Prototype

by M. D. Waters

  Peter leans away and sips his drink. “I offered you a place to call home, and the proposition stands.” He waves a hand dismissively in the air. “I don’t care about this clone stuff. You’re an innocent girl who deserves some peace.”

  “That is kind of you to say, thank you, but I could never put you in that position. If Declan were to find me—”

  “You would let me worry about that if the time came. I’m old, not helpless.”

  “Even so, I cannot leave my daughter again.”

  Colonel Updike clears his throat and lays his arms along the sides of his chair. “Your other option, then, is to reenlist with the resistance.”

  I find it hard to breathe suddenly. Reenlist? Become that woman who murdered her way into a WTC only to end up shot and dying? “That is not a choice. That is insanity.”

  “It’s been made clear to me you’re still capable of—”

  “But I am not that woman anymore. I have not struggled to maintain my freedom just to enlist in your army.”

  The men exchange a look; then Colonel Updike says, “Emma, I can’t let you live in the hub unless you’re enlisted or married to someone who is. It’s just the way things are.”

  “I am married,” I say automatically, and a sense of relief washes over me. Nothing has to change. “To Noah.”

  He sits deeper in his chair and rubs a hand across his chin. “Tucker and I have already been through this. Your marriage dissolved the second your death certificate was signed. Is it a technicality? Yes. But I can’t make any exceptions.”

  Not married? It is one thing to know I cannot have him anymore, but quite another to know our marriage is legally over. At least before I still had that part of him. For a little while longer, at least.

  Tears prick my eyes. “You would make me leave my daughter if I said no?”

  The colonel sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees “You would have visitation rights, of course. As often as you want. But, Emma . . . I don’t want you to leave. We need you.”

  I cannot believe I am hearing this. Why is everyone set on stripping me of my freedoms?

  Colonel Updike swallows the remains of his drink. “Take the day to decide, but tonight you’ll go with Peter or myself, and it will be final. I’m sorry, Emma. Truly.”

  “We only want to keep you safe,” Peter adds.

  They cannot do this to me. I will not let them.

  Adrenaline rages through me until I am shaking. I stand with fists clenched at my sides. My heart thunders all the way to my temples. “You forgot to mention the option where I am free to go,” I say, and storm into the apartment.

  I have no destination in mind, only that I will not have these two men dictate my future for me. Thank God I had the foresight to wear Declan’s wedding ring around my neck and can sell it in the first pawnshop I find on San Francisco Island.

  By the time I open the front door, my chest feels tight and my vision blurs with a building of tears. Will this mean giving up rights to my family? Noah will understand, right? This is not desertion, but preservation. He will let me visit Adrienne. She is my daughter.

  But five steps outside the lily community, I am fully aware of the mistake I am about to make. My stung pride clouds my judgment. I cannot last on the outside without help, and no excuse I tell myself makes leaving Adrienne okay.

  I stroll to the bridge walkway and sit on a white bench. Seagulls peck the cement walk around me. A cool, strong, brine-laden wind catches my loose hair up from behind and shoves it forward, where the thick strands cloud my field of vision. I should not be outside without my scarf, but I cannot bring myself to return for it. Not yet. Not until I decide what to do. Enlist or let the world go to hell around me while I watch, stripping me of a normal life. A life with only visitation of my daughter. Groaning, I prop my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands.

  “Is it really that bad?”

  I peek out, glare at Peter, and cover my face again. “How can you ask that?”

  The bench creaks to my right with additional weight. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Maybe I can help walk you through this decision.”

  I sit back and hug my knees to my chest. “I think I already know the answer.”

  “You aren’t coming with me, are you?”

  “I made the mistake of leaving my daughter once. What kind of parent does that?”

  “You can’t beat yourself up over the past. Parents make impossible decisions every day, doing what they feel is best at the time. You’re no different.”

  “Adrienne was hours old and I was selfish. Even if I could not stay for Noah, I should have stayed for her.” I focus on the roll of fog on the other side of the bridge, a blanket over San Francisco Island. Electric cars whisper past us, occasionally obstructing my view. “I suppose I am paying for my mistakes now. Sonya is Adrienne’s mother. Noah’s girlfriend.”

  We sit in silence for a long moment before he says, “You could come with me and bring Adrienne along. I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. Even Noah can’t deny she’d be safer away from the hub.”

  For a second, the suggestion feels like a viable alternative. I cannot have my husband back but do not have to live without my daughter. Then reality sinks in. I might be her mother, but that does not give me any right to her. And Noah loves her too much to take her out of his sight.

  I shake my head. “I appreciate the offer, but that is an impossibility.”

  “Can’t blame an old man for trying.”

  I smile at him, then rest my head on his shoulder. “I guess reenlisting will not be so bad. And it does not have to be forever.”

  “Think of all the lives you’ll save in the process.”

  I nod but cannot speak. My throat feels too tight. For a year the only life I was responsible for was my own. My first instinct has been self-preservation, but that was before I saw Adrienne and Noah again. Before I became a part of this community whose mission is to make the world a better place for every life, not just the government-chosen masses.

