Replication Page 11

  He tensed and flushed at her touch, but she quickly let go and said, “Be careful.”

  Then she pulled on a pair of black gloves, heaved a black bag over her shoulder, and left.

  Abby couldn’t concentrate on the drive to school. She shouldn’t have left Marty alone. What if he went outside? What if someone came and took him away and she couldn’t prove he existed? She could just see herself trying to convince the cops that Jason Farms had an underground cloning lab.

  Jason Farms.

  She shuddered, figuring JD stood for Jason something. See? Crazy scientists did have egos.

  But did JD know what his father did for a living? JD held some liberal views about scientific research, but that didn’t mean he knew about his father’s work. Another question nagged at her. Clearly Dr. Kane thought it would be a good idea to clone his son, but why? Wouldn’t seeing a mutilated version of your own son be heartbreaking? How could a parent do that?

  And how could Abby’s dad be a part of it?

  She wanted to text Dad and let him have it, but that would tip him off about where Marty was, and she didn’t want Marty to have to go back. The lab sounded horrible. No color? No socks? No hair? She could only imagine the extent of psychological abuse the clones had suffered at the hands of Dr. Kane. Toxic world … death at age eighteen? Purpose to expire? Not to mention physical abuse involving tasers and pharmaceutical testing. Unbelievable!

  And completely twisted.

  A thought sparked in her mind. She shivered, not liking where it led. A facility that cloned humans would have some level of security. They were bound to have surveillance cameras. Abby didn’t remember seeing any, but she hadn’t been looking. Maybe they didn’t have someone monitoring the feed 24/7, but when they discovered Marty was missing, they’d go back and look. They’d see her snooping around outside. They’d see Marty climb in the back of her dad’s truck.

  And they’d come looking.

  Abby had to find answers before then, and JD was the place to start.

  She parked her car and entered the school, eyes peeled for that familiar to-die-for hair. She didn’t see JD until third period calculus. He was sitting at his desk, his book open in front of him, studiously working on the problems Mrs. Volkman had left on the board.

  He was so cute when he acted normal.

  She needed to snoop around his house, see if his dad had a home office. If she could find something concrete, she could go to the cops. The trick was getting to JD’s house without encouraging any romantic notions. An idea formed as she made her way across the room; she’d play the assignment card. JD knew she was all about academia. In light of their major project, her request shouldn’t seem suspicious. She sank into the empty desk beside his and, having entered his proximity, held her breath.

  JD looked up, a smile defeating his studious expression. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  It was disturbing how identical JD’s and Marty’s faces were. Only Marty was well-mannered and shy, and didn’t reek like the cosmetics department at Walmart.

  Oh, she hoped he stayed safe today.

  Abby opened her notebook. “Could I come to your house this afternoon? I want to see what other books your dad has in his library that might help our project.”

  “Anything for you.” She could hear the smile in his voice, the eagerness, the triumph. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot after sixth.”

  “Perfect.”

  She copied the first problem into her notebook, only she didn’t actually do the logarithm. Her mind dwelled on Marty. She glanced at the clock. 9:57. What was he doing right now? She hoped he was okay and wouldn’t freak out when she didn’t come home right at 3:25.

  Maybe going to JD’s house today was a bad idea—duh, Abby! She didn’t have the training or the gear for infiltration. But she needed hard evidence since the cops wouldn’t buy her story without probable cause. She needed reason enough for a judge to approve a search warrant for Jason Farms.

  The Kane residence had to have something.

  [CHAPTER TWELVE]

  MARTYR WATCHED THE TV FOR HOURS. It was fascinating, filled with endless knowledge. On some numbers the people talked to him, but he quickly realized they didn’t hear the questions he asked back. Other numbers showed people living their lives as if Martyr wasn’t watching. It felt wrong to spy on these people, especially when some of them did things that made his cheeks flush. But again, the people didn’t seem to know he was there.

  He pushed through all the numbers looking for a view of the Farm, hoping he could see what Baby was doing. He found none.

