He slewed his gaze around to her, still hurt and angry. “Fuck you!”

Tommy went down in the seventh. He took a right cross to the temple, then a left uppercut to the chin. His eyes rolled up in his head, showing the whites. His knees sagged. He hit the canvas hard.

The Outpost crowd wailed. Soldiers cheered.

As soon as the referee finished the count, army medics swarmed the ring. Within a minute, Tom Garron was on his feet, his face averted. The referee raised Ron Johnson’s hand in victory.

“Fucker!” Loup stooped and found a pebble, threw it.

“Hey!” T.Y. said in alarm.

The rock grazed Ron Johnson’s cheek. He looked at Loup with his calm green eyes. And then T.Y. wrestled her backward into the crowd and Father Ramon and Sister Martha and all the remaining Santitos were there, offering condolences. Depressed Outposters streamed past them. Loup shrugged them off, seeing her brother leave the ring, hooded beneath his robe, head bowed.

“Tommy,” she breathed.

“Sorry.” His shoulders twitched. “You were right. I tried. I had to try.”

“It wasn’t fair! We’ve got to tell someone.”

He met her eyes. Beneath the shadow of his hood, the hurt and anger was gone, replaced by defeat. “It’s not worth it. Go home, Loup. Go back with your friends. I’ll talk to you later.” He turned away.

“Tommy!” she protested.

“Let him be, now.” Floyd Roberts interposed herself between them. He wasn’t angry either, just sad. “Times like this, a man needs to be alone. He’ll send for you when he’s ready.”

“That guy, Johnson, he’s not normal,” Loup said stubbornly.

The coach shook his head. “Let it go, child.”

They left her, walking slowly away. The milling crowd made way for them. MPs began announcing that since the match had ended, curfew would begin for anyone without a permit. Soldiers began heading to bars to celebrate, though the mood in the square had even them somewhat subdued. Loup stood and watched Tommy and Floyd and others from the gym walk away, wondering why she still felt empty inside.

“Loup.” Mack appeared, his voice gentle. “Come on. Everyone’s waiting. We’ve got to go.”

It was over.

TWENTY-FIVE

Back at the church, the Santitos discussed the fight. “You’re sure?” Jaime asked Loup.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “From the minute he walked out. He looked like him, but he didn’t move anything like him.”

“Twins?” Mack suggested. “But how could one be normal and the other…” He gestured. “Like Loup.”

“Genetic experimentation,” Jane said in a dark tone.

“Exactly,” Jaime agreed. “Loup, you said your father and the others were taken into custody by the U.S. when they were boys, right? And they started to do experiments before the pandemic hit?”

“That’s what he told my mother.”

“Well, they sure as hell kept that DNA on file,” Jaime said. “And whatever results they got.” He glanced at the northern wall of the rec room, toward the distant border of the cordon where no-man’s-land turned into a place called America. “They would have gone back to it when things calmed down. Started doing new experiments. Maybe trying to make their own breed of supermen.” He looked back at them, glasses flashing. “Identical twins could be an important part of the experiment. It provides a built-in control group for any genetic alteration.”

Pilar made a face. “Say it in English, Jaime.”

He started explaining.

“Fuck that.” C.C., lying on the floor, began bouncing a worn tennis ball off the opposite wall. “They cheated.”

“So what do we do?” Katya asked. “Complain?”

Loup shook her head. “Tommy said it wasn’t worth it.”

“They’d probably bury it anyway,” Jaime said. “All they have to do is bring out the original guy. We don’t have any proof he’s got a genetically modified twin. We’d sound like lunatics.”

C.C. tossed the ball rhythmically. “So we’re screwed?”

“Would you cut that out for ten seconds?” T.Y. leaned over from the couch and batted the ball out of his hands. “We’re not screwed. It was one fight. Tommy has to demand a rematch, that’s all.”

“And have them pull the same shit?” Katya asked in a cynical tone.

“No.” The idea kindled a spark of hope in Loup. “Coach Roberts has to make ’em do the weigh-in in public, that’s all. Right in the ring, right before the fight, so there’s no time to make a switch. Then they’d have to use the real guy.”

“Who Tommy can beat,” T.Y. concluded.

“Think your brother will go for it?” Mack asked Loup.

“I don’t know.” She thought about the way he’d looked afterward—depressed and defeated—then about how he’d looked before the fight—glowing. How he’d looked the day they’d snuck into the gym into the first place, how he’d lied about his age and begged the coach to train him. How hard he’d worked. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Tommy’s not a quitter.”

