Replication Page 13

  “Nice socks,” Abby said.

  Marty grinned that wide, unguarded smile and Abby melted.

  Marty looked at her dad, eyebrows scrunched together. “I’m sorry I took your keycard, Dr. Goyer. I wanted to see the sky and no one would help me.”

  “I know, son. I know.”

  Heat flared up inside Abby again. “He says he’s going to expire. Why would that be?”

  Dad shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure yet. They don’t tell me everything. But I don’t think they die on their own.”

  “So they kill them when they turn eighteen?”

  Dad gripped the edge of Abby’s bed and leaned forward. “I’m the newest scientist at the Farm, honey. Privileges and knowledge come with time.”

  “But you know JD stands for Jason something, right?”

  Dad motioned to Martyr. “Why do you think I flipped out when I saw JD Junior in our living room?”

  “Because you don’t want me dating any—wait. Junior? JD is named after his … dad?”

  “Yes.”

  Abby fell back on her rear. “Dad, I think Dr. Kane is sick.”

  “I know you don’t agree with cloning, but he’s actually quite brilliant. They’re doing some fascinating research—”

  “No, I mean sick as in has a disease. At first I thought it was JD, because I saw the name Jason Kane on a co-payment receipt for immune suppressants in Dr. Kane’s house. I assumed it was JD, because it was his idea to do our project on lupus and he brought me the pamphlet—”

  “Whoa.” Dad’s face flushed. “When were you at his … why were you at his house?”

  “—on genetic disease. So after I left his house—where I went strictly for research—I figured JD must have lupus but … Dad? I think it’s Dr. Kane.”

  Dad pushed his glasses up his nose and groaned. “Abby, I cannot reveal confidential information about my work.”

  “Oh, Dad. We’re way past that now.”

  “Dr. Kane is sick,” Marty said. “I think he wants my kidneys. I heard him talking to Dr. Elliot. He said I was the healthiest of the J:3s.” He looked at Dad. “But transplants come from donors, right? So why wouldn’t Dr. Kane find a donor?”

  Abby froze. Kidneys could fail in some extreme cases of lupus. She’d read it in the pamphlet JD gave her.

  “Because not all donors are a match,” Dad said.

  Abby gasped, the truth clicking in her mind like the combination on a lock. “Dad?” Her eyes were wide, and she wondered if they were bulging as much as Dad’s had back on the stairs. “Dad, they’re all Dr. Kane’s—” She took a long, deep breath. “Dr. Kane cloned himself?”

  Dad hung his head.

  Marty looked slightly bewildered. Abby reached out and took his hand. It was bigger than hers and warmer too. She wrapped her fingers with his and squeezed. He squeezed back.

  She turned her anger back to her dad. “How could he do that? Clone himself when he’s sick?”

  “He’s trying to find a cure.”

  “That’s a strange way to go about it. No wonder so many are broken. If they already have lupus, what chance do they have?” Abby brought her thumbnail to her lips and said, “We can’t let him go back there.”

  “He might not be safe on his own,” Dad said. “He doesn’t know our world.”

  “He can learn. He’s super smart. In fact, I’d been meaning to ask why they educate the clones.”

  “It keeps them occupied and healthy.”

  Abby paused, prayed for patience, and put on her most pleading only-child face. “Even if you and I don’t agree that cloning humans is wrong, you’ve got to admit that keeping over four dozen boys in an underground lab their whole life is false imprisonment. Kidnapping, even. And then killing them for their kidneys, Dad? Murder. Surely these are laws you can’t argue with.”

  “But if clones aren’t human, they don’t have the same rights as …” Dad took off his glasses and rubbed his face.

  Abby sucked in a sharp breath, ready to spout out that no judge in America could look at Martyr’s sweet face and say he wasn’t human.

  Be still.

  Abby blinked. Everything in her wanted to fight, but the soft voice prodded again.

  Be still.

  When Dad looked up, his eyes were moist. “One of the last things your mother ever said to me was, ‘Please don’t kill to avenge my death.’” Dad put his glasses back on. “I told myself she was very sick, that she didn’t really know what she was saying. That the disease had …” Dad squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed. “I don’t understand a lot at Jason Farms, but I’ve run enough tests this week to know that most of the boys are perfectly healthy. I can see no reason for them to … expire.”

