.” The man returns to his rolling chair, sliding it sideways so that Titus can stand beside him while they both examine the grainy monitors.

  I edge forward, trying to identify what’s on the monitors. They are dark and grainy and nothing seems to be moving. The sound coming from them is nothing more than an annoying hum. I shuffle closer. A voice mutters something unintelligible through the speakers.

  I still.

  Overlying the humming is a collective intake and exhale of breathing, slow and steady and rhythmic. The grainy images begin to take shape and I realize it’s not a cheap monitor with bad imagining and muffled sound. It’s a dark room—the sleeping room—and the humming is the pipes that I haven’t heard in so long, I can hardly remember their white noise sound. These monitors watch the City. They watch my friends. They used to watch me.

  My eyes swing over to a red digital clock at the edge of the desk. It’s almost morning by Twig City standards. Will I get to see Lonnie? Or Ida? Is this why Titus brought me here?

  “What about Project D? Any movement?” Titus asks.

  “None, sir,” Silverton says. He points at another darkened monitor and I wonder how knows the difference between them all. “The same as when you left yesterday.”

  “And the new batch of products was dosed on schedule?”

  “Yes, sir. Without a hitch. You know I run a tight ship.”

  “I expect nothing less. We’ll need to begin the waking process within a couple of weeks. I can’t afford to be put off schedule on this one. They’ll need to be moved into population as soon as they’re able.”

  “You got it. I’ll make sure everyone knows it during the next team meeting.”

  “We’re going to take a walk. I want to show my daughter the recycle bin.”

  A muscle underneath Silverton’s right eye twitches. Something like anxiety coils in my stomach. “Yes, sir. Let me know if you need anything,” Silverton says. His features have smoothed out again. If he thinks it’s odd for me to be here, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he doesn’t look at me once the entire time. I wonder what his eyes would reveal if he did.

  I want to stick around and see what’s on that monitor, the one Titus called Project D, but Titus is already leaving the way we came and Alton waits at the door for me to follow. I exhale and make my way out.

  We pass back through the room with the new bodies. I try not to look too closely. I don’t want to recognize someone as an Authentic I’ve met on the outside, but more than that, I don’t want to be reminded of how fake I am.

  I am almost to the door when I realize Titus is no longer in front of me. “You don’t want to see how you were conceived?” Titus asks. I turn back to where he stands beside the closest occupied basin.

  “I … no.” I hate that he used such an Authentic term for creation but I don’t mention it. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.

  “A shame. It can teach you a lot about who you are.”

  I bite my lip, so many different responses warring inside me. My shoulders sag as I realize there’s only one true response to his words. And I know it’s the one he wants to remind me of anyway. It’s likely the reason he brought me here in the first place. “I’m not anyone,” I say finally.

  “Not true.” He shakes his head. “You’re my daughter.”

  Even worse.

  Back in the hall, Titus turns left and we retrace our steps in silence. Somewhere in the building, a faint chime sounds and lights brighten overhead. It is the morning alarm. A strange familiarity washes over me at the sound. I never thought I’d hear it again, much less from above ground.

  I imagine Lonnie rolling to her feet and shaking a drowsy Ida awake so they can be first in line for any breakfast meat the kitchen will offer. Ida won’t care for it, but she’ll hurry for Lonnie’s sake. She is a caregiver but she isn’t tough. She needs so much care herself and I—

  I swallow, stamping the thought back down the moment it tries to surface. I’m not there to care for her any longer.

  Tears threaten but there’s no time. Titus has stopped us outside another door. It is identical to the first but I know better than to assume anything about what lies on the other side. And I don’t doubt for a second the term “recycle bin” is more complicated than it sounds.

  I follow the men inside and, at first glance, there is nothing horrifying. It’s a mostly empty room that smells of disinfectant. A narrow counter lines one wall with a stainless steel sink and wall-mounted dispenser of anti-bacterial soap. On the other side are two chairs, metal and unin
viting. They don’t suggest any real time is spent sitting in here. In fact, none of the furnishings do. I look to the chairs and back to the sink trying to figure out why I’ve been brought in here. I suppress a shiver and rub my arms against a chill.

  All three of the men have wandered across the room to stare at the far wall. Halfway there, I realize it’s not a wall but a viewing window into a darkened second space. Titus watches me expectantly and I reluctantly make my way forward. There is a cold, stony feeling in my gut. Titus holds his hand over a switch. Something tells me I don’t want to see what’s in the adjoining room.

  When the room lights, my insides heave. My entire world tilts.

  I blink but when I open my eyes the images don’t disappear. I clamp my lips and eyes shut, shaking my head and silently chanting the words no, no, no, no, no. I was right. I don’t want to see.

  “This,” Titus says, his tone brisk and unaffected by the gruesome scene before him, “is the recycle bin.”

  He’s waiting for me to say something. I try to speak but when my mouth opens, my heave becomes a choke and I can’t breathe and tears are rushing down. I can’t stop them. I don’t care. I don’t know what to say or do. My hands are numb. It’s disgusting.

  Two stainless steel tables sit in the center of the room. Both hold a body that is stiff and unmoving and covered with a white sheet.

  But that’s not what petrifies me, sealing my feet to the floor.

  Cubbies created by metal shelving line the room. Each box contains a jar of varying size and contents. A horrifying variety of hands, arms, and feet severed above the ankle float in thick, viscous liquid. Displayed on every specimen contained is a clean cropping of a tattoo across flesh: a six-digit number settled at the base of a tree.

  My stomach revolts. I am overcome with the sensation of floating outside my own body. I desperately want to look away but, I’m forced to notice one of the jars closest to where I stand. A large hand with a tattoo printed near the wrist. I read the number, hating every second the image is burned into my retinas. 6594845. Like a rubber band snapped too tight, I am propelled back into the solid reality of my own insides. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could un-see. Un-know.