CHAPTER9
Avril took another breath. Yes, her head was clear, and everything around her looked stark and startling. She stood in the parking lot of a burning prison, a place she never expected to be. She needed to call—
Celia’s phone rang. It must be Irene again. They’d have a lot to say to each other.
No, it was an old man.
“Irene?” he said.
“No. I’m Avril. Who are you?”
“I’m Peng.”
She felt like she should remember that name.
“I … I work with DNA.”
DNA? Yes, clones, SongLab. “Oh, that Peng.” She—he had changed a lot, and he seemed to be in some sort of office, all alone.
“I have very good news for you.”
That would be the first good news all day, and it had been the longest day of her life.
“When I designed you, I had a cold, so I built immunity into you against all coronaviruses. You won’t get sick.”
What? “I won’t get sick.” How could he do that?
“No, you’ll be fine. From the cold, anyway. How are you? Really, I’m concerned. You seem to be … in a difficult situation.”
“Um, yes.” She could see her own face in a corner of the display, lit by flashing red lights, smudged by smoke, and disheveled. “We were in a prison, and it caught fire, and—you knew Celia? Celia Ruiz?” That was a silly question. He had to, since he’d called her phone.
“Yes. I did.” His voice, his face became somber, as if he knew what she was going to say.
“She just died. Of the cold. I was with her.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“She thought I was Irene. I was pretending to be her, and I was talking to Irene, too. I was trying to help by letting her think her daughter was there.”
“I’m sure you gave them both great comfort.”
Maybe she had. Maybe she hadn’t lied about everything. Maybe—“I’m not going to get sick? Really?”
“Some people are naturally immune. So are you. The virus needs a certain receptor protein, and you don’t have that exact one.” He looked earnest, as if he cared for nothing more than her at that moment. “You will live. And Irene will live, too.”
“And … the other one? There’s one in Milwaukee. I don’t know her name.”
“Her too. I made you with love. And with spite toward a virus, and that’s turned out to be a good thing.”
“How many of us are there?”
He sighed and looked away. “Probably three or four. I don’t have access to my records, but I made a limited number. Not everyone did that who made clones, but for technical reasons, fewer is better.”
Only three or four. Good. No marching identical hordes like a bad movie. “Do they know this? That they’re immune. The other ones.”
“I don’t have any way to reach them. Do you? They’d be glad to know this.”
“I can do that.” She’d wanted to talk to them for a long time. Now she had a good excuse.
“I’d be very grateful if you could. I should have told you earlier, but I forgot. I simply forgot, and I’m very sorry.” He looked at her as if he were asking for forgiveness. “And if you have more questions about yourself or anything, please call. Or about the cold. I’m working with the research into the disease. We have some good news there, too. This cold, the bad cold, will quickly become less lethal. If anyone wants to ask me anything, they can call and I’ll be glad to talk to them.”
If she had questions … She nodded, not sure if she had zero questions or a million questions.
“I’ll let you go,” he said. “You seem to have a lot to do. Know this, too. I love you. I love you and Irene and everyone I made. I’ll do anything I can for you. I hope we talk again soon, Avril.”
“Goodbye, Peng.” Talk to him again? She had too many new thoughts in her head to make a decision about that right now, but probably, eventually, she would.
Meanwhile, she had to call Irene, then the one in Milwaukee—Hetta might be able to get her number—and Mom and Dad. Actually, she should call Dad first. He’d be so relieved to hear about everything.
Irene sat on the ground in the dark and mourned in teary silence. She felt a little better because Avril had been there with Mamá, so she thought Irene was there. And Avril … from what Irene had seen of Mamá’s last moments … part of her wanted to have seen it all, a bigger part was thankful she hadn’t, but Avril had been there, and … and Avril had been right to slap away the phone. She didn’t want to remember Mamá like … that, she wanted to forget what little she’d seen and just remember a voice like her own saying Estoy aquí, Mamá. Te amo, Mamá. And Mamá had been happy.
She sat crying as mosquitoes buzzed and crickets chirped and people and cars came and went and none of that mattered, but Avril … what kind of disaster was happening with her? The building had been on fire. Should she call?
As she raised up her wrist, her phone rang. Avril. She wiped her cheeks, then realized she didn’t have to pretend not to be crying. Avril would understand. And if Avril was calling, that meant she might be okay and safe.
Avril’s face and hair and clothes were streaked with dirt, but she looked happy. Red lights were flashing around her. “Irene,” she said. Her voice had become very hoarse. “I just talked to Peng. You know who he is, right? He said he made us not to get coronavirus. We’re immune.”
“He said … that?” Peng had always said she was normal. “How?”
Avril sort of smiled. “He said he had a cold while he was making us, and he included immunity because he could.”
The idea began to soak in. “We’re immune?”
“Yes. We can’t get sick. From that virus. He said some people are naturally immune.” She looked down a moment. “Your mother, I’m sorry.”
“I know. What was happening?”
“The police attacked
