IN LOVE WITH MY BROTHER'S WIFE

EPISODE 13

"They're cutting through the door!"

A bright orange spark sprayed through the steel of the bridge door. Then another. The screech of a plasma cutter tore through the silence, louder than the storm outside.

"They're breaching," I said. I looked at Sarah. She was holding the mercenary’s gun, her knuckles white. "We have thirty seconds."

"We can't go out the hallway," Sarah said, backing away from the sparks. "It's swarming with hazmat teams."

"The window," I said.

I grabbed a heavy fire extinguisher from the wall. I swung it with all my strength against the front glass of the bridge.

CRASH.

The reinforced glass spiderwebbed but didn't break.

"Again!" Sarah yelled.

I swung again. SMASH.

A hole opened up. The wind and rain howled into the bridge, blowing the white foam around our legs like a blizzard.

We scrambled through the broken window, stepping out onto the narrow ledge of the bridge roof.

The drop was dizzying. Sixty feet down to the jagged rocks where the ship was grounded.

Below us, the beach was a hive of activity. Floodlights cut through the rain. Men in yellow biohazard suits were moving in formation, setting up decontamination tents.

"If they see us," Sarah whispered, "we're dead."

"They're looking at the door," I said. "They expect us to be trapped inside."

I looked around. A heavy steel cable—a radio antenna stay—ran from the roof of the bridge down to the cargo deck near the bow.

"The zip line," I said, pointing.

"Without a harness?" Sarah looked at the thin steel wire.

"Use your belt," I said. "Take it off. Loop it over the wire. Wrap it around your hands."

She didn't hesitate. She unbuckled her leather belt. She looped it over the cable.

"Go," I said. "I'm right behind you."

She took a breath. She stepped off the ledge.

ZZZZZZZZZT.

She slid down into the darkness, a shadow against the grey sky. She landed hard on the top of a container stack near the bow, rolling to a stop.

I followed. I used my own belt. The friction burned my hands through the leather. The wind whipped my face.

I hit the container roof next to her. I stumbled, but she caught me.

"Down," she hissed.

We flattened ourselves against the cold metal.

Below us, on the main deck, a squad of yellow-suited men was moving toward the bridge. They didn't look up.

"To the jungle," I whispered.

We scrambled down the side of the container stack, using the maintenance ladder. We hit the sand on the dark side of the ship—the side facing away from the floodlights.

We sprinted.

We ran across the wet, black sand. We climbed over slippery rocks. We dove into the thick, tangled undergrowth of the jungle just as a spotlight swept over the beach where we had been standing seconds ago.

We didn't stop. We pushed through the heavy palm fronds and vines, moving deeper into the island until the sounds of the crash site faded behind us.

The jungle was steaming. It was hot, humid, and smelled of rotting vegetation.

We collapsed in a small clearing beneath the roots of a massive banyan tree. The rain couldn't reach us here.

I leaned back against the tree, gasping for air. My ribs were on fire. My shoulder throbbed.

Sarah sat opposite me. She wiped the mud from her face. In the gloom, her eyes were shining.

"Jack," she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay? About... about what we found?"

The manifest. The DNA match.

I closed my eyes. I felt a wave of nausea that had nothing to do with the physical pain.

"I don't know who I am, Sarah," I whispered. "If I'm his twin... if my whole life is a lie... then what am I? Am I just a spare part? A backup drive?"

"Don't say that," she said.

"It makes sense," I said bitterly. "Why Mom always treated us differently. Why Danny was the golden boy and I was the shadow. They knew. They always knew."

I looked at my hands. They were covered in mud and blood.

"He used me," I said. "He stole my identity because he knew it was identical to his. He set me up to take the fall for a bio-terror attack. And he's probably laughing about it right now."

Sarah crawled over to me. She kneeled in the dirt between my legs. She took my face in her hands.

"Look at me," she commanded.

I opened my eyes.

"I lived with Danny for three years," she said. "I slept in his bed. I listened to his heartbeat. And I'm telling you... you are nothing like him."

"We have the same DNA," I said.

"DNA is just a code," she said fiercely. "It's a blueprint. It doesn't make the man. Danny is selfish. He's cruel. He's empty."

