Your One & Only(50)

Jack hurled the sickle aside in disgust. There was no Hassan in sight, so he lay back with his arms behind his head. On clear days like this, the mountains seemed to stretch on forever, and Jack imagined he could see the curve of the earth in their distant ridges. He closed his eyes, letting the hot air prickle his skin and feeling the energy in the ground beneath him and the rumble of the engines in the distance. He’d almost drifted off when a group of voices came from across the field above the noise of the threshers. Jack sat up, expecting to see the Hassans checking on him, or maybe the Viktors. Now that the Council knew Jonah was alive and in Vispera, they’d ordered patrols of the surrounding fields and jungle. Jack had been looking for Jonah himself, staring into the corn at night trying to see if someone was out there, but he’d seen no one. It was frustrating, knowing Jonah had been right outside the barn, could still be nearby, but was keeping his distance. Jack wanted to see him, talk to him, find out what his life had been like. They were brothers, after all.

Instead of Hassans, it was the Gen-310 Carsons crossing the field in a line and heading straight for him. Carson-312 led the grim-faced group, a cut across his nose and a bandage-wrapped shoulder showing beneath his shirt.

Jack eased himself to his feet, surreptitiously retrieving the discarded sickle as he rose. However dulled from hacking grains, the blade would still cut if propelled with enough force. He held the handle in a loose grip close to his thigh.

“Monkey-boy’s gone down in the world, sleeping in a field like a cow,” Carson-312 said as they approached. “I know what’ll wake you up.”

“Carson, there are things you don’t know.”

“We know what you did to our brother,” one of them said.

Jack had never been good at distinguishing one clone from another. He kept his eyes on Carson-312, who inched closer, concealing something behind his back.

Jack could take one of them easily. Given his strength, he guessed he could handle a few of them. But his odds against all ten were not good.

The Carsons surrounded Jack, trapping him in a circle. Jack held his sights on Carson-312, calculating quickly. If Jack could talk him down, this would end. If they did fight, attacking Jack all at once, Carson-312 was his target. Take down the brother whose eyes glinted with cold resolve, and the rest would fall away.

Or at least, that’s what Jack hoped.

He nodded to Carson-312’s injured shoulder. “That wasn’t me,” he said. “I’ve been locked up. You made sure of that.”

“I know what I saw.” Carson-312 pointed to his bandages. “You think you can try to kill me? Attack me, attack an Althea, and get away with it?”

“What about Althea?” Jack said, taken aback.

“I know she’s been coming to see you. You’re trying to turn her against us, her own kind.”

“I’m not trying to do anything. She can do what she wants.”

“And what she wants is to kiss you?” he said. He saw the surprise on Jack’s face. “You think I didn’t see? You did it right in front of me. I guess the Nylas weren’t enough for you, now you want all the Altheas, too.”

It took a moment for Jack to realize that Carson didn’t mean last night. But Althea hadn’t mentioned kissing Jonah when she’d told Jack about her encounter. That was part of what she’d left out.

Jack’s hand slackened on the sickle.

The Carsons saw his distraction and took advantage by moving in. Carson-312 edged closer, confident and aggressive. Jack stepped back and bumped into the Carsons behind him.

Jack’s gaze swept the field, hoping for anyone, maybe a Hassan. There was nothing except an untended basket and another mindless thresher churning up the east field.

In the corner of his eye, Jack saw a Carson to his left move uncertainly out of the circle. Despite the solidarity, they didn’t all have Carson-312’s fiery certainty. They might still back out.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jack said to the hesitant Carson.

“Yes,” Carson-312 said. “We do.”

With no warning, a stabbing pain seared through Jack’s shoulder and vibrated down his spine, dropping him to his knees. When he opened his eyes again, the pain had stopped, but every limb trembled, and barbed lines shrouded his vision.

Carson-312 held his hand out for Jack, showing him the cattle prod he held. “Like a cow in a field . . .” he said, grinning.

While Jack gasped for air, trying to regain control of his body, the cattle prod hit a second time, immobilizing him. He fell to his side, teeth clenched, pain hammering his body. When the prod released, Carson-312 didn’t expect that Jack, ready this time, would recover quickly. From the ground Jack grabbed the device and twisted, wrenching it until he held it himself. Still shaky, he swept the prod at the circle of Carsons and they edged away.

His breath rattling his ribs, he said, “You can still stop.”

“Not till you’re dead.” Carson-312 lunged. Jack dodged the blow and sliced the sickle across Carson-312’s arm. He reared away, and Jack hit him with the prod. Carson-312’s body shivered in spasms against the current, like Jack’s own had. Jack pulled the prod away, wishing he felt more triumphant in the other boy’s pain, but feeling only sickened. Blood oozed from the gape on Carson’s biceps, and Jack almost tossed the sickle aside. It was sharp enough to kill, and he didn’t want that.