Origin (24 page)

I try to keep as much distance between Strauss and Laszlo and myself as possible. The sight of them reminds me of the syringe tucked in my sock drawer in my bedroom.

Eventually we end up in a room packed with cages of rats. Most of them are descendents of Roosevelt. The thought of that particular rat brings a knot to my stomach. We have dozens of immortal rats in Little Cam, but none of them are as special as Roosevelt was. He was the first, just as I am the first.

The scientists had to put a stop to the breeding of the immortal rats years ago, when it became evident that Little Cam would soon be overrun otherwise. The excess of immortal rats couldn’t be released, in case one was found and its unusual abilities discovered. Of course, now that we know elysia is lethal to immortals, we could use it to control the population of rats. I wonder if Uncle Paolo has thought of that yet.

Uncle Paolo is introducing Strauss and Laszlo to a cage of albinos when Laszlo signals for him to be quiet. He pulls a beeping satellite phone from his satchel, but the racket of the rats is too loud for him to hear anything. Laszlo makes his way out of the room and shuts the door.

Seconds later the door reopens.

“We’re moving out!” Laszlo yells.

“What?” Strauss’s eyes widen. “What’s going on?”

“That was Gerard, back in Rio. Several Genisect suits just landed and are sniffing around, trying to pick up our trail. We have to clear out. Now, while we still have time to throw them off the trail to Little Cam.”

Strauss rushes to the door, Uncle Paolo and me following.

“So they’re leaving? Just like that?” I ask in a low voice as we walk briskly down the hall.

“This is no small matter, Pia.” Uncle Paolo’s face is white. “It may already be too late. Corpus will have to move fast if they’re to lead Genisect away from Little Cam.”

“What
is
Genisect, anyway?”

“A rival corporation,” Uncle Paolo replies. “Remember when I told you that there are people out there who’d kill everyone in Little Cam just to get to you? That’s Genisect.”

I imagine men with guns invading our compound and shooting everyone while I stand helpless to stop them, and I shiver. “So that’s the end of the big Corpus visit then.” Somehow it seems anticlimactic to have worked up such a sweat over a visit that lasted less than twenty-four hours.

“You just need to focus on your test, Pia. This changes nothing.”

Once we’re outside, he runs to help load the Jeeps, and I’m left alone. I find a place to sit in the shade of a capirona tree by the drive and watch. It’s pure chaos. Even Strauss is running, with her polka-dot valise slung over her shoulder like a sack of bananas. I remember what she said about this Genisect starting World War III to get to me, and, strangely, all I can think is:
There have already been two world wars?

To my surprise, I see Uncle Smithy climbing into the Jeeps with them, carrying his own suitcases. He must be returning to the outside at last. I can’t let him go without saying good-bye.

I run to the Jeep and reach over the side, putting my hand on Uncle Smithy’s arm.

“Uncle Smithy! You’re leaving us already?” I’d expected him to stay for a few more weeks, at least.

The old scientist smiles and pats my hand. His skin is as thin and fragile as a butterfly’s wing, and his fingers look
strange without his token paintbrush in their grasp. It’s a wonder to think those frail hands could have painted so many beautiful things in his time here.

“This is farewell, Pia.”

“Where will you go?”

“Home. Don’t worry about me. Corpus takes excellent care of its retirees. I plan to sit in a recliner and snooze the rest of my days away. Don’t look so horrified, dear. It’s exactly what I want to do.”

It’s been a long time since I had to say good-bye to anyone; the last person was Aunt Claire, the medical doctor who preceded Aunt Brigid. “I’ll miss you. I’ll miss our painting sessions.”

Uncle Smithy studies my face and slowly shakes his head. “Forty-three years I gave this place. Forty-three years of this godforsaken jungle, but I don’t regret a moment of it.”

“Why?”

“Because,” he takes my hand and squeezes it, his grip surprisingly strong for one so old, “it meant I got to touch eternity. You are our hope, Pia. Don’t let us down.”

Unable to reply for the knot in my throat, I nod. Though I hate to think it, I have a feeling those words were planted by someone other than Uncle Smithy. They’re just too perfectly timed with the test given to me this morning. But I don’t hold it against him. Uncle Smithy has never been anything but kind to me, and I will miss him.