She ran her thumb over my cheekbone.

"You are kind," she said. "You are brave. You came for me when no one else would. You jumped off a bridge for me. You are not a copy, Jack. You are the original. The only one that matters."

Her words hit me harder than any bullet. They pierced right through the armor of self-doubt I had been wearing my whole life.

I leaned into her touch. I needed her. Not just to survive the island, but to survive myself.

"Thank you," I choked out.

She kissed me. It was soft, grounding.

"Now," she said, pulling back. "Let's go find your brother. And let's remind him that the 'spare' is the one who's going to take him down."

We moved toward the volcano.

The Syndicate base—the concrete fortress we had seen from the ship—was built into the side of the mountain.

It took us an hour to hike up the slope. The terrain was rough, sharp volcanic rock hidden under slick moss.

We reached the perimeter fence. It was twelve feet high, topped with razor wire and cameras.

"We can't climb that," I said. "And the cameras have thermal imaging."

"Look at the ground," Sarah said.

She pointed to a depression in the earth near the fence line. A muddy stream was flowing out from under the barrier.

"Drainage," I said.

We followed the stream. It led to a concrete grate set into the base of the wall. The bars were thick and rusted.

Water—smelling of chemicals and bleach—flowed out of it.

I gripped the bars. I pulled. They didn't budge.

"Jack," Sarah whispered. "The car jack."

"What?"

"In the Sea Witch," she said. "Before we jumped, I grabbed the emergency kit. It has a mini-hydraulic spreader. For prying open hatches."

She tapped the pouch on her tactical vest.

I stared at her. "You are incredible."

"I know," she smirked.

She handed me the small yellow tool. I wedged it between the bars. I pumped the handle.

Creak. GROAN.

The metal bent. The rust flaked off. The gap widened. Just enough for a person to squeeze through.

"I'll go first," I said.

I slid into the pipe. The water was foul. It soaked my jeans, stinging the cuts on my legs. I army-crawled through the dark tunnel.

Sarah followed, dragging her feet through the muck.

We crawled for fifty yards. The pipe angled up.

Above me, I saw light filtering through a floor grate.

I pushed up. The grate wasn't bolted down.

I lifted it and peeked out.

We were in a locker room. Rows of grey metal lockers. Showers. It was empty.

I climbed out and helped Sarah up. We stood there, dripping wet, smelling of sewer water.

"We need disguises," I whispered.

I checked the lockers. Most were locked. But one at the end was slightly ajar.

Inside, I found a grey jumpsuit. A technician's uniform. And a hard hat.

I checked the name tag. SECTOR 4.

"Put the vest under the jumpsuit," I told Sarah. "You wear this. You look like a tech."

"What about you?"

"I look like Danny," I said. "If anyone sees me... I'll just act like I own the place."

It was a risky plan. But it was all we had.

We moved into the hallway.

The base was a maze of concrete corridors. It felt more like a prison than a house. The air was cold and sterile.

We passed a window looking down into a massive cavern.

We stopped.

Below us was a submarine pen. It was cut directly into the rock, open to the sea via an underwater tunnel.

Docked in the water was a black submarine. Not a military sub. A private luxury sub.

And loading crates onto it were the men in hazmat suits.

"They're moving the canisters," Sarah whispered. "From the ship to the sub."

"That's his escape plan," I said. "He's not staying here. He's taking the virus and vanishing."

"We have to stop that sub," Sarah said.

"We need to find the control room," I said. "If I can override the pen doors, I can trap them inside."

We continued down the hall.

Suddenly, a door opened right in front of us.

A woman in a white lab coat stepped out. She was holding a clipboard. She looked up, startled.

She saw Sarah in the oversized jumpsuit. Then she saw me.

Her eyes went wide.

"Mr. Miller?" she gasped. She looked terrified. "I... I thought you were on the ship."

I froze.

Play the part, I told myself. Be Danny.

I stood up straighter. I put on the jagged, arrogant smile I had seen in the video.

"Plans changed," I snapped. My voice was hard. "Why aren't you in the lab?"

The woman flinched. She was actually trembling.

"I was just... checking the ventilation reports, sir. The cooling system for Subject 8 is fluctuating."

