Replication (23 page)

Martyr slipped and almost fell. His numb feet no longer wanted to walk.

Dr. Kane frowned. “You all right? The van’s just up there. See the taillights?”

Martyr glanced over his shoulder and slipped again, only this time he fell, barely managing to keep JD on the stretcher.

“We can rest a second, son, if you need to. I guess that was a long ways to carry a— Where are your shoes?”

Martyr could hardly believe Dr. Kane had just noticed he didn’t have shoes on, but he was starting to realize Dr. Kane only noticed what he wanted to. He forced himself to stand, ignoring the numb ache in his feet.

“JD. I asked where your shoes are.”

Martyr tackled Dr. Kane, straddling him in the snow. He clamped one hand around the doctor’s neck, reached under his shirt, and pulled the second syringe from his waistband. He yanked off the cap with his teeth, spit it into the snow, and poised the tip over Dr. Kane’s shoulder. “You will tell me where Gunnolf and Camp Ragnar are or I will give you what I gave Dr. Elliot.”

Dr. Kane’s lips parted. His eyes flashed to JD, then back. “M-Martyr?”

The elevator dinged open. A gust of cold air swirled around Abby.

“Get a RIC team in there and bring those kids out!” a man yelled from the darkness, his voice a deep growl. “And someone hold that door!”

A fireman rushed forward, stuck his boot against the elevator door, and waved her out.

Runstrom’s voice rose over the mob. “Don’t let it shut.”

Four more firemen followed. They all wore black hard hats and tan gear trimmed with apple-green reflective bands. The first three each picked up a Jason, took another by the hand, and led them from the room.

The fourth fireman picked up both toddlers and carried them out. “Come with me, miss.”

Abby followed him into the barn. “My dad’s down there. You have to help him.”

“Don’t you worry about your dad,” the fireman said, boosting one of the toddlers higher. “We’re gonna get down there, but first we need to get you all out of this barn.”

The firemen led Abby outside. The cold air gripped her, worse because of her damp clothing. She realized for the first time that she wasn’t wearing her coat. What had Dr. Elliot done with it? The parking lot glittered with flashing red, blue, and white emergency vehicle lights. Firemen milled around. The policemen had moved to the back of the parking lot.

Abby followed the fireman toward an ambulance, but a different fireman stepped into her path with Officer Runstrom at his side.

Runstrom nodded a greeting. “Miss Goyer, this here’s Chief Shawn Bremner from the Fishhook Fire Department. He’s taken over the scene until the fire is dealt with.”

Excellent. The man in charge. “My dad’s still down there. Can you go get him?”

“We’ll take good care of your dad,” Chief Bremner said, “but I need you to tell me a bit about the fire. Can you do that for me?” He held up Marty’s map of the Farm, now sheathed in a plastic sheet protector.

Abby took the map and set it on the hood of the fire chief’s Chevy Suburban. She rotated Marty’s sketch and tapped the monitor room. “The fire was contained to this room, but it started to burn through the wall into Dr. Kane’s office here. That was a good ten minutes ago. My dad is in here.” She pointed to Dr. Elliot’s office on the map. “Please send someone down for him. I don’t know if anyone else is left.”

“Apparently some unhappy guards,” Chief Bremner said. “Rescue One found forty or so boys at the end of your first tunnel. They claimed to have locked the guards in some isolation rooms. Any ideas where those might be?”

“Here on this end, near the staircase, I think.” She pointed to three narrow rooms in a row.” She dropped the keycard ring on
the hood next to Mary’s map. “Dr. Kane took Marty and JD out another tunnel. It ran off level three going”—she paused to get her bearings and pointed—”east. It probably goes out at least as far, maybe farther since its ten feet deeper.”

“Wesley told me about that,” Runstrom said. “I’ve got men out looking for it.”

A young fireman draped a blanket over Abby’s shoulders. “That ought to help.”

“Thanks.” She offered a quick smile then turned back to Chief Bremner. “Can’t you just go down the elevator and get my dad?”

“I need to know what we’re dealing with first. I don’t like how that elevator is smoking. The shaft is a natural chimney—it’ll pull the fire like a magnet. But the sprinklers likely kept the fire from spreading. I’d like to go in that tunnel, but it’s pretty long for an attack line. You think this other tunnel is going to be even longer?”

“I don’t know,” Abby said. “Probably.”

Chief Bremner raised his voice. “I need two more teams. Get on the radios so we can do this together. Team one is already at the tunnel. Team two, grab the chainsaw and work on a hole through the floor on the east end of the barn, see if you can get to that stairwell and find a standpipe. Team three goes down the elevator. Take plenty of RIC bags with you.”