  On level two, he located a small bathroom next to Daughter Abby’s cell. Her smell hung in the air. Something moved to his left, startling him until he realized it was his own reflection. This reflecting glass was much clearer than the mirror wall at the end of the cafeteria and track on the Farm. Martyr studied himself in the shiny surface and noticed he seemed pale compared to people aboveground. He touched his prickly head. When Daughter Abby had called him JD, she had said his hair was his best feature.

  The groomers never said why they shaved the Jasons’ hair. They just always had. Why did I never question these things? Martyr’s eyebrows were thick and dark, as was the hair on the rest of his body. That was the color his hair would be if it ever grew out. He wished he had hair, since Daughter Abby liked it so much.

  He also wished he could wear something colorful. He walked into Daughter Abby’s cell. As soon as he entered the dog jumped off the bed and strutted over to him, arching its back and growling its strange, non-threatening growl. Martyr reached out to touch it. His fingers sank in the soft, white hair that was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The dog raised its head, pressing against Martyr’s hand, increasing its continuous hum. Martyr smiled and studied its scrunched-up face and bulging, gray eyes. The animal seemed to like him. It followed him to the drawers then stood rubbing its body against Martyr’s leg.

  Martyr opened the drawer where Daughter Abby had found the socks. Many colorful socks were in the drawer, but they were all too small for Martyr’s feet. He opened the next drawer and pulled out something that was not socks.

  Underwear. The pair he held were red and soft like nothing he had ever felt. Amazing! He held them up and frowned. They were also too small.

  The other drawer held more colors and shiny fabrics, but Martyr couldn’t understand the purpose for such stringy garments. While he puzzled, the dog walked away as if bored and leapt back up on the bed, curling into a ball, watching with its huge eyes.

  Martyr walked into the closet where the clothing hung down. He pulled out items in the colors he liked best, carried an armful of things into the bathroom, and tried them on in front of the reflecting glass. They were all too small. Daughter Abby was a tiny person.

  An idea came to him. Dr. Goyer lived in this facility. Perhaps he had a cell of his own. And bigger clothing. He walked down the hall to the only other door and slowly pushed it open.

  Dr. Goyer’s cell was dark. Martyr found the switch on the wall that made the lights come on and entered. The walls were green—much darker green than peas. A large bed sat in the middle of the cell, covered in a thick, green blanket. Martyr climbed onto it and lay down. It was very comfortable, wide, and so long his feet didn’t touch the end. He stretched his arms and legs out like an X, and still he didn’t hang off any edges.

  He got up and looked in Dr. Goyer’s drawers. He found more socks and underwear, but Dr. Goyer’s were white or gray or black—nothing colorful like Daughter Abby had. This was disappointing. In the very back of the bottom drawer, he found a pair of long, red socks with bright green triangles on them. Martyr grinned. He sat down on the floor, removed the socks Daughter Abby had given him last night, and pulled the red socks on. They were thinner than the other socks, but the bright red and green colors made him smile.

  Dr. Goyer also had a closet filled with hanging clothes. Dr. Goyer and Daughter Abby must be special people to have so many personal t
hings. Martyr had never been allowed such things. Even his clothes were shared, the dirty ones traded in for a clean set each week at grooming. What freedom to get to choose what colors you wore each day.

  By Martyr’s count, this was Thursday. Grooming day. For once he could choose what fresh clothes to wear. Martyr tried on several things that made him look like a doctor. He imagined he worked at the Farm and had to give marks to Fido and Iron Man for picking on Baby.

  He settled on a dark red shirt that buttoned up the front and a pair of stiff blue pants that snapped around the waist. It took him a long time to thread the buttons through the holes on the shirt. The pants wanted to fall down, but Martyr found a belt that helped them stay up. He also found the orange necktie, but he couldn’t figure out how to knot it around his neck, so he did the best he could. He approved his appearance in the bathroom mirror before going back down to level one.