"Fluctuating?" I stepped closer, invading her space. "If those canisters get warm, Doctor, we all melt. Fix it."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

She scrambled past us, running down the hall.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"You're good at that," Sarah whispered. She looked disturbed. "Too good."

"I hate it," I said, wiping the fake smile off my face. "Let's go."

We followed the signs: LABORATORY - LEVEL 3.

If the cooling system was fluctuating, that meant the canisters were there.

We reached a set of double doors. BIO-CONTAINMENT.

I swiped the master keycard.

Green light.

The doors hissed open.

We stepped inside.

The room was bathed in blue UV light. It was freezing cold. Mist hung on the floor.

In the center of the room, there were huge glass cylinders. Tanks.

But they weren't holding canisters.

They were holding people.

My heart stopped.

There were six tanks. Inside each one, a human figure floated in a thick, green gel. They were hooked up to breathing tubes.

Their skin was grey. Their veins pulsed with a dark, black liquid.

And their eyes... their eyes were open. Glowing green.

"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, covering her mouth. "They aren't just smuggling a virus. They're testing it."

I walked up to the nearest tank.

The plaque on the glass read: SUBJECT 8 - PHASE 4 MUTATION.

The figure inside twitched. Its hand—which had long, claw-like fingernails—scratched against the glass. Screeeeech.

It looked at me. It hissed bubbles into the fluid.

It recognized me.

"Jack," Sarah said. Her voice was high with panic. "Look at the next tank."

I moved to the second cylinder.

The person inside was a woman. She had red hair floating in the gel.

I knew her.

"That's Clara," I whispered. "The girl who went missing from the diner last month."

Everyone thought she had run away to the city.

Danny had taken her.

"He's making monsters," I said, the horror settling in my gut like lead. "Elias said the Third Diver was a machine. But these... these are hybrids. He's turning people into drones."

Suddenly, a voice boomed over the intercom system in the lab.

"Impressed, little brother?"

I spun around.

On the far wall, a giant monitor flickered to life.

Danny was there. He was sitting in a leather chair, holding a glass of whiskey. He looked relaxed. Clean.

"I told you it was about evolution," Danny said. "The AGU units were clumsy. Metal rusts. Batteries die. But flesh? Flesh regenerates. Flesh is the ultimate hardware."

"You're sick," I shouted at the screen. "These are people!"

"They are volunteers," Danny lied. "Well, mostly."

He took a sip of his drink.

"I saw you come in," Danny said. "I saw you trick the doctor. Very clever. But you made one mistake."

"What's that?" I asked.

"You entered the containment zone," Danny smiled. "Without a suit."

HISSSSSSS.

vents in the ceiling opened.

A yellow gas began to pour into the room.

"It's the catalyst," Danny explained calmly. "It triggers the mutation. Breathe deep, Jack. In ten minutes, you won't be my twin anymore. You'll be Subject Number Seven."

"Run!" I yelled to Sarah.

We bolted for the door.

CLANG.

The heavy steel bolts slammed home. Locked.

We were trapped in the glass cage. The yellow gas was falling like a curtain.

"The tank!" I shouted. "Break the tank!"

"What?"

"If we break the glass, the fluid spills! Maybe it neutralizes the gas!"

It was a desperate theory. But we had no choice.

I grabbed a heavy metal stool from the lab bench.

"Stand back!"

I swung the stool with everything I had at Clara’s tank.

CRASH.

The glass shattered.

Five hundred gallons of green gel and water exploded outward, knocking us off our feet.

The body of the "Subject"—Clara—flopped onto the wet floor. She gasped, ripping the tubes from her throat.

She stood up. She was seven feet tall, mutated, terrifying.

She looked at me with glowing green eyes.

She didn't attack. She looked at the door. Then she let out a scream that shattered the remaining windows in the room.

It wasn't a scream of pain. It was a scream of rage.

She turned to the other tanks. She smashed them. Smash. Smash.

The other subjects spilled out. They woke up.

"They're loose," Sarah whispered, clutching my arm.

"They're angry," I said.

The monsters turned toward the steel door. They began to tear at the metal with their bare hands.

Danny’s face on the screen lost its smile.

"Uh oh," Danny whispered.