Chief Bremner’s radio hissed static, then a voice said, “Rescue One to Battalion Chief.”

The chief lifted the radio to his mouth. “Go, Rescue One.”

“Yeah, Chief. What are we gonna do with all these kids? I’ve got forty-six over here. Babies to teens. They’re half-dressed, no shoes or socks. Got any ideas what …”

Runstrom led Abby away from the fire chief toward a group of police officers standing around a cruiser. “Jackson?”

The female officer who’d interviewed Abby at her house stepped out of the crowd. “Sir?”

Runstrom put a hand on Abby’s head. “Get her out to an ambulance and make sure she’s checked over.”

“I’m fine.” Abby could handle the pain in her shoulder a bit longer. “I want to be here when you get everyone out.”

“You’ll see them when you see them. Now, give me my phone and scat.” He held out her red cell. It looked funny in his long fingers. She swapped phones and followed Jackson, folding her good arm in front of her body and drawing into herself. The parking lot glittered with flashing red, blue, and white emergency vehicle lights, and the harsh wind made the frigid night seem colder. Her boots crunched over the snow as she walked toward an ambulance.

She said nothing to Jackson, and Jackson said nothing to her.

Jackson addressed a paramedic. “Need you to check this one over.”

The young man opened the back door on the ambulance. “Sit down here and let me take a look. Anything hurt?”

“I think my shoulder is dislocated.” Abby sat down and chewed her lip. Her gaze caught dozens of flashlight beams flickering in the distant woods. She prayed the men would find Marty and JD.

The paramedic grimaced as he ran his fingers over her shoulder. “When did it happen?”

“I don’t know. Hours ago.”

“We’d better take you in. I could try to manipulate the shoulder back into position, but it would be best to have an X-ray first, and I’m sure you’d like some anesthesia.”

Abby straightened. “I’ll go. But not until I know my dad’s safe.” And Marty.

Martyr kept the syringe poised over Dr. Kane’s shoulder. “You lied to us. This world is not toxic.”

Dr. Kane looked back to JD’s body. “My boy?”

“He pretended to be me. To help Abby.”

“No!” Dr. Kane lurched and punched Martyr in the eye, knocking him into the snow.

Martyr rolled over and scrambled back, watching in confusion. He had not expected Dr. Kane to care deeply for any of his clones, even the one he called son.

Dr. Kane crawled to the stretcher and lifted JD’s head into his lap. “JD.” He glared at Martyr. “You killed my son!”

Martyr was almost positive JD was only sedated. “He chose to do what he did.”

“Twenty years I’ve been in this location. Twenty years, and no one has tried to escape. Why now? You’re
my
clone, designed by me to serve
my
purposes.”

“I only wanted to see the sky.”

Dr. Kane looked up. “What’s so great about the sky?”

The colors were still streaking above. “The Creator is painting.”

Dr. Kane snorted. “She told you about God?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose she told you God created you?”

“Yes. She told me many things about the Creator of Everything.”

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

Martyr continued staring at the sky. “Yes.”

Dr. Kane got to his feet and lifted his side of the stretcher. He pulled it, making a deep stripe in the snow as he went. “Will you help me? I want to take him home. You can stay, if you like, but I want to take him to his mother.”

Mother
. Yes. Martyr would help JD be with his mother. He pushed to his feet and crouched to lift the stretcher. A branch snapped to Martyr’s left. Somewhere in the dark.

Dr. Kane picked up his end of the bed. “Quick. Quick!”

But Martyr straightened. “It is time to stop hiding, Dr. Kane. We will see what the world will do with us now that we have been found.”

“No.” Dr. Kane dragged the stretcher again, gaining only a few feet at a time. “Help me!”

A light shifted in the distance, further away than where the noise had come from. Martyr sank onto the ground, no longer able to stand on his numb feet. He pulled one foot up and set it across his knee, rubbing the icy flesh.

A voice broke the silence, sounding like it had come from a TV with the volume turned very loud. “This is the Fishhook Police
Department. Lie down and put your hands on the back of your head.”

Dr. Kane ran back to Martyr and held the gun to his temple. “I’m taking my son and going home!”

“Put down the gun, and we’ll talk this through,” the loud voice said. “Far as I can see, you haven’t done anything wrong. We only want to ask you some questions, that’s all. Just some questions.”

“Ask your questions now.”

“They’re not my questions, sir. I just need to bring you in. Let’s not make things difficult.”

