Cloner A Sci-Fi Novel About Human Clonin - By Emma Lorant Page 0,68

The whisper of a bat chasing nocturnal insects, the predatory hooting of an owl. Balmy country noises to calm her down.

Lisa smiled to herself. The silence would heal her. There was too much upheaval in her life. Once the children spent several hours a day away she would be able to enjoy time to herself again, be free to think of her paintings, how to progress her work. Even mothers needed time off.

A muffled sound she assumed was some nocturnal animal pierced into her consciousness. Rhythmic, continuous, it seemed to stem from the bottom of the garden by the fruit trees Alec had planted earlier that spring. A rabbit, perhaps, was digging a warren. Or a badger sett busy making a home inside their boundaries. The idea appealed to her.

A constant steady slurp reminded her of metal cutting through earth. Was someone digging in the field? Using a spade at this hour?

‘Doin’ a spot o’ gardenin’, tha’n it?’ a disembodied voice spoke up, fluttering on the damp night air, clear as a bell. ‘Bit o’ extra cash.’

Lisa felt long black shadows closing in on her as she stared across the moor. The voice sounded like Mark Ditcheat, their neighbour beyond the rhyne. Whoever he was talking to didn’t reply.

‘Yer be out late.’ The demanding voice, evidently not to be stopped, sounded suspicious.

‘Arr; git t’plant t’tree.’

Another familiar sound; where had she heard those gruff tones recently?

‘Tree? This time o’night?’ A laugh. ‘Where be the fire, then?’

‘Cum when ’im at t’house be Lunnon way,’ she recognised Don’s voice.

Don was planting a tree in their garden in the middle of the night? That was absurd; Don had no business being in their garden at all. Saunders did all that...

“Them be dead; not’ing as be done but bury they critturs”; the words Don had muttered only a short time ago reverberated in Lisa’s mind. The cool, so welcome minutes earlier, was making her feel cold. Don was digging up earth - to bury something. To bury a something - a ‘crittur’.

She hadn’t imagined it at all. There had been another cloning, another clone. Another child - just like her triplets. And Don had taken it. Taken it off, just like he did with the farm animals. He was digging a grave for flesh of her flesh, burying it because “Tha’ be t’right t’ing as us ’ud do”.

Lisa leaned her head against the window frame, drew in her breath. No doubt Don meant well, meant to help her. But what he was doing was without her permission, her consent. She wanted - needed - the body. To mourn him; he was her child just as much as Jiminy was hers. And she’d to show him to Alec. How else could she convince him of something which was so unbelievable?

‘Us be tellin’ Frank yer be moonlightin’,’ Lisa heard Mark cackle now. ‘Us be seein’ yer at t’Young Farmer’s meetin’ ternight. Him be talkin’ ’bout that there Multiplier. Got a promotion on.’

‘Oh, arr.’

‘Gie they trees Multiplier and yer be bound ter git good crops,’ Mark volunteered.

‘Arr.’

‘Bin lookin’ o’er they cattle,’ Mark went on, his voice tailing off as he walked away. ‘Can’t be too careful…’

Cattle rustling was a thriving crime on the Levels. Most farmers counted their animals morning and evening. Presumably that’s why the man was there.

Lisa remained at the window, listening intently. There was a slow shuffle of metal dragged over the local quarry chippings Alec liked to spread along his paths. No doubt that was Don hiding the evidence of his nocturnal digging. What should she do? Confront him, demand to know why he was in her garden?

She hadn’t the strength for that, she couldn’t possibly. She had to let it be for now, talk to Alec about it when he came back, let him take the responsibility. She’d done enough. It was time for Alec to shoulder some of the burden.

Would Don tell Frank? Probably not, because there was no reason to. As far as Don was concerned, he’d buried a body - just like he did at Crinsley Farm. It was unlikely he’d tell anyone.

Soft summery air billowed around her, stroked her shoulders, her cheeks, her hair, embraced her with the balm of the fresh scents of nature. Lisa leaned her head against the window frame. Damp evening mist laid drops of water on her lips, her eyes. She breathed in deeply, felt the contentment of the country night suffusing through her.

Calmer at last, she stole into Seb’s room to see him