  We sit for so long, the sun has dipped behind the other side of the lily station. Without its direct heat, the air is much cooler. Cold, actually.

  “We should go in,” I say, and stand. “I am sure Colonel Updike is anxious to hear what I have decided.”

  Peter stands and grips my shoulders. “It’s the right decision. You know that, don’t you?”

  “One I will not regret until the very second Major Reid decides to give me an order; then you may find me on your doorstep.”

  He chuckles and leads me back to the glass structure. We shuffle through the entrance with a group of small children being herded down the long hallway by several men. They are all bouncing, laughing, and talking way too loud. The adults with them look as if their patience has long worn thin.

  Inside the open area at the end of the hall, the group pauses so the men can do a head count. Peter and I have to shift through the kids, and they do not move as easily as a group of adults would have. I get stuck part of the way through and turn to see how Peter is getting along behind me. He catches my eye for a moment, which is all he needs to miscalculate his next step. The poor boy beside him gets tripped up with Peter and falls down.

  He bends to help the boy up and I feel a punch in the upper part of my left arm. The force rockets my shoulder back and I twist, nearly falling. It came out of nowhere. From nowhere.

  Peter looks up instantly, eyes and mouth open wide. Whatever he says is lost amid the abrupt screams of the young children.

  And then I feel it. The searing pain in opposition to the cold slithering down my core. The glacial swathe tugs, and the floor seems to leap up to meet me. But then I blink. And breathe. Shake off the momentary bout of dizziness. And everything appears to be back to normal.

  Almost everything. Charred skin lies around an open wound from elbow to shou
lder.

  Someone shot me.

  Someone shot me?!

  My following breaths come fast and hard. My head swims as I meet Peter’s eyes. He is yelling something at me, but I hear nothing but my own heartbeat. Even the pandemonium surrounding us has been muted.

  Someone shot me.

  The screaming breaks through the silence in increments and I shake my head to clear it. This is not the time to fade out. Whoever did this is still here. I look past Peter, down the hallway, and find my assailant poised with a plasma rifle.

  Aiming at Peter.

  CHAPTER 23

  Peter!”

  I start for him just as an arm snags me around the waist from behind. The voice in my ear is familiar. Colonel Updike. “Let’s go!”

  Peter darts behind a column and out of the gunman’s range. But if he steps to either side . . . He meets my eyes and mouths, Go, even as I struggle to get out of Colonel Updike’s hold. I have to help him.

  Colonel Updike yanks me from where I stand, my feet kicking nothing but air, as gunfire rains down from more than the one direction. Windows shatter and spray the room with glass. White clay pots sprouting plant life burst apart, filling the space with the scent of earth. Colonel Updike tosses a second HK to Peter, then takes aim on a balcony where a man in civilian clothes fires on us.

  Colonel Updike points to our right. “Run for that hallway. I’ll cover you.”

  “But Peter—”

  “Just go!”

  I start to go as instructed, shielding my head from the flying debris, but trip over the body of one of the men who was herding children. I crawl behind one of the few plant pots still in one piece, then look over at Peter. Like the colonel, he returns fire with precision and determination. His expression is quite unlike that of the man from Montana.

  A dark cloud of movement behind him captures my attention. The sight of resistance fighters approaching the glass doors, faces hidden under solid black masks, releases all the tension from my body. One man steps up behind my shooter and puts a shot into the back of his head without a moment’s hesitation.

  They move in and take the focus of the gunfire, which helps me get to the cover of the hallway. Children run past me, their piercing screams rending the air. Adults lead them into a room at the far end.

  Colonel Updike darts around the corner and immediately aims back out into the atrium.

  Peter runs in a moment later and I let out a cry in relief. He gives me a quick scan. “You all right, dove?”

  “Yes.” Except for the fact that my arm feels tied down in a blazing pyre. The tendrils of heat reach as far as my fingertips, up around my shoulder, and into my chest, making it hard to breathe.

  With a nod, he sets up behind the colonel to provide cover. I lean against the wall behind them, trying to regulate my heartbeat and contain the tears building behind my eyes. How can we possibly get out of this without anyone getting hurt or killed?

  A resistance fighter bounds into our hallway and pauses at the corner opposite the colonel, looking out and firing at random. A full black mask covers his head.

  He crosses the hall and stops in front of me, his attention on my arm. He keeps a light touch on my elbow as he examines the wound. Because the plasma fire cauterizes, the wound does not bleed.

  The man lifts his gaze to meet mine and I know who he is before he speaks. Only Noah’s eyes glow this shade of amber. Despite the fact that adrenaline and cold fear sweep through me, I want to cry and kiss him in relief. He came for me.

  “You need a doctor,” he says.

  “Do you think so?” I start to chuckle but end up wincing instead.

  Noah looks at Colonel Updike. “Burke called in some favors. Had all the surrounding teleporters shut down. I only got half my team through before they killed the power.”

  No teleporter. No direct link to the hub. “What do we do?”

  “Declan Burke sent these men?” Peter asks. Sweat beads his forehead. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Why not?” Noah asks.

  “They shot Emma first.”