Dr. Kane pressed the gun harder against Martyr’s head.

“Easy,” the loud voice said, drawing the word out. “Why don’t you lay down the weapon and let us take you someplace warm?”

Martyr liked the sound of someplace warm. He wanted to be away from Dr. Kane, with Abby, wearing the Christmas socks. He didn’t like the way Dr. Kane’s gun felt against his head. Martyr feared it could somehow inject him with death, like a syringe.

Dr. Kane’s arm relaxed slightly, and Martyr grabbed the gun and yanked it down. The doctor grunted and fought to get it back, forcing Martyr to pull with both hands and raise the gun above their heads. Suddenly, Dr. Kane struck Martyr’s stomach with his free hand. Martyr gasped and bent over, gripping the weapon with all his strength. Dr. Kane fell on top of him. They rolled in the cold snow in a tangle of limbs until the gun exploded.

A
BBY JUMPED OFF THE BACK
of the ambulance. “Did you hear that?”

“Sounded like a gunshot,” the paramedic said.

Abby sprinted toward the police cars, her injured arm slack and slightly twisted at her side. She found Runstrom talking on his CB. “Did you hear the shot? What happened?”

Runstrom held up a hand and turned his back to Abby. “Park it out on Lakeview. We need to keep this lot clear for emergency vehicles.” Runstrom lowered the radio and faced Abby. “You got any idea who else works here?”

“
What?
A gun went off.” Abby pointed to the forest.

“We caught Dr. Kane trying to sneak away. They’re bringing him over now.”

“What about Marty and JD?”

“We’ll know soon, okay? In the meantime, I could use your help.”

Abby fought the urge to scream.
God, give me patience …
“What do you need?”

He motioned to where Baby sat inside a patrol car with three of the little Jasons she’d brought up the elevator. “They’re bringing a bunch more boys over. I’ve got a bus on the way, but I’m going to need help with some of the little ones. I guess they’re crying pretty bad. Allam’s a bachelor—he doesn’t exactly know what to do with a bunch of screaming kids. And if anyone asks, keep quiet about the cloning for now. I’m not sure how the FBI, or whoever, is going to handle that.” Runstrom looked across the parking lot and shouted, “Reeves! Get OCS over here, pronto.”

A full-sized school bus pulled up where the driveway to Jason Farms met Lakeview Road. Abby and Officer Allam led the boys to it, four at a time, where a woman from the Office of Child Services wrote each boy’s number or name on a list as they boarded.

Abby felt sorry for the boys. They looked around, shivering and confused. No shoes or socks. A few asked for Martyr. Abby glanced at the dark forest, desperate to see him come out.

“I wonder who this Martyr is,” the OCS woman said.

“He’s one of the older boys.” Abby looked again to the forest. “He hasn’t come out yet.”

“You know how many there are?”

“Marty said fifty-five.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” The woman tapped her pen against the clipboard in her hands, then glanced at Baby, who stood beside Abby, wearing a pair of boots that looked twice his size. “You got any ideas what they went through down there? Where they came from? Why they all look like they’re related?”

Abby took Baby’s hand. “Not really.” Abby was glad Runstrom had told her to keep quiet about the cloning. If the press got hold of the information … Abby had no desire for Marty and the other Jasons to become celebrities. They had enough trouble as it was.

“Abby, honey?”

Abby whirled around. Her dad stood behind her, a wool blanket draped over his shoulders. “Daddy!”

He folded her into a gentle hug. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and began to cry as Dad rocked her slowly and kissed the top of her head. “Forgive me?”

“For what?”

“For everything.”

She sniffled and looked into his eyes. “Yeah, Dad. I forgive you.” She swallowed and glanced at the trees. The Northern Lights danced in the dark sky above. She hoped Marty could see it. “Marty’s still out there, Dad. JD too.”

“It’ll be okay. Know why?”

Abby shook her head.

Dad smirked. “Because I prayed.”

Even though Dad had only been at Jason Farms a week, the boys responded to his familiar and friendly face. The OCS woman gladly let Dad on the bus. Abby halted on the step just below him and peered over the top of the first seat at all the little, bald heads. Baby stood just outside the bus, holding on to the hem of the blanket draped around her shoulders.

“You need to trust me,” Dad said to the boys. “The world is not toxic. Dr. Kane lied to you about that. But he’s no longer in charge, and you all deserve to know the truth. You aren’t going to live at the Farm anymore. We’re taking you to a place for a few days until we can figure out where you’ll go next.”

“Where’s Martyr?”

“Did Martyr expire?”

