Jake caught up with her before she’d gone even two steps. “Don’t be stupid,” he said. To her relief, he didn’t seem mad. Already she felt terrible. His father had died. “We’re in this together. Besides, no way am I letting you get all the credit.” His smile was strained, but at least he was smiling, and Gemma felt a wave of relief. She hadn’t realized how afraid she was of losing Jake’s help.

Jake took the lead again. He was right: they were able to make it back to the car on foot, circumnavigating the narrow veins of water, although he had to stop frequently to consult the compass and the GPS on his phone, once cell phone service patched in again. At some point the composition of the ground shifted subtly beneath their feet, but it wasn’t until Gemma saw a No Littering sign that she realized that Jake had led them safely back onto the nature reserve. After another two minutes they were within sight of the car, and Gemma nearly shouted with joy. There was a case of bottled water in the trunk, and they each downed a bottle. It was, Gemma thought, the best thing she’d ever tasted.

They piled into the car. Gemma felt better once they were no longer standing in the open. In the car, they could be anyone. Picnickers, backpackers, sightseers, friends. The replicas, on the other hand, seemed very nervous. It occurred to Gemma they had likely never been in a car before, and the boy jumped when Jake turned on the ignition and the radio blared to life.

Gemma had been without cell service since they’d first paddled out onto the marshes, but as soon as they pulled back onto the dirt road that led to Wahlee, her phone came alive with texts, voice mails, and alerts, almost all of them from April.

She dialed April immediately, praying she would pick up.

“Jesus. You were supposed to call me ASAP. I thought you’d been dismembered by an ax murderer or taken to Guantánamo or something. What the hell happened?”

Gemma didn’t know why, but hearing April’s voice—so familiar, so April—made her want to cry. For the first time she let herself think that they were safe. They were okay. They were speeding along a dirt road toward civilization and fast-food burger chains and bad pop music and normal life. Being on the marshes had been disorienting, like a nightmare that keeps its hold on you even after you wake up. Except this time they’d pulled two people from the nightmare. They’d brought proof of its reality back.

She took a deep breath, blinking rapidly to keep the tears back, aware that Jake was watching her. “It’s a really long story,” she said. “Did my mom call?”

“Only about seven times,” April said. “I told her you ate bad sushi and were puking your brains out and then went to sleep. I’m telling you, Gem, you owe me major on this one. I’m talking free lunches for a month. Maybe a year. I’m talking vacation-to-Disney-World owe me.”

“Okay.” Gemma closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. The sun was warm on her face, and the air-conditioning smelled reassuringly of chemical exhaust. “Listen. Did your grandparents leave for their health conference thingie?”

“It’s not a health conference. It’s a wellness retreat.”

“Yeah, whatever. But the house is empty for a few days?”

“Yeah.” April’s voice had turned suspicious. “Why?”

Gemma opened her eyes again. They were passing out of the Wahlee Park Reserve now and back into Wahlee. A cop car was parked by the side of the road, its lights circling noiselessly. The driver’s seat was empty. She wondered where the cop had gone. She felt an itch on the back of her neck, like someone was dragging a fingernail there. Not safe. Not by a long shot.

“I’m going to need your help,” she said, gripping the phone so hard, it made her palm sweat. “I made it all the way to Haven, April. And trust me. You might want to save your IOUs. This is just the beginning.”

“Holy shit.” There was a long pause. “What did you find?”

“Not what.” In the rearview mirror, Gemma could see the boy’s profile, elegant and dark. “Who.”

Turn the page to continue reading Gemma’s story. Click here to read Chapter 9 of Lyra’s story.

TEN

GEMMA HAD BEEN HOPING THAT once they got to April’s grandparents’ house, she could install the replicas in the guesthouse before she had to answer any questions. She should have known, of course, that April would be watching from the front windows. She rocketed out of the door and onto the front lawn as soon as she saw Jake’s car turn in the driveway.

“Gemma!” The force of April’s hug nearly knocked Gemma backward. April pulled away, squeezing Gemma’s shoulders. “You look like shit. And”—she made a point of sniffing—“you stink.”

“Nice to see you too,” Gemma said, but she was too tired to be offended. April smelled like suntan lotion and Coke.

April’s eyes went to the car. “Is that—I mean, are they in there?” Gemma nodded. April licked her lips. She was tan and relaxed-looking, her shoulders peeling, and standing next to her, Gemma felt a thousand years old. “You’re serious about . . . you think they’re really clones? Real clones?”

“No, fakes,” Gemma said, and then saw that April was too distracted to catch sarcasm. “Yes, real,” she said. “At least, that’s what they told me.”

“But you don’t have proof,” April said, sounding almost disappointed. “You haven’t seen, you know, doubles.”

Gemma thought again of the body stretched out in the grass, a body just like hers except so much thinner than her own. She hadn’t told April about seeing the girl who had to be her clone, her replica. She wasn’t ready for that. Not until she understood more than she did now. Instead she said only, “I think they’re telling the truth. Why would they lie? They were raised on that island. They were made there. They’ve been told they’re less than human. The boy doesn’t even have a name. Just a number.” That was what the girl, Lyra, had told them in the car.