  A chill ran over Abby. Dad would help. Jason Farms had gone too far, even for him. It was a start, one she would accept for now.

  Thank you, Lord, for helping him see that much.

  Dad stood. “They’ll come looking for him. We need to get the tracker out of his ear, or it will lead them straight here.”

  “Tracker?” Abby swatted her dad’s leg. “When were you going to mention this?”

  Marty looked from Abby to Dad and back to Abby. “What’s a tracker?”

  Dad walked to the door. “Come on into the bathroom, son.”

  Abby stood, took Marty’s hand, and helped him up. Marty didn’t let go of her hand, so they trailed after Dad together.

  “Wait here,” Dad said. “I need a razor blade.”

  Once Dad left, Abby stared at the reflection in the mirror above the sink. Was it bad that she liked how they looked holding hands?

  She bumped her shoulder against his arm. “Red looks good on you.”

  Marty’s face tinged pink and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. His presence made her heart start up like a generator. He turned his head to look down on her. She made eye contact. Big mistake. His hot chocolate eyes heated her to the core. Like JD, he was so intense, but about different things. Marty was just plain curious about life.

  Dad returned with a little pile of first aid supplies and a pair of wire clippers. He set his goods on the counter and shut the toilet lid.

  “Put your right foot up here.”

  Marty complied but wobbled. Abby let go of his hand and slid against his side, wrapping her arm around his waist. To keep him steady, of course.

  He turned his intense eyes on her again, then settled his arm around her shoulders.

  Dad took the wire clippers to the ring on Marty’s ankle. “I don’t think the taser will work this far from the lab, but better to be safe.” He squeezed the clippers and emitted a tiny grunt before a crack rang out. Dad set the clippers on the floor, wrenched the ring off Marty’s ankle, and tossed it on the counter.

  Marty put his foot down, so Abby left his side and picked up the taser. A plastic shell coated the outside of the ring, but inside, pairs of electrodes were evenly spaced.

  Barbaric.

  “Go ahead and sit down,” Dad told Marty.

  Marty obeyed. Dad placed his hand on the back of Marty’s head and tipped it forward. “Hold very still. I’m no surgeon.”

  Dad folded Marty’s left ear forward and ran a finger over the top edge. Abby could see a black line through the skin. Eww.

  “It’s going to hurt for a second,” Dad said, putting the razor into position. “One … two … three.”

  Abby winced as Dad carved along the black line. Marty twitched. Then Dad tossed the razor into the sink and pushed at the black line with his thumbnail.

  Marty’s breath hitched.

  “Got it!” Dad held a bloody black chip in the palm of his hand. He snapped it in half with his fingers and set it on the counter. “I’ll take that into town and drop it somewhere just in case.”

  Dad moved to the sink to wash his hands, and Abby took over. She swabbed Marty’s cut with an alcohol wipe and covered it with a bandage.

  “All done,” she said.

  “Thank you, Daughter Abby.”

>   “She’s not daughter to you,” Dad said. “She’s just Abby. Abby Goyer.”

  Marty looked from Dad into Abby’s eyes. “Thank you, Abby Goyer.”

  How sweet was that? Abby beamed. She liked the way he said her name, without the baiting intonation JD used.

  Dad turned the water off. “They hadn’t known he’d left the building until just before I went home. All day they thought he was hiding somewhere. Martyr has a lot of little hiding spots, don’t you?”

  “I help Baby hide, and sometimes Hummer.”

  Dad patted Marty on the shoulder. “Dr. Kane was out of the office all morning and by the time he arrived, the guards had started to suspect you’d gotten outside somehow—mostly because of the missing keycards.”

  Marty’s face flushed.

  Dad went on. “When Dr. Kane demanded to see the surveillance tapes from last night, the lab went into an uproar. I guess he hadn’t asked for surveillance tapes in so long no one remembered how to do it. Then he wanted them to pull Martyr’s code up on the tracker system, which is something they’ve never had to use. They didn’t even have the computer software set up. Got spoiled with the video surveillance, I guess. Dr. Kane put a guy on it, but he’d barely started when I left. The lower levels were on lockdown. Dr. Kane sent everyone home who wasn’t necessary.