The Jeeps are ready to roll out. Strauss yells for the drivers to step on it, and the gates creak open. It’s been less than an hour since Laszlo got the call.

The vehicles thunder into the jungle at a breakneck speed,
and in minutes the roar of the engines fades away, replaced by birdsong and monkey chatter.

Little Cam is left dizzied by the whirlwind visit, and everyone looks a little dazed as we stand around the gate, staring after the Jeeps. Yesterday morning, they showed up out of nowhere, and now they’re gone, as if they’d never been here at all.

Well, almost. They did leave some evidence of their visit behind, and it’s buried in my sock drawer.

When I think about the test, a chill runs down my spine. I want to be glad that Strauss and Laszlo are gone, but all I can feel is overwhelming sadness. How long can I put it off? Or should I go ahead and get it over with?

I try to see the test from a rational, scientific point of view.
It’s all for the greater good. Who knows? Maybe Uncle Sergei will find a vaccine for FIV from studying Sneeze’s cells.

But it doesn’t help. I still feel sick about the needle, about passing the test, all of it. Maybe Uncle Paolo was right. Maybe I’m not ready after all. I certainly can’t see the connection between killing Sneeze and joining the Immortis team; the injection seems completely gratuitous. Maybe if I was going to help Uncle Sergei find a vaccine, the test would make sense, but my future research is totally unrelated to ocelots and FIV and pentobarbital.

But if I don’t pass the test, Strauss will fire Uncle Paolo and maybe the rest of the Immortis team as well. Saying goodbye to Uncle Smithy was hard enough; I couldn’t bear losing everyone else too.
“You are our hope,”
Uncle Smithy told me. Maybe Uncle Paolo or Victoria Strauss told him to say it, but it doesn’t make it less true.

Feeling twisted and torn in every direction, I have to force myself not to scream aloud. I wish Corpus had never come. I wish Uncle Smithy hadn’t left. I wish there wasn’t a syringe of poison in my sock drawer. I wish…I wish…
I wish I was with Eio. Right now.

The urge hits strong and true. I need to get away from Little Cam, at least for a few hours. I have to clear my head, find my rationality. The fence around Little Cam seems to shrink and compress around me, crushing my lungs and leaving no room to breathe. Beyond, the vastness of the jungle beckons.

I realize I’m the only one left standing by the gates. Everyone else has wandered off to labs or dorms, probably to mull over the Corpus visit and what it means for the future of Little Cam. I begin searching for Aunt Harriet and find her sitting in her lab, head bent over a photograph on the table.

“Aunt Harriet?”

She straightens and turns, her hand swiping the picture from the table and into her pocket. Her eyes are red, as if she’s been crying. “Oh, Pia.”

“Are you…okay?” I stand uncertainly in the doorway.

“Of course I’m okay.” She rubs the heel of her hand over her eyes. “What do you want?”

“I need to get out for a couple of hours. Do you have any ideas besides using the Jeeps?”

“Pia…” She grabs a fistful of her hair and shuts her eyes. “It’s really not a good time. Everyone’s stirred up over the whole Corpus thing, and that makes them unpredictable. And now they’ve doubled the pressure on me, saying they want viable clones of immortal rats by the end of the year, and I just
can’t spare the time right now to sneak you in and out of the compound.” She opens her eyes and gives me an exasperated look. “I’m sorry. Wait a few days. Let everything die down.”

After a moment of silence, I nod slowly, then back away and head down the hall without replying. Obviously Aunt Harriet’s under as much strain as Uncle Paolo.

Fine.

I can get myself out.

I pace the perimeter of the compound, looking for holes in the fence. There are none. In fact, I can see places where Uncle Timothy had the fence reinforced, probably the day my original escape hole was discovered. If I’m going to find a way out, it’ll have to be higher up.

The electrified chain link ends about fifteen feet above the ground, though the horizontal iron bars reach higher. Technically, I could climb the fence, since the electricity won’t damage me. But it would hurt, and I probably wouldn’t make it halfway up before my hands would let go of their own volition. Plus, by that time the alarm in the guardhouse would be set off, and Uncle Timothy’s men would be on me in seconds.

Seconds.