Dad gave the boys a weary smile as he and Abby stepped back outside. “I promise I’ll answer all your questions as soon as I can.”

Dad joined the social services woman beside the bus, and tried to explain the boys’ situation. “It’s imperative you keep them together. Email me a copy of the full roster, and I can check it against mine. I have a detailed list at home. Once we can match each boy to his information, it will help us go from there. For instance, a few are on special medications. We should be able to get most of what we need from a local pharmacy.”

Abby stepped away from her dad as a stretcher being carried out from the forest caught her gaze. She jogged toward it, Baby at her heels.

The stretcher held a delirious Dr. Kane, his left leg matted with blood. Abby stopped to watch as the paramedics pushed him into an empty ambulance and went right to work. A man pressed a cloth to his leg and Dr. Kane howled. Abby turned back to the forest to see two more paramedics struggling in the deep snow with a second stretcher. A bald head rested on the white mattress.
Marty
.

She dashed to the stretcher, grabbing on and running alongside. The scratches on his cheeks were not as red as before. His eyelids fluttered, he groaned, but he did not wake.

Abby sighed, her heart torn within her. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s got a strong pulse. He should be fine.”

Abby stopped and let the paramedics carry the stretcher away. Baby stepped up beside her, and she put her good arm around his shoulders. “It wasn’t him, Baby.”

Inside, she scanned the crowd of Fishhook PD, state troopers, paramedics, firefighters, and Jasons. Fido sat in the back of a squad car, arms handcuffed behind him. Abby wondered how many cops he had attacked to earn such special treatment.

Baby grunted and pulled Abby’s arm. She followed his gaze to Runstrom’s back.

The officer’s voice carried over to where they stood. “Look, I’m just the messenger, kid. He’s asking for you. You don’t want to go,
I got no problems with that. He’s out in the fire-squad ambulance if you care. If not, go ahead and get on the bus.”

Behind Runstrom, Marty stood, arms folded, his left eye puffy and dark, though the swelling on his lip had gone down. He had a wool blanket draped over him and wore a pair of black boots. Baby grunted a scream and ran to his friend. Marty hugged Baby close and, over his shoulder, met Abby’s gaze. He whispered in Baby’s ear, released him, and walked toward Abby. She ran to meet him.

Marty caught her, wrapping his strong arms around her so tightly she could feel his heart beating against her cheek. Abby ignored her throbbing shoulder. Her voice came high-pitched and whiny over her tears. “I heard the gunshot. I thought you’d—”

He released her and put his finger over her lips. “Dr. Kane’s gun injected his own leg.”

She giggled at his funny phrasing and kissed him. She pulled back when she recalled Runstrom’s words. “He’s asking for you?”

Marty’s voice softened. “Dr. Kane is dying.”

Marty and her dad needed to stay for questioning, so Abby reluctantly let the ambulance take her in to have her shoulder looked at. The hospital took X-rays, found no fractures, and popped it back in. She now had it in a sling and would go back in a week to have it looked at. While the doctor hadn’t thought it would need surgery, he wanted to be safe and keep an eye on it.

Sometime the next morning, after Officer Jackson got a full statement from Abby, her dad drove her to the high school gym where they were keeping the older boys. According to Dad, the babies had gone out to temporary foster care.

Local OCS workers had filled the gym with enough cots for each Jason. While Abby and her dad visited with the Jasons, a cop with a Walmart sack passed out pairs of socks and sweatshirts, and a social worker passed out disaster kits. The boys played with their kits, wearing the Band-Aids on their faces like stickers. Extra officers milled around to keep order. The boys, smitten with Abby,
obeyed every word she said. She did her best to explain what was happening.

But the bigger question was what would happen now? These boys were not runaways or orphans or even kidnapped children. These were cloned humans, without parents to claim them or social security cards to prove they existed. Greedy people would be eager to exploit them. If only Abby could do something.

Worse, in the aftermath it was confirmed that Marty had killed Dr. Elliot. It had been self-defense in a way … premeditated self-defense. Abby twisted her lips in frustration. Marty would likely go free because no one could prove he’d done anything. Still, what would they set him free to?

Last she’d heard, he was in the hospital, along with JD and Dr. Kane. Abby wondered if the cops didn’t simply want Marty under unofficial surveillance.

Lunchtime came and two social workers passed out fast food burritos. The Jasons were enamored with the colorful wrappers. Wesley and another state trooper set up a movie screen and projector at one end of the gym to show
Pinocchio
. Abby found that an ironic choice.

