Immunity Index Sue Burke (best way to read ebooks TXT) 📖

Across the street, reflected off the side windows of a house, were faint red and blue flashing lights. No sirens. The blue and red lights went out. Cops?

The man dragged the girl roughly. “Come on!” The woman was standing up, wiping her mouth.

“I won’t go,” the girl said. “I didn’t do anything wrong. You can’t arrest me. I don’t even know who you’re talking about. I’m just a kid.”

“Get in the car.”

She tried to pull her arm free and snarled. “No! You can’t make me. Go ahead and shoot me. We’re all going to die anyway.”

At that instant, an overwhelming love filled Berenike’s heart for that screaming, righteous, raging child. And she prepared to—Wait. Listen. Electronic cars made almost no noise, just the crunch of a dead leaf under a tire, a hiss of a brake that could blend into the rustle of the trees. In the dark, cars could appear out of thin air.

As if on the count of three, searchlights flashed from the roofs of several police cars.

“Everyone on the ground!” a loudspeaker blared.

Berenike dove to the floor. Don’t hurt the girl. Through the open door, she saw the girl drop to the ground. The woman pitched herself onto the grass.

But one of the men raised his gun and shot at the police cars—as if the police cars weren’t armored. As if the police didn’t have self-guiding bullets that would seek the source of the gunshot. He jerked back and fell.

The other man jumped into the van and touched a switch to start it. Nothing.

On the floor, Berenike covered her head with her hands. The streetlights blinked on. She felt avenged.

“You in the van,” the loudspeaker ordered. “Surrender. Come out with your hands up. Slowly.”

Berenike held her breath. The man pounded on the steering wheel.

“Dale,” the woman shouted, “give up.”

“You’re a coward!” he answered.

“They’ll kill you.”

Berenike took another breath and held it.

“We’re at war!” Dale said.

She heard him stamp out of the car, and doors opened on the police cars. Footsteps hurried out.

“Turn around,” the loudspeaker said, “spread your legs.”

An unamplified woman’s voice called, “Berenike Woulfe? Are you there?” She pronounced her name in three syllables, ber-NYE-kee.

“I’m in the van! On the floor!”

“Don’t move. I’ll come and get you.”

Soon a hand touched her arm and guided her out. How is the girl? As Berenike stood up, she looked for her. Two officers, dressed head to toe in armor, stood on either side of the child, who seemed stunned. Other officers were holding the woman, and some were inspecting the bleeding man on the ground.

Berenike walked around the van toward the girl, who saw her and whose eyes got big. Her mouth dropped open.

“I should talk to her,” Berenike told the officer. She had never wanted to talk to anyone so much in her life.

“Um … yes, okay.”

“Oh, and I disabled the van. I work for AutoKar, and I can do that. I can undo it anytime you want.”

“Thanks.” The officer followed her closely as she approached the girl, whose eyes narrowed with uncertainty.

Berenike stopped before she got close, afraid that she’d be frightening. She took a deep breath. One step at a time. “I’m your sister. It’s a long story.” The girl wasn’t going to want to hear that she was a clone. The AI counselor hadn’t covered this kind of problem, but she’d have to find a good way to tell her.

The girl stared. “My mom.…” Her chin trembled.

“Show me,” Berenike said, knowing what she’d find and hoping it would ease the girl’s troubles to share them. The girl led her and the officer through a shabby but clean living room to the attached garage. A woman lay there on the cement floor. She had died in the throes of a violent seizure. A lot like Papa.

Berenike put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I can take care of you, if you want. You have two more sisters, too.” She’d do anything to keep that girl safe and well cared for.

The officer seemed to be listening to something. She lifted her visor to show a grim, tired face.

“Will we be safe here?” Berenike asked.

“I can’t guarantee that,” the officer said. “We can’t guard you. We just don’t have any officers to spare.”

“That van has some antivirals in it. They’re valuable.” Berenike thought a moment. She turned to the girl. “Do you want to come with me? I know a safe place. City Hall. I work there.” She called to the officer. “Can I take the van?”

“Probably. I’ll check. It’s chaos out there. You said antivirals?”

“I was delivering them for the city.”

The officer lowered her visor and studied something for a minute. “That checks out. Let me talk to the girl, make sure she agrees.”

The girl answered quickly. “Yes, it’s okay. I’ll go with her. I don’t have anyone else.”

“Come and let’s talk privately,” the officer said.

After what looked like a stern conversation, they returned.

“Take good care of her.” The officer left, walking like someone who’d been on a too-long hike and hadn’t arrived yet.

“Well,” Berenike said, “my name is Berenike Woulfe. And you?”

“Lillian Montrose.”

“First, I want you to know that you won’t get sick, at least not with this cold.”

“How? Everybody gets sick.”

“It’s a long story. A few people are naturally immune. Do you want to pack a few clothes and we’ll go? We can come back later, see to your mother, and…” She shrugged. She had no plan for what to do for more than a few steps ahead. Too many unsettled variables.

“I’ll go, but only if it’s with you.”

Berenike’s heart warmed to hear that. Trust wasn’t love, but it would do for now.

The girl’s room was spare and clean, and she grabbed a bag and stuffed some clothes into it. As she did, Berenike talked, trying to make complex things simple.

“You should know that we’re clones, like twins, but four of us, and in spite of what everyone says, it’s okay to be a clone. We’re really ordinary people. We weren’t