Double Helix

Tilly

I felt better after my rest. My head was clear, and the wound in my leg was knitting itself together as fast as my body could manage. I would have felt even better if it hadn't been two days since I had drank or eaten anything. To pass the time, I pried open another of the crates, and found more of the moldy residue. Probing at the mass blindly with my fingers I found a bit of thin, papery substance that crinkled between my fingers. I brought it to my nose and recognized the pungent scent of onion.

"Great," I said to myself, "that's really helpful." Someone had apparently been hoarding food down here, but the amount of decay indicated that it had been a few years at least.

I sat down with the lid I had pried from the crate and, bracing it with one hand, began carefully loosening individual strips of wood. When I was done, I had eight pieces of wood, each about three feet long, an inch thick and four inches wide, with two nails still attached at each end. I fumbled around in the dark until I found a loose brick and pried it carefully from the wall. Returning to my workspace, I placed one piece of wood at the end of another, so that the nails faced in on both pieces, and pounded one piece down onto the other on the concrete floor. When I was done, the two pieces had become a six-foot strip of wood. I stood and pushed it hand over hand toward the ceiling. It touched about where it expected it to, at about four-and-a-half feet above my head. That made it a ten-foot ceiling, which fit with what the acoustics had already told me. I began to tap at the ceiling with the stick. The sound it made was a dull rap, so I kept moving it, walking slowly and sweeping back and forth, tapping at about six-inch intervals.

The change in the timbre when I found the hatch was obvious and distinctive. I struck it again to be sure, and was again rewarded with a resonant sound. I alternately struck and probed at the spot, resolving it to a two-foot square with no latches or hinges on this side that I could detect. I checked the rest of the ceiling, just to be sure, but found nothing similar. Likewise, the floor was solid concrete and the walls were brick, and other than some wear, gave no sign of a break. I did find the ventilation source, in the form of two PVC pipes three inches in diameter at either end of the room near floor level. Peering into one, I could see very faint light filtering into a bend a few feet back.

I was bent over there, craning to look, when I heard rhythmic footsteps, a pair of them, echoing down the pipe. "You sure this shit'll work on her?" a muffled voice said. It sounded like the older of the two cops that had stopped me.

"Yeah, it'll work. I checked." I was pretty sure that the other voice was the younger deputy that had been driving. "Look, I'll hit her with a double dose to be sure. You got our buyer set up?"

"Yeah. He wanted to know what model she is. I told her I got no fucking clue, but she's got the markers. I got an address in Portland and we have three hours to be there."

"Alright. Go give it to her and make sure she drinks it all."

I scooted away from the wall and returned to the place where I had first awoken. I was just in time, as I heard a thump from above, followed by a scrape of wood and metal. A moment later, light spilled down from above and a face hovered in the trap door. Through my half-lidded eyes, I could see that there were actually two doors, one about two feet above the other, with an enclosed passage between.

"Hey, down there, wake up," the deputy said.

I pretended to be groggy and blinked up at him. "Wh-where am I?" I asked.

He ignored my question and dangled a bottle of water at me. "Hey, you must be thirsty." I nodded and he tossed the water bottle in my direction. I fumbled at catching it, feigning weakness and disorientation. I closed a hand around the lid, noting that it had already been opened. I brought it to my lips and tilted it back, pretending to take a long swig, but only letting a few drops get past my lips. I identified the drug when it touched my tongue, Rohypnol, tasteless and odorless to a non-modified human. Keeping my grin to myself, I took a quick breath and began gulping the tainted water down.

"Good girl," the man above me said.

I looked up at him. "Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Why are you keeping me here?"

He shrugged. "Nothing personal. You're a genemod and we're law enforcement. You can't be allowed to roam free."

I laughed at that. "You expect me to believe that what you're doing to me is above board? If you were going to take me in, why stick me in a cellar?"

The man sighed. "Like I said, nothing personal. Look, if we bring you into the sheriff's station, they hand you over to the feds and we get to do a bunch of paperwork. But you know what the reward for a private citizen apprehending a genemod is now?"

I shook my head slowly.

"It's a hundred thousand dollars. You can't fault me and my partner for wanting a cut of that. Best of all, no paperwork."

