Escape from Vermont

The air in the server room was sterile, humming with the sound of a thousand fans. Sarah stood in the doorway, her flashlight beam cutting through the blue LED glow, illuminating the man who had been dead for three years.

He was thinner. Older. But the eyes were the same. The same grey eyes that had looked at her with pride at her law school graduation. The same eyes that had looked away when she asked about the estate.

"Dad?" Sarah whispered, the word feeling foreign in her mouth.

Thomas Jenkins smiled, but it was a weak, trembling thing. He raised a hand, the IV line pulling taut.

"I knew you'd figure it out," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "Eventually."

"You're dead," Sarah said, stepping into the room. "I saw the body. I planned the funeral."

"You saw what Elena wanted you to see," he said. "A closed casket. A quick cremation. It's amazing what money can buy in a small town."

"Why?" Sarah asked. The anger was rising now, hot and choking. "Why did you let us believe it? Why did you leave me alone with her?"

"Because I was dying," he said. "For real this time. The cancer came back. But Elena offered me a deal."

"A deal?"

"She said she could save me. Not with chemo. With the research." He gestured to the servers, to the incubators lining the hall. "She said the stem cells from the project could reverse the damage. Regenerate the tissue."

"The project," Sarah said. "The children. You let her harvest them."

"I let her try to save Julian," he said, his voice cracking. "And when that failed... I let her try to save me."

Sarah looked at the IV bag. It wasn't saline. It was a pale, pinkish fluid.

"You're using them," she whispered. "You're using your own children as spare parts."

"They're not children, Sarah. They're assets. Genetic insurance policies."

The words slapped her. This wasn't the father who had taught her to ride a bike. This was a man who had sold his soul for a few more years of breath.

"And Caleb?" Sarah asked. "The boy you 'protected'? The one you hired?"

"He was the control group," Thomas said. "We needed to see if the genetic modifications held up in a natural environment. He was never meant to be involved."

"He's your son!" Sarah screamed.

"He's a clone!" Thomas shouted back, the sudden exertion making him cough violently. "He's not a son. He's a copy. Just like the one upstairs."

Sarah froze. "The one upstairs?"

"Subject 4," Thomas wheezed. "The new Julian. The one she’s using to hunt you."

Sarah looked at Maya. Her daughter was backed against the server rack, her eyes wide with horror. She wasn't looking at Thomas. She was looking at the screen of the nearest terminal.

"Mom," Maya said. "The upload is complete."

Thomas looked at the screen. "Upload? What upload?"

"The diary," Sarah said. "The real one. The one you wrote before you decided to become a monster."

Thomas’s face went slack. "You can't. If that gets out... the estate... the legacy..."

"The legacy is poison," Sarah said. "And I'm burning it down."

She grabbed the IV stand.

"No!" Thomas gasped, trying to rise. "Sarah, please. I'm your father."

"My father died three years ago," Sarah said. "You're just another ghost."

She ripped the IV line out of his arm.

Alarms blared instantly. Red lights flashed, turning the room into a strobe-lit nightmare.

"The doors!" Agnes screamed from the hallway. "They're sealing!"

Sarah grabbed Maya and ran. They sprinted past the incubators, past the metal doors, toward the ladder. The heavy steel blast doors were sliding shut, groaning on their tracks.

They reached the trapdoor just as the lockdown clamps engaged below them. They scrambled up the ladder, bursting into the living room of the replica house.

The kitchen table was still barricaded against the door. But the window was broken.

And standing in the center of the room, holding the rifle, was the man who looked like Julian.

Subject 4.

He raised the weapon.

"You should have stayed downstairs," he said. "It's cleaner that way."

Sarah didn't have a weapon. She didn't have a plan. She just had the truth.

"He's alive," Sarah said, pointing at the floor. "Thomas. He's down there."

The clone hesitated. The rifle dipped. "What?"

"Elena lied to you," Sarah said. "She told you he was dead. She told you were the heir. But you're not. You're just another spare part."

The clone stared at the trapdoor. The muffled sound of alarms was audible through the floor.

"Check it," Sarah said.

He stepped toward the rug. He looked down at the bolt.

And then the front door exploded inward.

It wasn't the police. It wasn't the fixer.

It was Elena.

She stood in the ruined frame, illuminated by the headlights of her SUV. She was holding something in her hand.

It wasn't a gun.

It was a remote detonator.

"I told you, Sarah," Elena said, her voice calm amidst the chaos. "I don't leave loose ends."

She pressed the button.