webnovel

Clone Chronicles

I’m an international, multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in my head. As a singer, songwriter, independent filmmaker and improv teacher and performer, my life has always been about creating and sharing what I create with others. Now that my dream to write for a living is a reality, with over a hundred titles in happy publication and no end in sight, I live in beautiful Prince Edward Island, Canada, with my giant cats, pug overlord and overlady and my Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn. CLONE THREE: BOOK ONE The fate of the world lies in the hands of a clone who can't remember anything... "Clone Three." The old man's voice is a softly echoing sound, volume and pitch altering as he speaks, as if over a great distance. "Pay attention, dear. Final instructions." Is he talking to me? He must be. His holographic eyes seem to be meeting mine, he looks at me with great expectation. And yet as I lie here and begin to regain sensation and control, I realize I not only have no idea where I am, what I'm doing here. I haven't a clue who I am. Clone Three wakes in a decaying city she is sure doesn't match the one she came from. If only she could remember. She has a purpose at least--she must find her fellow clones and the statue whose image is embedded in her mind. But she is lost, surrounded by a dead and crumbling metropolis, fought over by those who have been altered by the illness that has ravaged humankind, turning survivors into strange and terrible new forms. She must risk everything, including the safety of those who try to help her, in order to fulfill her task. But is she this crumbling world's salvation... or the source of its downfall? Don't miss the exciting sequels! Clone Two and Clone One are now available!

Patti Larsen · Sci-fi
Peringkat tidak cukup
125 Chs

Chapter 62: Rescuing Vander

I don't wait for Beckett, already running toward the retreating lights. The crew must have fought off the attacking Brights, and again I wonder why they seem so weak.

The exit lands me on a cracking concrete walkway, two steps and I'm running down an asphalt road, the illumination up ahead enough I can see to leap over areas damaged by nature and time. I pass a sign, the name unreadable, not caring anyway where we are or who might have lived here once.

Only Vander matters.

Again hands grasp me, but this time I slow on purpose, the dog tight to my side. The Brights have slowed, the movement of light centralized, still flowing as if they are moving around, but more as if they've gathered in one place, the eddying of light like waves of water above the trees and buildings in the way.

"Careful, at least?" Beckett hisses in my ear, not releasing me from his grip. "We have no idea what we're dealing with."