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing?" the younger deputy growled from somewhere nearby. The trap door abruptly flipped shut and latched as he released it. I heard more muffled conversation as the pair moved off.

I waited in the dark, curled up on my side on the canvas, eyes closed, going over in my mind what was about to happen. Twenty minutes later, the trap door opened once more. I cracked my eyelids just enough to see the younger man looking down at me, waving a flashlight over my prone body. Some clattering from above and a ladder was lowered through the opening. After it touched the ground, he climbed down, the other deputy just behind.

"Alright," the first deputy said. "Help me get her into a fireman's carry. I just need you to hold the ladder steady until I get her out."

I waited until the two men were reaching for me before I whipped out the piece of wood I had hidden beneath the canvas and swung it with all my strength. I hit the bald deputy on the side of the knee. The joint gave a sickening pop and he crumpled with a scream. The other deputy went for his gun, but in his panic, he fumbled at the catch of the retaining holster. I brought the piece of wood down on his hand hard enough to splinter wood and bone. He stumbled back with a cry and my attention snapped back to the older man, on his back now and pulling his own weapon free.

I dropped and rolled to one side as a pair of shots rang out, deafening in the tiny space. I came up next to a pair of stacked crates and heaved at them. They toppled, and the man grunted in pain as the top one landed on him. I knew that it wasn't really heavy enough to hold him there, so I went for the ladder. The younger deputy made a move toward me, lifting his good arm for a tackle. I looked up, bent my knees and braced myself for what was about to come. I leaped straight upward. The pain of knitting flesh ripped violently open was excruciating, flooding past my pain block and forcing a cry from me. I came down opposite the ladder and my wounded leg crumpled, nearly sending me toppling back down into the dark.

Perched on my hands and knees, and through the haze of pain, I had just enough presence of mind to grab hold of one of the rungs of the ladder and wrench it upward. There was a momentary resistance and then a cry of surprise as I ripped it free of someone's grip. The top of the ladder buried itself in the ceiling and stuck there, hanging just below the level of the trapdoor.

I rolled away from the edge and lay for a moment to catch my breath. I was on a hardwood floor of what appeared to be a bedroom. Light spilled in through dingy curtains. Mold dotted the walls and cobwebs lurked in the corners and crisscrossed the ceiling. A heavy layer of dust covered the floor except where boots had recently disturbed it. It looked like this place had been vacant for some time.

Shouting from the room below spurred me into movement. I knew that there was little chance of a bullet penetrating the wood and dirt to reach me, and it seemed that they were too smart to try, but with the trap doors open, all they needed to do was stack a few of the crates to climb out. I checked my wound and found fresh blood staining my makeshift bandage, but it didn't look as bad as it felt. I dragged myself to a wall and got shakily to my feet. Pain shot up my leg when I tried putting real weight on it, but I was able to limp along at a brisk enough pace. Taking a peek first, to be sure I was alone, I moved on into a hallway, past a laundry closet towards what looked like an outside door.

The door opened into a garage, and daylight streamed in through the large, open door, silhouetting a rather large, black pickup truck. There were no sheriff markings on it, so it was a civilian vehicle, probably belonging to one of the deputies. Hopping over to it, I peered into the bed and gave a shout of triumph. There, as if in answer to my wish, were both of the food bins. I knew that I couldn't transport the food on foot, so I opened the cab of the truck and studied the steering column and ignition. It took me a few moments to decipher what I needed to do, and after a quick search I found all of the tools I needed in the garage and inside the truck. I also found a twelve-gauge shotgun behind the seat, but I left it alone. I popped the hood and used one side of a pair of jumper cables to bridge the positive terminal to the coil. Next, I probed around with a screwdriver at the steering column until I popped the locking pin and exposed the solenoid. I used the screwdriver to short the ignition and the positive post, and the Ford's engine cranked to life.

I jerked hard at the wheel and the steering lock broke with a "ping". I had never driven a car before, just like I had never hotwired one, but I knew enough about electrical circuits and components to manage the latter, and thought I could puzzle out the former. I found the pedals, the gearshift, and the various minor controls, touching each to prime my muscle memory. Though the ritual took only seconds, my heart was hammering in my chest as I imagined the two deputies bursting through the door, catching me in the act of stealing their car.