Mack nodded sagely. “He just needs time to get over having his ass kicked.” He yawned. “Okay. Tomorrow’s another day. One way or another, we’ll fight the good fight. ’Night, Santitos.”

They dispersed to their bunks, feeling better for having discussed it. Tommy’s stunning defeat had hit everyone hard. It felt good to have an explanation; better to have a plan.

Loup fell asleep picturing the rematch. She pictured Tommy fighting the real Ron Johnson and outboxing him at every turn. She imagined the general himself coming from the stands to raise Tommy’s hand in victory and pictured Tommy’s beaming grin, a grin wide enough to erase even the memory of the broken, beaten look he’d worn after the fight; that, and the hurt, betrayed look he’d turned on her earlier.

You didn’t have to feel fear to hurt for someone you loved when they were in pain. But it could all be made better.

She fell asleep smiling.

She woke to lamplight and Sister Martha’s face bending over her pillow.

“Loup.” There was a world of sorrow in the Sister’s voice.

The empty feeling came crashing back. “What is it?”

“There are men downstairs,” Sister Martha murmured. “Soldiers. Mr. Roberts sent them to fetch you.” She laid a hand on Loup’s shoulder. “Tommy collapsed an hour ago. Mr. Roberts convinced them to take him to the medical facilities at the base. He thinks you should go.”

Loup scrambled out of bed and reached for her clothes, moving without thinking.

“Jesus!” Katya grumbled, waking. “Is there a tornado in here?”

“What?” Pilar asked sleepily from an adjacent bunk.

“It’s Tommy.” Loup headed for the door. “I have to go.”

“Loup.” Sister Martha caught her arm, her voice urgent. “These are soldiers. Slow down. Be careful.”

Loup shook her off. “I have to go.”

At the sight of the soldiers in the antechamber, she caught herself out of habit. Careful. It wouldn’t help Tommy if she was exposed. The soldiers stood at attention, waiting. Father Ramon was with them, looking old and tired.

“Are you Loup?” one of the soldiers asked. He had a kind face.

“Yes.”

“I’m Sergeant Buckland and this is Private Simons.” He reached out one hand. “We’re here to take you to your brother.”

She put her hands behind her back. “Okay.”

He hesitated, then withdrew his hand. “Okay. This way, honey.”

There was a jeep waiting in the street, its motor idling. Sergeant Buckland opened the door for Loup. She climbed into the backseat. She could feel the vibrations of the engine. The soldiers got into the front seats, Sergeant Buckland driving. The engine rumbled as he put the jeep into gear and accelerated, the vibrations growing stronger. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Loup thought that Mack would be jealous. He’d always admired cars. There was an old one in the garage he liked to tinker with, wondering what it would be like to make it run. None of them had ever ridden in one.

It felt strange.

So strange.

They drove through the town square. The center was dark, but the bars were still open. Soldiers were drinking, laughing, and flirting. Outposters with permits were pouring drinks, serving soldiers. There was a line at the torta vendor’s cart.

They drove to the outskirts of town and kept going. Ahead, the base loomed. It wasn’t lit up as much at night as Loup had imagined, only at the checkpoints. The first one was at the gate where the chain-link fence that surrounded the entire complex began. A soldier with a rifle over his shoulder approached the car when Sergeant Buckland stopped. Buckland and Simons showed him their ID cards and a piece of paper with their orders written on it. The soldier on guard duty leaned over, squinting at Loup.

“Okay.” He waved them on.

Darkness, then another checkpoint. The same procedure, another guard waving them on to a different section of the base.

The base was huge, filled with enormous cinder-block buildings and anonymous streets. It was no wonder the soldiers tried to get out of there and spend time in Outpost whenever they could.

They parked in front of one of the big buildings. Loup shook her head when Sergeant Buckland tried to help her out of the jeep.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey,” he said kindly. “The army’s got good docs. They’ll fix your brother up.”

The other soldier didn’t say anything.

They showed their cards and papers to another guard at the door, then ushered Loup inside. It was bright inside, a harsh white light flooding everywhere. Everything seemed hard and polished and clean. Aside from the guard at the door and the soldiers escorting her, the men wore blue hospital scrubs like the ones that Pilar had sewn into a dress for Santa Olivia. Some had white coats over them, some didn’t.