-Chapter 20-

The smiles don’t even leave their faces as they rush at me, ready to kill and die if that’s what the Harry clone wants them to do. From a tannoy system in the far corner and dotted throughout the building, the sound of a fire alarm begins to wail. The lights darken and their dull eyed beams are illuminated by flashes of red.  

Clutching the little blade tight between my fingers, I take a swing at one of them.  I scrape across cotton and skin belonging to the dark girl gripping my arms. She doesn’t seem to notice or care , even as the blood starts to flow from just below her collar bone. There are fingers digging into me from all directions, nails ripping into my skin as I put all of my strength into trying to pull away from them.

But it’s no use. I cry out as I hit the floor, primal terrified grunts falling out of my mouth as I kick against the rush. For a horrified moment I wonder if they are going to rip me apart with their teeth and their hands. My shirt rides up over my stomach, exposing the skin and the flesh that cover my insides and they begin to claw frantically at me. But it’s the girl with the black fish tail plait who pulls away from the group and when she returns, she is holding a chair.

The steel frame of it shimmers above my head, she raises it. Pulling my head back, I see the clone Harry watching, waiting for the moment when steel collides with skull.

The sirens coming out of the tannoy speakers are replaced by a crackling. And then a high pitched, shrill squeal. The chair drops to the floor with a clatter, mere inches away from my face as the girl with the black fish tail squeals and holds her hand to her ears trying to block out the noise. The hands loosen around me as the other's do the same and the not-Harry drops to his knees, eyes clenched tight in agony. The sound burns up the inside of my skull and makes me want to retch as I can feel each shrill note trembling in the pit of my stomach. Over the noise comes another crackle, a muffled voice coming from the sky,

"For God's sake run."  Dr July. She's not alone though; there's a gasp and then sound of fumbling.

"No...no.....please...no...."

Gritting what's left of my teeth, I kick one of the girls, hear the sound of bones cracking as my foot connects with her nose. She smiles through tracks of blood seeping into her mouth. 

Dr July's scream is cut short and the high pitched squealing is replaced by sirens once more. Before Harry has a time to recover, I ball both of my hands into a fist and send it into his head. It's not him, I remind myself, just a copy. The real Harry is somewhere in Scotland by now, its fine. He swings for my legs as I leave, but he misses and I manage to pull myself through the door, biting back the stomach bile, fighting the pain roaring through my head.

They’ve opened up the stitches on my arm and I'm leaking through the bandaging, tasting blood in my cheeks from where I was forced against the floor, feeling the sting of exposed flesh where they bit and scratched me. Head down, I wrap the lab coat around my body as I run down the corridor.

In the dim red glow of the alarm lights, I pray that the lab coat is enough to hide my identity, that I’ll be able to slip easily into the crowd. It’s a false hope. One that I don’t quite believe in myself.

The sound of footsteps charging down the hall has me flattened against the wall, hand wrapping tighter around the knife. But it won’t be enough. Their footsteps come first, followed by the sight of their bodies rounding a corner. Louises this time- four of them, enough to take me down even if they were unarmed. Which I am certain they aren’t.

My feet feel fixed to the floor.

Something knocks against my shoulder. I find myself staggering backwards, body slamming into the white, sterile walls. “Move,” comes a mutter as they push past me. Running in completely the opposite direction. Maybe I really am a master of disguise, but I don’t stop to think about it, taking the opportunity to follow the signs marked ‘Fire Exit’. Even in secret research bases, it seems like health and safety is of utmost importance.

Going in, I had been passed out, but now as I use Dr July’s key card to get out into the open I get a small second to take in my surroundings as I pause to slow the breathing in my chest and work out where I'm supposed to go.

On the surface, it could be a manufacturing plant, a warehouse with an office block. The design is industrial and sterile, but not out of the ordinary. Not the cinderblock style grey offices or the three large hangers beside it- containing what, I have no idea at all. There are cars in the parking spaces, belonging to people who go to work every day just like anybody else. There’s a bike rack for the more environmentally conscious employees too.

 Even the high parameter fencing isn’t so out of the ordinary. I’m used to stuff like that in London- CCTVs, sharp looping chicken wire or jagged edges at the top of fence posts to stop the kids getting in, spraying up the walls with graffiti or pulling all the copper wiring out of the walls.  