I threw the truck into reverse and backed out of the garage, testing the responsiveness of the steering, brakes and accelerator as I made my way down the long driveway. As I turned onto the dusty road at the end of the drive, I looked back one more time at the house, with its peeling paint and partly collapsed front porch, and a wave of relief washed through me.

I drove south, figuring that it was unlikely the men had taken me far from where they had picked me up. Sure enough, a few miles on, I came across the very bridge where they had caught me. I now knew approximately where I was, and it would be a simple matter to navigate the highways south to Corvallis. I could be back home in under two hours.

Even as I thought this, I spotted Norm's truck by the roadside. I did not recognize the man who came around from the back to the driver's side and climbed into the cab. I kept my speed steady and moved on past, but pulled over to the roadside before getting completely out of sight. Craning my neck to look through the back window of the cab, I saw the truck turn off the road and onto a driveway.

I hesitated a moment, unsure of the implications of what I had just seen. The deputies that had picked me up might be out looking for me by now, and the farther away I got from here, the safer I would be. But there was no way that Norm would have willingly abandoned the truck. Something had happened to him, and the truck was my only lead at that moment.

I put the pickup in gear and spun the wheel, bouncing into and back out of the shallow ditch on the opposite side of the road before roaring back the way I had come.

Norm

I looked up sharply at the tap on the glass. What I saw couldn't be real. "Tilly?" I mouthed. She nodded and produced a long screwdriver. Pushing it upward between the panes, she began to work at the latch.

The male half of my two captors burst into the room, the door banging loudly and rebounding. Tilly's eyes went wide when she saw him, but she kept at it. The man moved towards her, reaching behind his back as he did.

"Go, Tilly! Run!" I shouted.

"Fuck!" he spat, and pulled his gun, but Tilly had vanished. He hurried to the window and peered out, craning to left and right, and banged a fist on the sill in frustration.

"What is it?" the woman asked from the doorway.

"A woman," he said. "She was trying to get to him. Was that your friend?" He directed that question at me.

"That's her," I said. "See? I was telling the truth."

"Get your gun," he said to his wife. "We'll circle the house. She may have run off, but she might be lurking nearby for another chance at him."

"Don't shoot her," I said. "Please don't shoot her."

The man spared me only a glance as he swept from the room and down the hall.

As soon as they were out of sight, I began struggling against the layers of tape holding me down. I grunted and growled my frustration, but other than a bit of stretching, the tape once more showed no signs of weakening.

"Why are you taped to that chair?" a voice asked.

I looked over towards the door at a young girl, maybe ten years old, with mild Asian features and long black hair.

"He's our prisoner, dork," another voice said and a face peered over her shoulder. I expected to see the boy that I had seen earlier, but this one was taller, with light brown skin, but hazel eyes and a nose that was almost Romanesque. "I heard mom and dad talking about him."

The girl gave a grunt of annoyance as the boy pushed roughly past her into the room. "Hey! I'm telling dad!"

"Dad's busy," the boy said.

"Guys?" This was the boy I had seen earlier, peering cautiously through the door. "Mom said to stay away from that guy."

"We are," the girl said.

"Yeah, we're way over here by the door," the dark-skinned boy said.

While they talked, I had resumed my struggle to get free of the duct tape.

"Hey!" the girl said, "I think he's trying to get away!"

"You shouldn't be in here," I admonished the children.

"Yeah, guys, let's go," the boy in the hall said.

"I don't think we should leave him," the dark-skinned boy said. "Not if that's what he wants."

"Mom and dad will be back soon," the girl said.

"Where did they go?" the boy in the hall said.

"Dad said we have another trespasser," the dark-skinned boy said. "They went to track her down."

"Are they going to kill her?" the girl said, in a tone of distress.

"I don't know. Dad was really mad. You remember what he told us, right? What they'll do to us if anyone finds us?" The boy in the hall gulped audibly and the girl shuddered. "So they'll do whatever they gotta do, okay?"

