She raises her own arm high in the air, and I do the same. I’m not sure Marcus would agree with what I’m doing, but he didn’t leave us in charge to do what he would’ve done. More than half the people on this island were killed by the volcano, and I can’t leave nearly a hundred more to suffer and die.
Around three-fourths of the people in the room raise their hands. I’m not going to die in the jungle trying to help the Tiders, which is a relief.
“Thank you,” I call out. “We need several volunteers to help with this.”
We don’t have enough manpower to clear the heavy layer of ash from all the plants in our massive camp garden. Ourpriorities have been clearing the livestock’s grazing area so it can recover, and cleaning ash from buildings and the ground. A team of ten moved all the bodies of our dead to the beach and burned them, the smell making several people vomit.
It’s dirty, endless work. We all have ashes and sweat smeared into a gray paste on our skin that makes us look like camouflaged soldiers fighting a war. The ash is getting into people’s eyes and making clean clothing impossible.
We lost one of our aboveground housing blocks to a roof collapse, and we have to clear out another one for the Tiders. All our people will sleep in the Sub, where we know they’ll be safe.
Ellison organizes volunteers to administer first aid in the Hub. Olin offers to work with the caregivers of our camp’s children to set up a place where the Tider kids can all be cared for together. Amira works with our chef, Vadim, to put together a quick, easy meal we can distribute to them as soon as they arrive.
“It’s time,” Nova says, our planning still underway.
The hour is up. We have to go get the Tiders. I’m tense with apprehension, still not sure this is the right call.
“I’m proud of you,” Ellison says from beside me, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Your mom would be, too.”
Her mention of my mom makes tears flood my eyes. I can’t hold them back. I’ve never wished for my mom more. Just a hug from her would reignite something inside me that’s flickering and fighting to stay lit.
“I’m sorry,” Ellison says. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
I wipe my fingers over my cheeks, spreading around the film of sweaty ashes. “No, these are good tears, because I know you’re right. I needed to hear that.”
I know how to survive anything, but your mother knows why it’s worth surviving. That’s why we’re so good together.
My dad said that to me when we were picking out a new rosebush for my mom when I was twelve. He bought her dozens of rosebushes over the years because he said she was the beautiful, brightly-colored blooms and he was the thorns.
I take a deep breath and meet Nova’s gaze. “Okay. Let’s go.”
25
“It wasn’t an easy order to give, but I had to. If Dr. Hollis went public about what we’re doing, it could destroy everything. Enemy nations finding out we’re working on a vaccine for their deadliest biological weapons could cause them to deploy them immediately. My decision was between one life and potentially millions. Dr. Hollis’s husband was a collateral casualty.” - Excerpt from an email sent by Soren Whitman to Dr. Randall McClain
Marcus
Did Ingrid slip me a hallucinogen at lunch? I’m flipping through logical explanations for what’s happening in my mental Rolodex, and that’s all I can come up with.
“Commander Wells, meet 6A5,” Ingrid says. “6A5, this is your template, Commander Wells.”
He sticks his hand out for a handshake and I shake his—my?—hand mechanically.
It takes all my self-control to keep my expression neutral. I’m screaming internally about what the fuck is happening.
“You’re doing cloning experiments,” I say flatly, horrified. “With DNA from the Original Twenty-Six.”
“Some of them, yes.” Ingrid is upbeat, like she’s discussing the first sunny day after a week of storms. “You were one of our first templates.”
He’s not a mirror reflection of me. I’ve got several days of stubble on my face, and he’s clean-shaven. His hair is cut shorter. His biceps aren’t as big as mine.
But he’s close enough that I’m shaken up. This guy has my DNA. It’s like me in an alternate universe. These scientists made a copy of me, without my consent.
“Incredible.” I force a phony smile. “What an honor.”
“Will 6A6 get to meet him?” 6A5 asks Ingrid.
A flicker of annoyance flashes over her face. I’ve never wanted a shot of whiskey so badly in my life. There’s not just one. 6A6 must be another clone of me.