What’s unusual about the fencing though, is the person scaling it. I see now what the Louises were running towards as the figure, clad in black, hauls himself up over the fence posts. Standing on the top of the fence for just a moment, a shot is fired and he fumbles, toppling below into bracken and weeds, disappearing from sight but for a few flashes of black. I feel a curl of worry in my chest, though I don't know them or why. All I know is that security's attentions will be turned to the man in the black and that I have to get out of here.

Eyes scanning the parameter as the sound of engines roar, ready to chase after the figure in black, I find my eyes drawn to a small gap in the fencing, just above the ground, as if a badger has somehow been working its way into the building. Or if not the badger, perhaps I have stumbled upon how the figure in black managed to get into the facility. Whatever it's there for, it's a god-send to me and I run towards it, dropping to my hands and knees.

It's a tight fit, wire poking into me as I struggle first with my shoulders, wincing in pain as I twist and metal scrapes across my breasts, down to hips and arse panting and pulling and twisting.

I'm almost there. Almost out in the open towards a large open field, in the distance woodland and a small road when I feel something grab onto my ankle.

Panicked, I thread my hands into the dirt and claw at it to stop myself from being pulled back in. It's the not-Harry, teeth gritted, eyes as cold as ever, trying to pull me back in. Kicking as hard as I can, I let out a grunt of effort as I yank my ankle through the whole in the fence and take off running.

Looking back as I pull myself off the ground, I think about picking up a rock, or using the knife while he's on his knees trying to get through the floor. But I honestly don't know if I could do it. It's him...not the real him, but so strikingly similar that I can't help but feel a strange tug when I see him in pain.

I don't stop, I just keep running.

My Harry took out Wells in the car park easily, I don't know why I'm expecting the not-Harry to be slower, because he isn't. One moment I'm running and the next I am buried in the dirt, staring up into those cold eyes. His fist collides with my cheek bones, I see stars and spit blood. There's a ringing in my ears, a pressure on my abdomen as he straddles me.

"Harry..." I wheeze. It's no use. There's a knife in my hands. His go around my throat and I think that that jaw, that mouth, his curls and cold dead eyes are going to be the last things I see before I die.

Threading my hands through the grass, fumbling blindly, I pull my hands into my pocket. With all that is left of my waning energy, I pull away and stab him in the back of the thighs that are wrapped so tightly around me. Harry howls and clamps down tighter, but I stab him again, and again in the thigh until my hands are slippery with blood. Wriggling, I tug myself free of him as his hands automatically drift to his legs. But I don’t have enough time.

He lunges at me, I strike.

It’s autonomous, self preservation. In and out sharply, piercing through flesh. His throat, just above the Adam’s apple. Harry looks shocked, pulls back and for a moment he looks just like him. My Harry.

There’s a shot. In a tree nearby, the thrushes and blackbirds and sparrows are all disturbed, chirruping, flapping their wings as they ascend like a thick dark cloud. Harry falls against me, still and slumped and useless. He’s warm; his blood is warmer as it flows from a bullet wound.

Footsteps then as the looming figure approaches, dressed all in black, right up to a black balaclava.

As she pulls it off, I see a shock of red hair, a long, very pale face and my hand goes back to my knife. Valerie. Olivia’s mother, clutching a gun in one limp hand, the other wrapped around it, cupping the bullet wound. 

“We need to go,” is all she says, bending down to pull the not-Harry from me. My hands are thickly coated from blood as the blade falls away from my fingers.

I killed him.

There is no reason to mourn; he would have killed me too- but all I can feel is the sick shudder of my breathing. I’ve never stabbed someone in the neck like that. I knew that it might happen eventually in the middle of all of this shit, sure. I just never expected it to be Harry.

Oh  they’re  quite human. The team did a wonderful job. The clones have the potential to think and to feel and love. They’re remarkable. Each and every one, says the voice of Wells drifting back into my memory.

It hadn’t bothered me before. Not with the Liams, but I suppose that was all just talk. Here, faced with Harry’s corpse I have to wonder how much of my Harry was in this one. Or could have been had they not gotten to him first.

Valerie puts away the gun and holds out her hand to help me up but I don’t do anything but look at her.

“That isn’t the real him. I hate to disappoint you but you haven’t offed an original,” is all I spit. I haven’t forgotten why she left us, why Wolfenden died and the fact that she’d wanted to kill Harry and Niall all along.

“I know,” says Valerie blankly, looking down at the not Harry. As she looks at my stony expression, she sighs. “Wolfenden was convinced it was the only way. I just wanted to keep my daughter safe. What would you have done, honestly? If it was Joey, what would you do?”