  Peter is right. Declan would order me returned unharmed, but I know something he has not yet realized. “He was aiming for you. You bent to help the kid just as he pulled the trigger.”

  “She could be right,” Noah says. “The orders were to leave her untouched and shoot to kill anyone with her.”

  Colonel Updike yells over his shoulder. “Get Emma out of here. Once Burke finds out you came, he’ll send reinforcements.”

  Noah looks at me. I wish I could see more than just his eyes, but he has not removed his face mask. “Think you can hang on for a while?”

  Considering the pain I am in, I would love to curl up somewhere and close my eyes. “Do I have a choice?” It seems I am all out of those today.

  He lays a hand on the side of my head, leaving it there for longer than necessary before taking my right hand. He slaps a warm-handled HK in my palm. “Stay behind me.”

  “We’ve got your back,” Colonel Updike says. “See you at home.”

  My heart lurches with the realization that this is it. Safety break is over. And I have no idea if my friends are here, or if I will see them again. My already light head spins. Please let them survive this.

  Noah crouches and charges out of the hallway, gun raised. It takes me a moment to gather the courage to follow. This is a far different situation than the simulation. That was a room full of harmless cats compared to this hungry lions’ den.

  Noah and I duck behind columns and large cracked plant pots. We are trapped. Declan took no chances with this capture attempt. His men fire from several levels of glass balconies. Resistance fighters either take cover or lie prone on the expansive glass floor, where the ocean sways in a calm juxtaposition to the room above.

  Then I hear it. The unmistakable pitched slice of a hairline break zigzagging across the thick glass bottom. In the chaos of the room, no one else has noticed. A crack starts and stops, angling in several directions into the room. The imbalance of temperatures must be creating thermal stress. The ocean too cold. The plasma fire too hot. Not every shot from above has met with a target, and I know personally just how hot they are.

  I elbow Noah and nod at the new danger. He curses under his breath and taps the com in his ear. “The floor is breaking. Everyone out.”

  The second he finishes speaking, the crack darts into the center of the room. On closer inspection, this flaw in the glass is not the only one. More spiderweb into the middle and meet. The entire room watches in abject horror.

  Noah takes my hand and we sprint into the open. Plasma fire rains down on the unstable floor. We are nearing the hallway, with its nonglass floor, when a massive splash fills the room. The floor collapses and I drop into the ice-cold sea.

  The salt water burns my open wound. Noah, already having made it to the stable floor, never releases my hand, and falls. He lands on his chest with his arm sunk into the ocean. His grip around my wrist is so tight I think he might break the bones.

  I tuck the gun—how I managed to hold on to it is a miracle—into the back of my jeans and kick. My boots are heavy, making the process hard, and I am grateful Noah has not let me go. I could very well sink under their weight.

  In my frenzied paddle to the surface, my ankle gets tangled in the steadfast grip of seaweed. Not two seconds later, Noah yanks my injured arm, and I yelp reflexively in shock and pain. I lose what little air is left in my lungs. Bubbles sneak through my clenched teeth and pop on the undulating surface. Black spots fill my vision and my lungs burn.

  I am going to drown, which is ridiculous considering Noah is right there. I cannot even call for help.

  Noah twists aside as the blue shots of plasma fire seek him out. He releases my hand in the process, and I immediately begin sinking into the obsidian depths. I cannot see the bottom, a
nd every kick makes my situation with the seaweed worse.

  A splash draws my attention and Noah appears above me, his arms rowing in wide arcs to reach me. He wraps his arms around my waist and hauls me toward the surface, but the seaweed will not give.

  I have also been out of breath too long. Darkness threatens to close in around me. Noah yanks his face mask up and his mouth closes over mine. Air rushes into my lungs, hot and humid. He then kicks to the surface, takes a new lungful of air, returns, and repeats the process. By then, it is more than enough. I nod to let him know, then reach down to free my ankle.

  Noah returns with his lungs refilled and mask down tight. He points in the direction of San Francisco and we swim. I am nowhere near as fast as I need to be given the weight of my boots, and he has to help me.

  My lungs burn for air before we reach the outer rim of the lily station. Noah pushes me through the surface first and I gasp too soon, taking water into my lungs. I cough and choke, finding it difficult to stay afloat.

  Noah brackets an arm around my waist. “Almost there,” he says into my ear. “Hold on.”

  If we were on dry land, and if I was not coughing out seawater, I would do more than hold on. I would hug him until he could not breathe. He saved my life. But we are not out of the woods yet. My gratitude will have to wait.

  We swim to the suspension bridge and take a ladder up. My body quakes in response to the chilled wind coupled with my cold, water-soaked clothes. The hard, involuntary jerks make it difficult to move.

  Deadly shots fire on us the second our heads come into view. Noah and I face the assault line and return fire. Behind Declan’s team stand the remains of the resistance, who back us up. Abandoned vehicles crowd the wide bridge, creating a kind of barricade. They were strategically parked at angles to block traffic going in, but also to keep anyone from going out, which leads me to believe the resistance team drove them in.

  Noah heads for one motorcycle in particular and presses his thumb to the biometric scanner while straddling the seat. The motor hums to life and I start to straddle the seat behind him.