“The second one,” admitted Shaun.
“Right. Did you engage the biometrics when you locked the bike?” He nodded. I sighed. “Fine,” I said, and stuck out my right thumb, holding it up for both of them to see, before pressing it down on the pressure sensor at the center of the bike’s dash. A blue light promptly came on above the speedometer. I held my breath, and kept holding it until the light turned green before shutting off entirely. “Biometrics disengaged,” I announced. “Happy now?”
Shaun turned to Becks, grinning as he said, “Extremely. Told you she could do it.”
Becks nodded slowly. “Okay. You got one right. Come on. Dr. Abbey knows we’re here by now.” She started walking toward the nearest door, not waiting for the two of us.
I took a deep breath before heading over to join Shaun. Maybe he’d been sure that I could trigger the bike’s biometric lock, but I hadn’t been. Identical twins don’t have the same fingerprints. Why would clones?
Answer: because at least in my case, the clone was intended to pass for the original in every way possible, and that meant that if my fingerprints could be matched to my old body, they would be. I was just glad they’d taken the trouble with this body, given that it was never intended to see the outside of a lab.
Thinking about that too much made me feel nauseous. I shuddered and sped up a little, matching my steps to Shaun’s. Becks was already at the door, her palm pressed against a blood test panel. The light above it turned green, and she opened the door, stepping inside. She waved before slamming it in our faces. I moved into position next, slapping my hand down on the panel. The light cycled and the door unlocked, letting me inside.
“Be right there,” said Shaun.
I smiled at him and closed the door. “You know, for a black-ops virology lab, this place has pretty straightforward security,” I said, turning to face the room.
“No, we don’t,” said the short, curvy woman standing next to Becks. She was wearing a lab coat, blue jeans, and a bright orange T-shirt, all of which paled a bit when taken together with the hunting rifle she had pointed at my chest. “We just take slightly different steps to enforce it.”
I froze.
The door opened behind me. “Hey, Dr. Abbey,” said Shaun.
“Hello, Shaun,” said the woman. She had a faint Canadian accent. “Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, right, you never met George, did you?” Shaun closed the door and moved to stand next to me. “Georgia Mason, meet Dr. Shannon Abbey, mad scientist. Dr. Abbey, meet Georgia Mason, living dead girl.”
“He must be feeling better if he can make bad Rob Zombie jokes,” said Becks.
“Feeling better doesn’t mean sane, stable, or thinking clearly,” said Dr. Abbey. Her eyes swept across my face, assessing me. “What do you think your name is, girlie?”
“Georgia Mason,” I replied, relieved that she’d asked a question whose answer I already knew. “I’m a ninety-seven percent cognate to the original. Don’t quiz me on my fifth birthday party and I’ll be fine.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You sure you should be telling me that?”
“I’m sure that if you’re going to shoot me, you’ll do it regardless of what I say now, and if you’re going to study me, you’re not going to shoot me regardless of what I say now, so I may as well be honest with you.” I smiled despite the tension. “I like being honest.”
“You brought me a mouthy clone,” said Dr. Abbey, looking toward Shaun. “And here it’s not even my birthday.”
He shrugged. “I try to be thoughtful. How’s it hanging, Doc?”
“Well, let’s see. You went to get me mosquitoes. You didn’t bring me any mosquitoes. Instead, you bring me a clone of your dead sister. So I’d say it’s hanging pretty damn poorly right now.” Dr. Abbey sighed, lowering her rifle. “Thank God you’re not the only people I have to work with. Come on. There’s someone here that I want you to meet.”
She turned, starting to walk away. I followed, and got my first real look at her facility. I stopped, staring.
I’m not sure what I expected from an off-the-grid virology lab run by a woman with the fashion sense of a traffic cone. I certainly didn’t expect a fully equipped, if somewhat quixotically designed, research facility. Racks of medical equipment, computers, and lab animals were everywhere I looked. The place seemed slightly understaffed for its size, but that was probably a function of its underground nature—it wasn’t like they could advertise for staff on the local message boards. “Mad Scientist seeks Minions. Must be detail-oriented, well educated, and unconcerned by the idea of being charged with terrorism if caught.” Just no.
As she walked, Dr. Abbey asked, “How’s Maggie?”