I don’t have to answer that. I don’t even give it any thought (though honestly, I wouldn’t know where to start unpicking that situation) so all I do is jerk my chin out at her. “You’re not gonna hurt him.”

Raising her eyebrows, Valerie tips her head towards the gun she’s stashed away at her hip. I suppose, right now, there wouldn’t be much I could do to stop her. Apart from pray that the bullet wound in her arm might slow her down.

But it doesn’t come to that as she sighs heavily once again. “I know.  I’m not Wolfenden, Letitia. He had his way of doing things, I’ve got mine and unless you wanna get found we need to go, now.”

**

Valerie still has the van she left in, bringing back memories of being tied hooded in the back of it when we first found out about the clones. Looking at the sheen of sweat covering Valerie’s face, I offer to drive but she snorts at me. “No way. You’re a wanted girl, remember? You’re hiding in the back,” she slides the door open and gestures for me to get in, nestled safely between maps and papers. “We’ll find a place to stop. Wait until it’s dark before we set off properly and take the back roads.”

I suppose it would have been too easy. Offer to drive and then ditch Valerie before turning around and making my way to Scotland. Don’t go with her Tish Williams, says a hoarse, mistrustful voice deep in the pit of my stomach. I’ve still got my knife and I don’t trust this woman as far as I can throw her. My mind keeps going back to that night, the voices drifting down the hall as they made plans to kill Harry and Niall.

“Set off where?” I ask with a sniff, tipping my head at her, trying to catch the flicker of anything across her face that might let me know I’m walking into a trap.

“Some friends. Theo and Ruth Palmer. Wolfenden’s contacts really.”

Friends, yeah right. Valerie must spot my dark expression, mutinous glares and I suppose I’m not being particularly subtle. Once again the gun is removed from its casing as she points the gun at me. “Get in the van Letitia, I don’t have time for this.” I suppose it’s as much incentive as anyone needs in a situation like this one, and what choice do I have but to back into the car now I’m staring down the barrel of a gun.

She says she doesn’t want to have to tie me up, so I sit down, but not before asking sceptically, “And what do they want….these contacts?”

“To help,” says Valerie shortly. “You think I just abandoned my daughter and that was the end of it for me?” She raises an eyebrow, sliding the door shut and entering the van once more, this time in the driver’s seat.

 I shrug, but she can’t see it as she starts the engine, so I pull my knees into my chest, mumbling, “I dunno.”

Why are my hands still so red? Why can’t I stop myself from shaking? I shut my eyes and all I see is the red flash of the emergency lights, their fixed brain dead smiles as they all came at me.

“I had to get a message to Theo and Ruth. Wolfenden dying wasn’t good for us. But when I got back, you’d all gone.”

“Niall said it wasn’t safe. We went after Wells ourselves…like how Wolfenden had planned.” We also buried Wolfenden in a shallow grave. That safe house feels as if it were a thousand years ago.

“And that was safe?” Valerie turns around to rage, driving and not paying any attention to the road “You’re children….” she says, voice thick with disbelief. I want to mutter that at seventeen I don’t feel much like a child. I know that Olivia doesn’t either- not with the kind of life she’d had to live. For Harry and Niall I imagine this has been one hell of a steep learning curve. But that doesn’t mean they’ve done their best.

It’s like what Darwin says. Adapt or die. Valerie left us, Wolfenden died, they took us away from our families and what we knew, cloned some of us, stabbed some of us, tried to brain wash us and take away whatever choice we had. We didn’t die. We adapted.

“Niall,” Valerie mutters to herself angrily. “He’s so desperate to get home I don’t think he’d ever stop to think anything through…end up getting everyone killed if he had his way….”

“Like how you want to kill him?”

Valerie ignores this, signalling into the small car park at the foot of a woodland trail where presumably we will wait until it’s safer to travel. As she stops the car, she leans her arm against the head rest, twisting into me,  “You know how lucky you are, don’t you? We’ve been intercepting their radio signals. Yesterday we heard them say ‘teenage girl apprehended. I thought that they’d taken Olivia. You never would have made it out alive otherwise.”  

I might have done, I want to mumble, even though I know it’s a lie.

Face growing serious now, Valerie’s voice softens as she looks at me through scared eyes “Where is she?” The expression is one I recognise. My mother wore it whenever she would talk to me, asking me to make new friends, to stop hanging out with the sort of people that I did. She wore it on the television screens as she begged me to come home. I have to turn my head away from it.

