Replica (Replica #1)(116)

She thought of Nurse Em, and Jake, both found swinging by their necks. “You have to swear to help us, or I’m not coming home at all,” she said. It was a bluff. She had nowhere to go, and if her parents cut off her credit cards she’d be doubly screwed, but she was counting on the fact that her parents were too upset to think clearly.

“This isn’t a game, Gemma.” Geoff sounded as if he was going to lose it. Gemma had never heard her father so out of control. “You don’t understand how big this is—”

“Swear or I hang up the phone,” she said firmly.

For a second there was nothing but the sound of her father breathing hard on the other end of her line, of her mom whimpering in the background.

“I swear,” he said at last. “I’ll do everything I can.”

Gemma exhaled. She’d unconsciously been holding her breath. “I’ll be home in the morning,” she said, and hung up. Immediately she powered off her phone. She didn’t want them calling her back, bugging her all night. She leaned against Pete’s minivan, listening to the sounds of the mothers calling their children to bed, watching lights dim one by one in the windows of parked RVs. All these people on their way to something, on their way from something. All these stories and lives, all of them orbiting temporarily around the same parking lot before spinning away from one another again. She said a little prayer for Jake Witz.

She thought of her sister—could Emma be called a sister, if she was really Gemma, if Gemma was really her?—and the shadow-life she might have lived, might still be living off in some parallel dimension.

She felt small. She was so tired.

Pete was back. He’d bought water and soda, candy and chips, burritos, and even a tray of gas station nachos. “I thought we’d do a buffet,” he said, squatting to place food out right on the pavement. When he saw Gemma’s face, he stopped. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just tired. Just scared about what comes next.”

He stood up. Backlit by the lights from a nearby camper, his face was unreadable, and his hair looked feather-light. He reached out and touched her cheek, and his hand was so warm, so instantly familiar. A strange and baffling truth: that the people we’re supposed to know best can turn out to be strangers, and that near strangers can feel so much like home.

“We’ll be okay,” he said, and she loved that, loved hearing him say we, loved being a part of him. He traced a thumb lightly over her cheekbones, and where he touched her she felt beautiful. Like he was sewing up the ugly parts. He smiled, that goofy smile Gemma couldn’t believe she hadn’t always been in love with. “Just think about it. Clones at school. Real clones, not just Chloe and the rest of her drones.”

“Yeah.” Gemma forced a smile. It was a fantasy. Lyra and Caelum would never go to school. If they wanted to stay alive, they’d likely have to go underground, stay hidden, stay on the run. And they would only get sicker. But it was a nice idea and she didn’t want to spoil it.

“Go to sleep,” Pete said more quietly. He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, but just that light pressure made her whole body shiver. “I’ll keep watch for a bit.”

With the backseats folded down, the minivan was more than big enough to lie down in. Pete had a blanket, too, and he insisted she use his sweatshirt as a pillow.

“Good night, Gemma.” Pete leaned over to kiss her again. This time, he let his lips stay longer, and she felt his warmth on top of her, the impossible and delicious solidity of his body. The bones and blood and skin that separate but also bring us back together. The gift of them.

Even though she was tired, she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, not after everything that had happened. But she did.


Sometime later she woke up because Pete was shaking her.

“Someone’s coming,” he said.

She sat up. The darkness was gummy-thick, and her whole body felt sticky. The rear door was still open, letting in the noise of tree frogs and the occasional muffled sound of a door opening and closing as people went or returned from the bathroom. She didn’t know what time it was, but she couldn’t have been asleep very long. Pete didn’t look as if he’d slept at all. He was wide awake, alert, staring.

He pointed at the beam of a flashlight moving between the parked vans. She could tell from the pattern it made that whoever was out there was making a tour of each vehicle, as if looking for something specific.

Looking for someone specific.

“Where’s Lyra?” Gemma whispered. Her body was electric with fear. “Where’s Caelum?”

“Outside,” Pete said. “Sleeping.”

How on earth could they have been followed? Gemma was sure they had been careful, switching highways, watching constantly for cars that seemed to be pursuing them. Maybe, she thought, someone was monitoring her phone calls. She’d seen stuff like that on the cop shows on TV, how police could triangulate phone calls to find wanted criminals. Hunted. That was what she felt like—like an animal crouching in a hole, just waiting to be torn apart.

There was no way she could wake Lyra and Caelum and get them in the car without being seen. Already the flashlight—and the person behind it—was less than twenty feet away, moving around an RV that belonged to an older couple Gemma had spoken to earlier. There was no tearing out of here, either, not in the dark, not without risking mowing down some poor dad on his way to the toilet or kids sleeping in a tent.