Replica (Replica #1)(100)
“I swear,” Pete said. He didn’t seem upset anymore.
“Turn right on County Route 39,” said the voice of the GPS. Gemma looked once more for April, and the streets were totally empty. As if they were just waiting for something, or someone.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Gemma said. Her heart was elbowing up against her rib cage, like it was trying to force its way through them. How would she even begin?
Pete smiled, just a little. “You’ve got eighty-seven miles,” he said, reaching for the doughnuts. “So start talking.”
It was easy to talk to Pete. Gemma hadn’t expected him to be such a good listener, but he was. He didn’t interrupt with stupid questions or squawk in disbelief when she told him about stumbling across the replicas—literally stumbling—in the marshes. Only once did he interrupt, when she described finding the dead girl with her exact face. Her replica. And then he just said, “Jesus,” and then, “Go on.”
By the time she finished telling him everything—about the long slog back through the marshes, and the folder that Lyra had smuggled out of Haven, about transmissible spongiform encephalopathies; about waking up to discover the replicas missing with all her money; about Jake and his dad and the Haven Files and Angel Fire and her mission from God—they had reached Jake’s road.
Jake hadn’t been lying about his aunt’s house being rural. Route 12, on the outskirts of Little Waller, was a treacherous narrow dirt path studded with holes. On either side of the road, behind growth so riotous it looked like the trees were launching some kind of major offensive, prefab houses, little more than glorified trailers, sagged in the midday sun, doing their best to stay on their feet in the wilting heat. Gemma felt an unexpected rise of pity. No wonder Jake had been obsessing about his father’s death for years. She couldn’t imagine there was much else to do. This was a lonely place.
They had to squeeze by a Florida Energy truck that was teetering in a deep gutter on one side of the lane; a man in a hard hat was high on the pole, fiddling with the wire, and a group of workers were doing nothing but watching. Gemma was relieved to see that Jake’s car was in the driveway, or the small patch of dirt that counted as one. For the first time she noticed the bumper was plastered with bumper stickers, so overlayered and old that most were illegible. She wondered whether it had been his father’s car.
Pete pulled into the driveway behind Jake’s car but made no move to get out. Instead he hunched forward over the steering wheel, peering up at the house. It was an ugly yellow color, with brown shutters, two of which were hanging at weird angles. Someone had made an effort to clear a patch of front lawn—Gemma thought of Jake, lining up his utensils neatly, and imagined it must be him—but the trees were reclaiming their territory slowly and the window boxes were empty except for dirt. No one had taken much pride in the house, for sure.
“Well,” Pete said, with his usual cheerfulness. “At least we won’t have to take our shoes off.”
Gemma licked her lips. The coffee had been too sugary and now her mouth had a weird, gritty feel. Pete still hadn’t responded to her story, not directly. Maybe he didn’t believe her. “Look. All the stuff I told you . . .”
Pete turned to her. His eyes were the color of Rufus’s. Toffee brown, warm. “You can trust me,” he said. It was as though he read her mind. “I won’t tell anyone.”
It was as if a bubble of air in her chest had been released. “So . . . you don’t think I’m crazy?”
“People who pay five bucks for coffee are crazy,” he said. Then he frowned. “But you’re in some deep shit.” She’d never heard him sound so serious, and in that moment she realized he was handsome. Not just cute. Not goofy-looking. Handsome. Clean jaw and a little bit of stubble, all those golden freckles, the hair falling softly across his forehead. “I’m worried about you. Powerful people went to a lot of trouble to keep Haven’s work a secret. My guess is they won’t stop now.”
“No one knows we were out on the marshes,” Gemma said. Her stomach squirmed, though. “No one knows what we found.”
“So you think,” Pete said. And then, in a quieter voice, “I’m not trying to scare you. But we have to be careful.” It was amazing, Gemma thought, how nice the word we could sound, and she nearly put her arms around him. She nearly kissed him.
Christ. She was fantasizing about kissing Pervy Pete. April would never believe it. If April ever spoke to her again.
It was hotter here than it had been in April’s grandparents’ subdivision, despite all the shade. Gemma felt sorry for the Florida Energy guys.
“You’ll like Jake,” Gemma said, partly to convince herself. The tree branches lifted and fell silently, touched by a phantom wind. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous. Something about the whole place was creepy, like the set piece of an abandoned road from a horror film after the zombie apocalypse has struck.
Pete shrugged. But he still looked unhappy, or nervous, or both. “Weird are my people,” he said. “Weird is what I do.”
“He’ll have a plan. You’ll see,” she said, partly to reassure herself. A tabby cat was sunning itself on the grungy porch and stared insolently at them as the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house. You shouldn’t be here, it seemed to be saying, and Gemma couldn’t help but feel the same way.