The Jasons crowded around, staring, while Wesley guarded the screen and answered questions about colors and animals and cuckoo clocks and Cleo the fish. A few Jasons tossed wadded-up elastic bandages from their disaster kits at the screen. Every so often one would try talking to the cartoons. Mostly the younger boys. Two of the older boys tried to dance like Geppetto. This cheered Abby up for a bit, but she missed Marty.

As Jiminy ran down the road after Pinocchio and Honest John, Dad received a call from Runstrom. JD had woken and seemed to have recovered fully, but Dr. Kane needed an immediate kidney transplant or he would die. The stress of the gunshot wound had weakened him to the point where his body couldn’t wait any longer.

Abby wasn’t surprised. “Dad, there’s no way he’ll be able to get a kidney that soon. I bet he didn’t even bother to get on a transplant list this time.”

Her dad’s lips pursed, and he glanced at the floor.

She knew that look. “Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Martyr is giving him a kidney.”

Every molecule of air rushed from Abby’s body. Tears instantly flooded her eyes.

“Just one,” Dad said.

Abby sat on the end of a cot. “Dad, how? Do they think he’s JD? Are they forcing him to—?”

“No one forced him. Dr. Kane asked and Martyr agreed. They’re doing it as we speak.”

Abby stared at the movie screen. Jiminy Cricket tried to free Pinocchio from the cage where Stromboli held him captive. Why would Marty do this? Why would he help that evil, horrible man? Dr. Kane had taken everything from the Jasons. He’d abused them, lied to them, killed them. Why would Marty help him?

“Runstrom said he’d call us when Marty’s out of surgery. I’m going to go home for a while. Take a nap. Want to come?”

“No. I’ll stay here. Text me when you know anything.”

Dad gave her a hug and left. Abby tried to focus on the film, too shocked to think straight.

Minutes after the movie ended, Abby’s cell phone trilled. She had a text message.

MRTY OUT OF SRGRY. IM OUT FRNT.

Pro number one.

Abby crossed the gym at a run and found her dad’s Silverado idling at the curb.

Marty was awake—alive. Pro number two. He had his own hospital room with a security guard posted outside his door. The room was small and didn’t even have a window. She’d have to bring him some flowers. He had an IV and a transport monitor hooked up to him. He looked pale and tired. She wheeled the IV pole back a little, sat on the edge of his hospital bed, and threaded her fingers between his. “Sorry I slapped you.”

Marty squished his head into the pillow and grinned. “I forgive
you, Abby Goyer.” His fingers brushed her arm sling. “Are you hurt?”

“Why’d you do it, Marty?”

His dark eyes seemed to sparkle. “It was the right thing. It was my purpose … for this day.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Jesus would have done it.”

Abby huffed. “Jesus didn’t have the option of giving anyone a kidney, Marty, especially a criminal like Dr. Kane.”

Marty licked his lips and spoke softly, like his throat was dry. “In Luke’s book, Jesus said to ‘love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.’ I have done so for Dr. Kane. That was my purpose for him.”

Abby couldn’t believe Marty had already memorized a Bible verse and lived it out. Tears flooded her vision. All her life she’d known what to do and say. But JD had been right, she was a self-righteous snob. She might know all the right answers—fortune cookie answers, Dad had always called them—but she had never known how to live them out. She’d always played life safe, regulated by rules and laws, never bothering to take a chance on someone who had broken those rules or didn’t deserve compassion. Yet along came Marty, sacrificially loving a villain like Dr. Kane as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

In Marty’s eyes, everyone deserved compassion.

Ever since she’d met Marty, Abby had been trying to save him, but she was the one who’d truly needed saving.
Forgive me, Lord. I didn’t understand how to love like you
.

“Do not cry, Abby Goyer,” Marty said.

She sniffed back her tears, not wanting to worry Marty when he should be healing. “Well, you have blessed Dr. Kane in an amazing way, what is your purpose now?”

“To take care of my brothers. Will they let me? The police?”

“I think so.” On the ride to the hospital, Dad had told her that the FBI was preparing a place nearby, and that he had told them that Martyr would be the perfect person to help the boys adjust. As
she had since this morning, she prayed the situation with Martyr and Dr. Elliot would be resolved.

Dad had also made a deal with the FBI last night. He gave them a pile of evidence he’d been collecting for the past few weeks, and they let him off for his involvement on the Farm. He’d even found footage of Dr. Markley working there—enough to prosecute Dr. Kane for conspiracy in her murder. Abby was still amazed, and proud, that her dad had been collecting evidence almost from the time he’d started at the Farm.