Chapter 62: Mark's Play

Mark grabbed my shoulder. His grip was weak, but his eyes were frantic.

"You can't go down there," he whispered, gesturing to the floorboards. "That's not just a basement. It's the secure wing. The one she built for Leo when he was a baby."

"Secure?" I asked.

"Airtight," Mark said. "Soundproof. If she seals the door, you suffocate."

I looked at Ben, who was trying to calm the girl—Subject 12—and her baby. She was shaking, clutching the infant like it was a lifeline.

"Ben," I said. "Get them out. Now."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to get Leo."

"Sarah, listen to me," Mark said, his voice dropping. "If you go down there, you won't come back up. Edith has armed guards. Not just rent-a-cops. Mercenaries."

"I don't care," I said. "I'm not leaving without him."

"Then let me help you," Mark said.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a keycard. It was plain white, no markings.

"What is this?"

"My pass," Mark said. "For the private files. Edith gave it to me when she... when she was trying to buy me."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't think it mattered," Mark said, shame coloring his cheeks. "I didn't know about this place. But if she's using the same system... this card will open the doors."

He handed it to me.

"But Sarah," he added. "The card tracks you. The moment you use it, she'll know exactly where you are."

"Good," I said. "Let her come."

I took the card and ran down the stairs. The smell of formula faded, replaced by the scent of bleach and ozone.

I found the basement door behind the kitchen pantry. It was heavy steel, like a bank vault. There was a card reader next to it.

I swiped the card.

The light turned green.

The door hissed open.

I stepped into a long, concrete corridor. It was brightly lit, sterile. Doors lined the walls, each one marked with a number.

*Subject 1.*
*Subject 2.*
*Subject 3.*

I walked past them, my heart pounding. The silence was absolute.

I reached the end of the hall. There was a double door marked *OBSERVATION*.

I swiped the card again.

The doors opened.

I was in a viewing gallery. Below me, through a pane of thick glass, was a hospital room.

And in the bed, hooked up to machines that beeped in a steady rhythm, was Leo.

He looked so small. So pale.

But he wasn't alone.

Edith was there.

She was standing over him, adjusting the IV drip. She was wearing a lab coat over her ruined dress, her hair pulled back in a severe bun. She looked calm. Professional.

Like a doctor tending to a patient.

Or a scientist tending to an experiment.

"Get away from him!" I screamed, pounding on the glass.

Edith looked up. She didn't look surprised. She just smiled.

She pressed a button on the intercom.

"Sarah," her voice crackled through the speaker. "You made it. Just in time for the harvest."

"Let him go!"

"I can't do that," Edith said. "He's the donor. Without him, the others die."

"Others?"

Edith gestured to the wall of the hospital room. A curtain slid back.

Behind the glass, in a row of incubators, were six babies.

"Generation Four," Edith said. "Your replacements."

I stared at the babies. They were all identical. All boys.

All Leo.

"Clones?" I whispered.

"Not clones," Edith said. "Siblings. From the same batch of embryos. Thorne froze them in 1988. I just... woke them up."

She looked at Leo.

"But the freezing process damaged them. Their blood doesn't clot. They need marrow. Constant marrow."

She stroked Leo's hair.

"He's the only one who survived the thaw intact. He's the source. The golden goose."

"You're a monster," I said.

"I'm a visionary," Edith said. "And you're trespassing."

She hit a button on the console.

The lights in the corridor went out.

Red emergency lights flared to life.

And then, I heard it.

The sound of heavy boots. Lots of them. Coming from the elevator behind me.

"Run, Sarah," Edith said over the intercom. "Run while you still can."

I turned. The elevator doors were opening.

I saw the glint of tactical gear. The barrels of assault rifles.

But then, a hand grabbed my arm from the shadows.

"In here," a voice hissed.

It wasn't Ben. It wasn't Mark.

It was a woman in a nurse's uniform. She shoved me into a supply closet and locked the door.

"Quiet," she whispered.

I looked at her. She was older. Her face was lined, her eyes terrified.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"My name is Martha," she said. "I was the night nurse in 1988."

She pulled a file from her pocket.

"And I know where she keeps the bodies."