  At 12:10—when he knew Baby and the others were eating lunch at Jason Farms—Martyr went to the white box where Daughter Abby claimed to have put his sandwich. He pulled the door open and immediately a light blinked on and cold air drifted over him. His eyes widened at all the color. He spotted the plate with the sandwich and removed it. He also saw more bottles of the blue drink Daughter Abby had given him last night and took one. He looked from item to item inside the white box, marveling at the choices of things to eat, then slammed the door shut, remembering how Daughter Abby had been concerned about leaving the door open too long. He took his food and drink and sat at the tall counter where they had eaten breakfast.

  He wondered if he should speak to God, like Daughter Abby had that morning. He very much wanted the Creator of Everything to like him.

  “Hello?” Martyr swallowed. His nervousness made it hard to concentrate. “I-I thank you for this sandwich Daughter Abby made for me to eat. She is a very kind daughter. I, um, also thank you I got to meet her, a real women—woman. I hope I can stay here forever and Baby can come too, and Dr. Goyer and Daughter Abby will want to take care of us. I hope I won’t expire in fifteen days.”

  Daughter Abby had also said something to end her communication—Martyr couldn’t remember what. “Thank you for listening, sir.”

  After Martyr finished his sandwich, he wandered back to the room with the TV. Light now streamed in the windows from outside. Martyr spent a long time staring out the large window. Snow covered everything like cotton balls. The TV had said more was expected to come by Sunday and Martyr wondered how it would arrive.

  He stared at the sky, bits of blue peeking out from the tops of the trees. He pressed his palms to the window and craned his neck to see above him, but the trees were too close to the house and the windows had no way to open. Martyr went to the front door and opened it. A gust of icy air swept inside, chilling his cheeks. But he could not see the sky at all with the way the ceiling hung out over the platform and stairs that led to the ground.

  He closed the door and explored the house, looking for a better view of the sky. On level one, he found an exit that led to the backside of the house. It had a small platform with no ceiling and wooden steps leading to a large, snow-covered clearing that was surrounded by a wall of dark trees. Martyr knelt in the doorway at the top of the steps, careful to keep his body inside the house as Daughter Abby had asked of him.

  The sky stretched overhead like a very high, blue ceiling—a lighter color of blue than the picture of Myrtle Beach but darker than Rolo’s eyes. The sun hung up in the sky, as well, somehow staying there without falling to the ground. It did not have a smiling face or long beams stretching out on all sides like the pictures Dr. Max had drawn. It was a pale, round ball of brightness. It hurt his eyes to stare at the sun, so he studied the clouds instead. They were fluffy and white like the snow.

  Air gusted around him suddenly, shaking the leaves on the trees so that they sounded like running water. Martyr shivered, and listened for other sounds. There were noises like the beeps of the doctor’s machines, but lighter, longer, and erratic—almost musical. A black knife cut across the yard and landed at the side of the facility, where a tiny structure had been mounted on a pole. The knife was a creature … a bird? It bit at the snow around the pole, made a string of beeping music, then went back to … eating, perhaps? Two more birds joined the first, then one flew away, then three others came. Two left. They were very busy and quick.

  Engines hummed in the distance, but Martyr could not see anything that could be making such noise. Something moved in the trees to his left, beyond the birds.

  It was alive—an animal of some kind, but nothing Martyr had ever imagined. It was much bigger than Daughter Abby’s dog, even bigger than the dogs Martyr had seen on the TV that morning. Maybe it was a horse; Dr. Max had once said people could ride on horses’ backs.

  The animal bit a tree branch and snapped it off. Martyr stared as it chewed and chewed. The horse looked bored standing in the snow. Maybe it wanted someone to ride on it? Martyr tried to imagine climbing onto the animal’s back. He did not want to try that at all.

  Soon the horse moved away, and Martyr got so cold that he closed the door and returned to the soft, long chair in front of the TV. This was called a sofa or loveseat or discount item. A man on TV had told him several times he should come on down and purchase one today. He didn’t know how to make the TV stop talking, so he found the device that Daughter Abby had given him and examined it. He pushed the POWER button and the picture box clicked off.

  He smiled and put the device down.

