Jonathan Maberry - The Dragon Factory

Here Cyrus flicked a glance at Conrad Veder, but Veder missed it. He was watching Tonton, who had been very slowly edging toward a security phone mounted on the wall. If the big man took two more steps, Veder would shoot him.

Paris shook his head. “This is all… too much. Why do this? What could you possibly gain from killing so many people?”

“Change,” said Cyrus. “The Extinction Wave will ultimately eliminate all nonwhites. All of them. And the whites who survive will have to fight for the right to dominate and rebuild the world.”

“You’re a fucking madman!” yelled Paris. “Both of you. You want to kill millions of people?”

“No, Paris,” said Cyrus, “not millions. Billions. We’ve already killed millions.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“The Extinction Wave is not our first attempt,” said Otto. “If you count the attempts that yielded only moderate results, this is our tenth phase. Phase six was our biggest success.”

“This will be much, much bigger,” said Cyrus.

“What was phase six?” asked Hecate.

Otto smiled like a vulture. “Your father took a disease that had presented in several chimpanzees and rhesus monkeys and reengineered it to work on humans. He released it into certain test populations in the late 1970s. It didn’t catch on as fast as we liked, but it gained a lot of traction in the eighties.”

Paris paled. “God… you’re talking about AIDS.”

“HIV,” Otto corrected, “but yes. It was introduced to homosexuals in the United States and Canada and then to the general population of Africa. It’s been quite effective.”

“You’re insane.”

“You keep saying that,” said Cyrus. “And while I admit that I do have some ‘moments,’ if you call me insane again I’ll have your hands cut off.”

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” asked Hecate.

Cyrus shrugged. “I was waiting to see how you matured. We wanted to see if you had the qualities we hoped you’d have. The qualities we tried to build into you.”

Hecate’s lips parted as his words sank in. “We’re part of your experiment, aren’t we?”

“Everything I do serves the New Order.”

Paris gagged. His eyes were wide and fever bright as understanding sank in.

Hecate looked at the white purity of her hand. “The story has always been that we were special. Cosmic children… all of that stuff. But we’re just part of a breeding program to make superior beings.”

“To make superior white beings,” corrected Otto. “Let’s keep perspective.”

Paris whirled and threw up into the bushes. The winged serpent on the tree branch hissed and flew away.

“I always said he had no stomach,” Cyrus said to Otto, who inclined his head. “We knew fifteen years ago that you were weak, Paris. You were the evidence that breeding programs would not be the answer. Even with the genetic manipulation to give you extra strength and intelligence, you’re still weak. That’s why the SAMs are so important.”

“ ‘SAMs’?” echoed Hecate. “The boy that looks like you, the one at the Deck. I’m sure I saw another one that looked just like him. Are they your sons?”

“No. Children have proven to be such a disappointment.”

“Then… what?”

“He’s me ,” said Cyrus. “That’s why I call him SAM. That’s why I call all of them SAM. SAM. It’s an acronym.”

Hecate shook her head.

“SAM. Same As Me.”

She got it now and her eyes widened. “They’re… clones?”

“Yes,” said Cyrus. “And I have a lot of them. A whole family of them. Clones with transgenic enhancements. Superior beings. They will be the fathers of the new race, the race that will emerge from the chaos after the Extinction Wave has cleansed the world.”

The Warehouse, Baltimore, Maryland

Tuesday, August 31, 2:22 A.M.

Time Remaining on the Extinction Clock: 33 hours, 38 minutes

“Evil?” said Rudy. “Why do you think you’re evil?”

“Because of who I am. Because of what I am.” The boy shook his head.

“That man you all work for, the one I thought was called ‘Deacon,’ he knows. You know, too.”

“I suppose I do.” Rudy kept his face bland. “You believe that you are a clone,” he said.

“I am!”

“A clone of Josef Mengele.”

“Yes.” The word was as harsh as a fist on unprotected flesh. “There are a lot of us. That’s why my name is Eighty-two.”

Rudy pushed the glass of ginger ale closer to the boy. He didn’t touch it. Rudy waited. The bubbles in the ginger ale popped. The second hand on the wall clock swept around in silent circles. Once, twice.

“I guess…,” began the boy. He coughed and then cleared his throat. “I guess my real name is Josef.”

The boy wiped the tears off his cheeks with an angry hand.

“Do you know who Josef Mengele was?”

“He’s me,” said the boy.

“No,” said Rudy. “You’re fourteen. Josef Mengele was born a hundred years ago.”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re the same person.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Was Josef Mengele a good person?”

“No!” the boy said as if Rudy was an idiot.

Rudy smiled. “Well, we agree on that. Was Josef Mengele the kind of person who would have risked his own life to help other people?”

A shake of the head.

“Would that man have done what you did to contact Mr. Church-the Deacon-and ask for help?”

No answer.

“Would he?”

“No. I guess not.”

Rudy changed tack. “So there are eighty-two clones of Josef Mengele?”

“No,” said the boy.

“I don’t-”

“There are a lot more than that.”

“And you’re one of them?”

A nod.

“Are the others all like you?”

“We’re all clones, I told you.”

“No… I asked if they’re like you. Do they have the same personality?”

“Some do.”

“Exactly the same?”

No answer.

“Please,” said Rudy. “Answer my question. Do they all have the same personality?”

“No.”

“How can that be?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many of them would have done what you did? How many of them would have risked their lives to try and warn us?”

No answer.

“Are any of them cruel?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Are you cruel?”

“No.”

“Don’t you enjoy hurting people? Don’t you enjoy inflicting harm and-”

The boy gave him a sharp, hurt look. “No!”

“You mind that I asked that?”

“Of course I do. What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Why is it stupid? You said that you were the same as Josef Mengele. You said that you were evil. And you said that you were going to Hell.”

“I’m him; don’t you get that?”

“I understand that you’re a clone. I admit I’ve never spoken with a clone before, and until today I would have thought that a clone might carry some of the same traits and characteristics as the person from whose cells they were cloned. And yet here you are, a teenage boy who risked his life on several occasions to help stop bad people from doing very bad things. A boy who attacked a big security guard in order to try and stop the slaughter of unarmed people. A boy who could easily have done nothing.”

The boy said nothing.

“You may be cloned from cells taken from an evil man. Our scientists will determine that through DNA testing. If it’s true, then it changes nothing,” said Rudy. “Josef Mengele was a monster. Is a monster, I suppose, if Cyrus Jakoby is really him.”

“I’m pretty sure he is.”

“He’s such a terrible person… and yet you risked everything to save the very people he wanted to destroy.”