The electricity in the fence pulses every 1.2 seconds, which means—theoretically—I could make it out if I was very,
very
quick. But I don’t think I could scale those fifteen feet in less than a second even at my fastest speed.
Then again, if I didn’t have to climb all of those fifteen feet.
…

I run along the perimeter of the fence until I find myself behind the maintenance building. This is the most isolated part of Little Cam…and the most overgrown. A bucayo tree
grows out of the tangled weeds, its branches starting low to the ground and twisting outward, hung with bright scarlet flowers resembling the bills of toucans.

It’s perfect.

I hoist myself upward, climbing the way a monkey climbs, using my feet as much as my hands. When I’m level with the top of the chain link, I stop. I could climb higher and aim for the bars above the chain link, but they’re too smooth to grab on to, and I’d probably just slip and fall twenty feet to the ground. I’ll have to jump, grab hold of the chain link, climb over, and leap to the ground—in less than 1.2 seconds.

The branch I’m crouching on is sturdy, and I grip it in my hands, close my eyes, and breathe in and out as slowly as I can. And I listen.

Uncle Paolo has tested my hearing multiple times, but I’ve never concentrated on it as hard as this. I block out the wrong sounds—screeching capuchins, wind in the leaves, my own beating heart—and focus on the most subtle noise of all: the almost imperceptible hum of electricity pulsing through the fence. At first, it’s only a monotone buzz in my ear, and if I turn my head even a centimeter, I lose it altogether. But the longer I listen, the more distinct the pulses become.
Hum…hum…hum…
My mind catches the pattern: 1.2 seconds, like clockwork.

I open my eyes but keep my ears tuned to the fence. My muscles tense in preparation, I wait for the precise moment—and I leap.

A
tenth of a second after I let go of the fence, the next electric pulse sizzles through the wires. I land in a crouch on the other side and then sprint into the foliage. My heart pounding at my ribs, I lean against a tree trunk and slide to the ground.

I was that close to setting off Uncle Timothy’s alarms.

But I made it.

Shakily I stand up and watch the fence, to be sure no one noticed my escape. After several minutes of silence, my pulse finally settles, and I head into the jungle.

The day is warmer than most, and it isn’t long before my tank top is damp with sweat. The perpetual buzzing of the cicadas is almost deafening, nearly drowning out the sounds of the birds. The deeper I go, the darker it gets, with the sunlight streaming in golden bars from the sky. Moving from the cool shade into one of these warm cylinders of light is like walking from night into day, from water into fire.

I may be out of Little Cam, but Uncle Smithy’s words still follow me, clinging to me like perfume.
You are our hope…don’t let us down…you are our hope.…

I break into a run, as if I could leave all of it behind—Sneeze, Uncle Paolo, the syringe—if I just move fast enough. The trees fly past in a blur, and I move so smoothly across the jungle floor that I have the sensation of
not
moving, that it’s the world that’s rolling too fast, too recklessly, too out of control.

I am running so fast that when I reach Ai’oa and rein myself in, I skid across the ground, raising dust in a cloud.

Eio is standing with the men and boys, huddled around a fire and holding poison dart frogs with leaves. I barely notice what’s going on and head straight for Eio. I grab his hand and whisper in his ear, “Let’s go.”

“But we’re going to hunt. We’re about to do the
sapo
ceremony.”

I grip his hand tighter. “Please. I need to get away from everything, just for a few hours.”

He nods wordlessly and hands the smoldering sticks he’s holding to Burako, who regards me with disapproval. We leave them all behind and start walking to the river. The Ai’oans whisper and chuckle as we pass, but I ignore them. Once we reach the edge of the village, I start running again.

“Pia!” Eio calls. “What’s going on?”

“Come on!”

It isn’t far to the river. I slide down the embankment and stop at the edge of the water, and Eio, trying to keep up with me, nearly tumbles right into the river. I catch him and pull him back.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Did something happen?”

“No. No, I just…needed to get out.”

“Did they hurt you? Those strangers, did they do something to you? We saw them leaving. They went down the river an hour ago in their motorboat. I was afraid they’d taken you with them.” He turns so that he’s facing me squarely. “I thought they’d come to take you away.”

“No, they didn’t. At least not this time.” I stare at the water. It ripples brown and copper in the sun.

“They will come again?”

Not if I do as I’m told and pass this last test.…
“No. Not for a while.”