"You're genemods," I said with sudden recognition. All three directed terrified looks my way. "But no, you can't be," I amended quickly, "not unless you're all Peter and Wendy models." The very youngest genemods were around twenty-one, when the ban on human genemodding went into effect.

And then it clicked into place. The boy's odd mixture of skin color and facial features, the girl's obviously mixed Asian and European ancestry, all three of them with barely a blemish, but just enough imperfection to make them look human. "You're halfs, aren't you? Half genemod?"

Their nervous silence was answer enough. "Look," I said, "this is all a big mistake. My friend, the one your parents are out looking for, she's a full genemod. I'm trying to protect her. I lost her and was out here looking for her, but she found me. I love her, and . . . ." My throat tried to close around the words as a swell of emotion overcame me. "I love her just like your parents love you. It would kill me if something happened to her. I understand why your parents think they need to protect you from me, but I'm not a threat. In fact, I've spent the last few years of my life trying to protect genemods."

The girl spoke. "You're with the Agency?"

"I used to work for them, yes," I admitted.

She moved suddenly to open a dresser drawer. After a moment of rifling the contents, she pulled out a pair of scissors and came toward me. I flinched when she got near, but she only bent to begin cutting through the tape. "No!" the younger boy said in a forceful whisper. "Gabrielle, you can't."

"Gabby," the other boy said in a tone of warning. "Let's wait for mom and dad."

"I know what I'm doing," she said, and in another moment, my arm was free. "I think he's telling the truth, about all of it."

I held out my hand and she gave me the scissors. I made short work of the remaining loops of tape and stood. "Here," I said. I held out the scissors for her to take back.

The older boy snatched them and clutched them tightly. "My bio mother was a Standard Upgrade," he said. "I'm faster than you, and probably stronger. If you try anything, if you try to hurt us or our parents, I'll kill you."

"I know you would," I said, "and I won't. Let's go find your parents."

Tilly

I had driven past the house again and turned into an empty field near the bridge. The big truck bounced easily over the hard-packed dirt, and I circled behind a copse of trees before parking and cutting the ignition. I tucked the screwdriver I had used to start the truck into my back pocket, since it was the closest thing I had to a weapon. My leg ached, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. I limped carefully through the field, crossed the road, and made my way along the tree line at the edge of the river. I waited to break from the trees until I was well back from the house, using the barn to block line of sight to the house as I carefully climbed over the fence.

I stalked cautiously up to the back of the barn and circled toward the far side. I passed a row of stainless steel tanks outside the barn and paused at a small service door. It was padlocked, so I continued on, rounded the back of the barn and came to the front corner. There were a few windows at the back of the house, but as I had hoped, the curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun. I rushed forward across the empty space between house and barn as fast as my limp would allow.

I reached the corner of the house and moved past, heading for Norm's truck, but something at the corner of my eye made me pause and move in for a closer look. What I saw made my heart lurch in surprise. Norm sat alone in a bedroom, sitting stiffly upright in a chair. No, strapped to the chair, held with strips of shiny silver tape. I tapped lightly in the glass to get his attention, and though his face lit up with recognition, he didn't speak or otherwise try to signal me. I quickly surveyed the window, found the locking mechanism at the top of the bottom pane, and pulled out the screwdriver.

I saw the man enter the room a moment later, but kept at prying the lock until I heard Norm's warning shout. I ducked under the sill and lurched sideways, away from the window and toward the back of the house. I heard the man's curse and waited just around the corner as he conversed with Norm and with a woman. I got moving again when I heard them move off. The barn was an obvious hiding spot, so instead I headed for Norm's truck. There wasn't time to hotwire it, and I didn't intend to leave without Norm, but the back door was open. I unlatched it and slipped inside, rolling it carefully and quietly back down behind me, but not letting it latch. The inside of the truck was dark except around the edges of the door, but my eyes shifted foveae instantly, rendering the interior in clear grayscale. It was hot, but not stiflingly so, and I sat with my back against the wall, waiting.

After a minute, I heard footsteps crunching over gravel. They came closer and I instinctively held my breath, but then they moved away, heading in the direction of the barn. A few minutes went by, and I was just thinking that it was time to lift the door for a peek, when I heard voices approaching.