  “Long story short, we’ve got to get him out of our house. If the parking lot has a surveillance tape, and I’m sure it does, we need to find someplace else for him before they see it, otherwise—”

  “I can take him to see Kylee’s brother. He’ll be able to help us, I think.” Didn’t all pastors take vows to help the orphans and widows or something?

  “We can’t drag more people into this,” Dad said.

  “But we need someplace to keep him outside of our house, in case anyone from the lab comes looking. Kylee’s brother is a pastor. He’ll keep everything confidential.”

  Dad groaned softly, so Abby kept going. “And I think you should call the police—after Marty is safe, of course. Tell them Marty came here in the back of your truck, but you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Exactly. But then we say I freaked out when he snuck inside my room, and you came running, then called the police. We make it seem like this just happened.”

  Dad tipped back his head. “That way we won’t look involved.”

  Marty’s eyebrows sank. “What are the police?”

  “Police are people who enforce order and safety and laws,” Abby said.

  “Like Rolo and Johnson?”

  “Kind of,” Dad said. “But police aren’t … They don’t … They’re nicer. They’re on our side.”

  Abby squeezed Marty’s hand. “It’ll be okay. Then Dad can call Jason Farms and report it, saying he didn’t realize it was you until after he called the police.” She turned to Dad. “You should ask them what you should do next. Make them think you’re still on their side.”

  Dad shot Abby a withering glare. “I never said I wasn’t on their side.”

  Marty looked terribly confused. “You want them to find me?”

  “No.” Abby took Martyr’s hand. “But we don’t want to look suspicious. They won’t find you at Pastor Scott’s place. Trust me.”

  “I trust you, Abby Goyer.”

  She smiled. Cloned boys were way nicer than the regular ones. Cloned JDs, anyway.

  [CHAPTER FOURTEEN]

  MARTYR HAD NEVER RIDDEN inside a car. He liked the red color of this one very much, but the seatbelt reminded him of the restraints on the exam tables at the Farm. He shifted in his seat, pulling at the confining strap across his chest and staring at the surroundings flashing by. The only thing that made it bearable was the fact Abby’s car smelled sweet like her. He gripped the handle above the door as she steered around the curves in the road. The car moved very fast over the hard snow, and twice, when Abby slowed at a red sign that said STOP, the car skidded over the white line.

  Martyr wasn’t convinced this was normal.

  Abby steered the car into an open area with many other cars of different sizes, colors, and styles. She stopped and climbed out. Martyr followed her toward a tall facility with many windows. The sky was starting to grow dim, and the lights shone brightly from the glass panes.

  Martyr slipped on the icy ground, not used to the boots Dr. Goyer had loaned him. He was glad to have them, as they—and the red Christmas socks—kept his feet from touching the freezing ground, but they were tight, pinched his toes, and felt awkward to walk in.

  Abby grabbed his arm. “Careful. It’s really slick here.”

  Martyr wanted to answer, but her statement seemed so obvious, he wasn’t certain she sought a response. As she drew him closer, her sweet smell reached his nose. It was harder to detect in the cold air, but still pleasant. He liked how she worried over him. No one had ever worried over Martyr like this. Not since Dr. Woman, anyway.

  “Kylee said he’s in apartment 5C,” Abby said. “Try to remember that in case you leave for some reason. But don’t leave unless I come for you or tell you otherwise.”

  “5C,” Martyr repeated as Abby pressed a button on a silver box attached to a black gate.

  “And keep my cell phone in case you need it.” She held out the red device.

  Martyr took the device from her, running his fingers over the smooth, red top. Cell phone?

  “Hello?” The voice came from the box.

  “Pastor Scott? This is Abby Goyer. Kylee’s friend? She said she called you. Is this a bad time? We really need your help.”

  “Not at all, come on up.”

  The box emitted a metallic buzz, one Martyr wasn’t sure he liked. Abby pushed open the gate, took Martyr by the hand, and went inside, towing him along. Her touch—even wrapped in the black glove—sent a wave of heat through his body. Her hand was small and always seemed to know what to do. Her hands would never hurt anyone, either; Martyr just knew it.