  A stack of books and papers lay on the floor by Martyr’s feet. He leaned over to examine them. One word in particular stuck out.

  Lupus.

  A word he had heard before.

  “What’s the deal?” Kylee asked Abby when Mr. Bunker instructed the debate class to split up and practice for the last five minutes of class. “He’s walking you to class now?”

  Abby sighed. She was beyond weary of her six-foot shadow. Unfortunately, inviting herself over to JD’s place had only encouraged him, despite her business-only study proposition.

  “There’s no deal, Kylee. Trust me.”

  “Then why is he trailing you like a puppy?” A dreamy grin stretched across Kylee’s face. “Must be nice.”

  Abby rolled her eyes and changed the subject. “So can I meet your brother sometime?”

  Kylee shrugged. “Church on Sunday.”

  “Before then. I have something I really need to ask a pastor. Would it bug him if we just showed up?”

  “At his apartment? Probably not. Kids do it all the time. What do you want to ask him?”

  Abby didn’t want to give Kylee any information on the whole Jason Farms problem. The less people who knew about it, the safer Marty would be. “Well … my dad’s a scientist. He’s also not a believer. So I wondered about how I can, uh, you know, talk to my dad about God and my beliefs about science without us always fighting.” It wasn’t a lie. She could use all the help she could get in that department.

  “We can go after school, I guess.”

  Abby wasn’t ready to explain her non-date sleuthing expedition to JD’s house. Kylee would probably go into permanent swoon. “Can I call you? I need to make sure it’s okay with my dad first.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The bell rang. Kylee leaned over and slapped a package of gum on Abby’s desk. “My gift to you, just in case you need minty breath.” She leaped from her desk, and as she passed JD, who was waiting for Abby outside the classroom door, she broke into a fit of the giggles.

  Ha ha. Abby pocketed the gum and sulked toward the door.

  JD walked with her from Mr. Bunker’s classroom, to her locker, and out to the parking lot. He tried convincing her she should ride in his truck, but Abby insisted on following in her car. She didn’t want to be stranded at his place without means of escape, nor did she want to waste time having him bring her back to the school to get her car, which would leave Marty home alone even longer.

  She had to drive f
aster than she liked on the icy roads to keep up with JD’s F–150. He passed the public access road to Lake Praydor and wound down a long driveway surrounded by dense forest.

  JD’s truck slid to a stop in front of a massive, multi-gable brick home overlooking the lake. Abby held in a deep breath. The vast whiteness of the frozen water peeked through the trees behind the house, and on the lake a small airplane with skis perched on the frozen expanse like a weightless bird.

  She climbed out of her car and met JD on the neatly shoveled walk. “Is that your plane?”

  “Not mine personally. It’s my dad’s. I’ve flown it, though. I’m getting my pilot’s license.”

  My, my. The things the mega-rich got to do—like I can talk, Miss BMW Sports Car. If she wanted a pilot’s license bad enough, her dad would find a way to make it happen. The reality of that made her feel dirty somehow. Must have something to do with the company she was in.

  At least she didn’t wear a whole bottle of perfume every day. That was just wasteful.

  JD led the way into an immense living room. As a buffer, Abby stopped beside the polished wooden banister of a large staircase while she took in the sight. Black leather furniture stood in contrast to a sandy-white hardwood floor. At the opposite end of the room, a large bearskin rug laid in front of a stone fireplace that stretched up the wall and out the ceiling. Wide picture windows reached two stories high along the wall between fireplace and staircase, overlooking the lake. The view drew a small, involuntary gasp from Abby’s lips.

  Hello, Lifestyles of the Rich and Not-So-Famous.

  “Like it?” JD walked up behind her and grabbed one of the bars halfway up the stairs. She could feel his arm behind her head, which meant he was leaning again. Could the guy not stand up straight?

  Talk about walking into the lions’ den. On purpose.

  She’d be lucky to leave alive or at least unmauled. She glanced back to the bearskin rug on the floor and wondered what a JD rug would look like on her living room floor.