“Like I’m going to tell you,” I mumble and almost hate myself for it.

“She’s my daughter!” Valerie says, looking crestfallen. “Look. I promise you, I’m not trying to kill the originals anymore.”

“Prove it.”

“Okay,” Valerie mumbles under her breath, nodding ‘Okay. I’m not trying to kill the originals because I know it’s not just about them now. And judging by the bandage on your arm, so do you.”

How do you- I’m just about to whisper, touching my fingertips to the bloody gauze that is wrapped around my forearm when she continues.

“Let me guess. They made you carve a number onto there.”

“You saw them too,” I ask her, drawing my head up.

“One of them,” she says gravely. “But there will be more. Millions and millions if we don’t stop it.”  And for the first time I really do believe what she’s saying.

**

Valerie drives us through one of the better areas just outside of London. The kind of place where you get the best of both worlds; tube and train stops to take you into the city, but homes with space and gardens, parks free of pollution and litter. Places where you can really breathe.

The house is detached with a real front garden, three floors and jutting bay windows. Everything is perfectly placed, middle class and Victorian era and Theo Palmer, who comes out to greet us seems perfectly placed and middle class himself.

He’s in his fifties and was probably quite a looker in his days- a swarthy type of some Mediterranean, or possibly Arabic descent, his hair a dark grey and slightly curled, his facial hair  grizzled grey. Unlike most middle age men who attracted a paunch around their stomach Theo seems slim as a twig like a man who still plays tennis on a regular basis, wearing a tweed jacket and thick, almost hipsterish glasses.

“Theo Palmer, Letitia Williams,” Valerie says with a nod as she ushers me out of the car.

“Yes, I know who you are,” he says with a small flicker of a smile in my direction. I’m about to ask how when I remember that my face is everywhere nowadays. Instead his attention returns to Valeries arm as he looks at it, mumbling something about having to take the bullet out and leading us inside.

It’s a warm house with large ceilings. The kind of house people in council estates are supposed to aspire to but will never own because we haven’t gone to university or whatever. Valerie and Theo disappear into the kitchen, leaving me to stand in the hallway. It seems strangely sparse compared to my own home- with all the trash, and maybe they are tidy, but it still doesn’t explain why there are no pictures on the walls, no family photos lying about and no family trinkets. Something about it seems cold and impersonal.

This thought is interrupted however by a little sound drifting in from the living room. At first I think it’s a high pitched whine, but then I realise it’s humming.

A soft, wobbly hum echoing through the sparse hallway, and I find myself with my fingertips on the door frame, pushing it open, trying to find the source of it.

She sits with her back to me, humming. A woman straggly blonde hair falling down her back, streaked light gray that seems to sparkle in the dim lights above us. My footsteps echo, but she doesn’t turn around or stop humming. Nor does she when I cough and mutter “I’m sorry…I….” apologetically, thinking I’d caught her in some private moment.

I’m just about to leave the room when the humming stops and I hear a soft, dreamy voice asking, “Where’s Harry?”

The woman turns her head slightly and I move to get a better view of her. She’s in her fifties and was probably once very beautiful, even if her hair seems bedraggled and her makeup seems lopsided and childish- bright pink lips, too much rogue. The way I might paint myself when I was twelve or fourteen. Her eyes are crisp and blue as robin’s eggs, but they have that same glazed expression that I know too well.

She looks happy. And carved into her arm, scabbing over is a clear ‘1’ just like I imagine mine will be.

“Ruth?” I ask, quietly, backing away. I can almost feel the nails digging into my flesh all over again. Why didn’t they ever stop smiling?

 She ignores me though- her head suddenly snapping to the left, a bright beam on her face.

Whirling around, I find myself faced to face with another Liam. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve grabbed an empty mug set down beside Ruth, ready to hurl it at him before he gets a chance to stab me, just like I saw him stab my brother.

But as I pull my arm back to throw the mug, I find there are fingers clutching tight around my wrist.

I can hardly breathe, hardly see straight as my heart pounds against my rib cage. The hand belongs to a male, but he’s wearing chipped, ugly, purple nail polish.

“It’s okay Tish, he’s the original Liam,” says the boy beside me, but I’m hardly listening as I turn to face him. Bald and green eyed and alive.

I missed you, is what I mean to say, but it gets caught up in my throat and I find I can’t say much of anything at all.