  A tall man with dark brown skin answered door 5C. His hair was very short and black, and a short beard shaded his chin. He opened the door wide enough for Abby and Martyr to enter. Martyr tried not to stare, but the man’s skin was even darker than Dr. Max’s.

  “Have a seat, guys.” The man motioned to a long, brown, L-shaped sectional, similar to the one shown on TV. This room also had a TV, much smaller than the one at Abby’s facility.

  Abby sat in the center of the sectional. Martyr sat beside her. A woman with short, curly black hair stepped out of a doorway at the back of the room. Her skin was lighter brown, like Dr. Max’s. And there was something wrong with this woman: her stomach protruded out in front abnormally, making the fabric of her shirt stretch tight over her belly like she was hiding something. She took her time lowering herself onto the end of the sectional, as if her body were injured.

  The woman’s smile took up most her face. “Hi, I’m Aliza, Scott’s wife.” She leaned over and held out her hand.

  Martyr stared at her hand. Was he supposed to do something? He turned to Abby and whispered, “What’s wife?”

  “I’ll explain later.” Abby reached across Martyr’s lap and grasped Aliza’s hand briefly. “I’m Abby.”

  Martyr whispered again, “Is she a broken?”

  Abby gave him a curious smile. “Why do you ask?”

  Martyr touched his stomach. “She has an abnormal growth.”

  Abby giggled, her green eyes sparkling. “Aliza’s pregnant. I’m sure she’s perfectly healthy.”

  Martyr wanted to ask what pragment was but figured now was the wrong time.

  Pastor Scott sat on the arm of a recliner across the room. There had been many recliners “on sale now” on the TV as well.

  “You’re JD Kane, right?” Pastor Scott asked. “I saw you play against Colony at regionals.”

  Again Martyr looked to Abby, not knowing what to say.

  Abby scooted to the edge of the sectional. “Pastor Scott, something amazing has been going on in this community for a long
time. Completely unethical, but amazing. Did Kylee tell you anything about my dad?”

  “Only that the two of you have some major differences of opinions.”

  “My dad’s a molecular biologist. For years he’s been seeking cures for diseases via embryonic stem cell technology. It’s a pretty controversial line of work, but my mom had cancer, and even though Mom disagreed with Dad’s line of work, he was desperate. Anyway, this is the first job Dad has taken since we lost Mom last year. I had hoped he was working someplace … normal.”

  Martyr had no parents, but he could imagine that losing a mother must be horrible. Losing Dr. Woman and the J:1s and J:2s had been hard enough.

  “JD Kane is my lab partner at Fishhook High,” Abby said. “He was at my house last night studying. Kylee was there too. When they left, I went up to my room and found Marty.” She placed her hand on Martyr’s thigh, causing his stomach to lighten. “I thought it was JD, playing some weirdo prank, until JD called my cell phone from his truck. He’d forgotten some of his books and wanted me to run them out to him since my dad didn’t seem to like him much.”

  “JD was on the phone, but this guy”—Pastor Scott pointed at Martyr—”was in your room?”

  “Exactly,” Abby said. “I ran out to give JD his books—he really was out in his truck, with hair—and when I came back inside, Marty was still in my room. He said he stole my dad’s keycard, got out of the lab, and rode to my house in the back of Dad’s truck. I guess I should explain my dad works at an underground lab called Jason Farms, which is run by Dr. Jason Kane. According to Marty, there are fifty-five Jasons on this Farm. I think they’re all clones of Dr. Kane.”

  Pastor Scott’s lips twisted in a small smile. “Real cute, guys. Did Danny Chang put you up to this? ‘Cause I’m gonna get that guy good.”

  “You have to believe me,” Abby said. “Marty is in danger—the scientists want him back. Please, can he stay here for now? Just until things calm down? Dad is worried they’ll come to the house any minute.”

  Pastor Scott glanced at Aliza. “Abby, we’ve just met JD—I mean, your friend. I don’t think—”

  “Marty’s the nicest guy in the world, I promise. You don’t have anything to worry about. May he sleep on your couch, at least for tonight? He has a lot of questions about God that I don’t know how to answer. The Bible doesn’t really talk about cloning, so—”