Whispers of the Night Sky

Lee’s senses, sharper than any hound’s, were the reason she’d survived this long. Sight so keen she could spot the tilt of a hat at a hundred yards; hearing so acute she caught the rustle of wings above the drone of engines; a sense of smell that rode on the wind and turned every breath into a map of what—who—was nearby. Those senses had cost her peace, but they’d saved her life tonight, as she and Elle sprinted through the muddy, overgrown path behind the phosphate plant—racing away from the science abomination that had stalked her steps for the past week: her own clone.

Lee’s clone moved with her grace, stalked with her caution, and killed with her subtlety. It had always been close. Too close. Now, Lee felt the hollow of the wind behind them, knew the danger was only minutes behind.

Elle, thin and fierce and with a scratch on her cheek that still bled an hour later, had grown up on the streets. She was the only person Lee trusted: an underground pilot—roboticist by trade, with a talent for flying anything. She held Lee’s hand, tugged her along, never looking back as they pounded dirt and pebbles with their boots. Elle always knew the right way to run.

They ducked behind a rusted oil drum, pressing into the shadow of the loading dock. From here, Lee could see the perimeter, every bush moving in the stiff summer wind, every scent stewing in the hot air.

“We need to move,” Elle whispered, breath hot against Lee’s ear. “This way.”

Elle moved ahead, navigating with near-psychic precision, but Lee’s senses always scanned the world. Somewhere, not half a mile behind, her clone’s ragged breath caught on the wind. Lee’s skin prickled; she heard footfalls behind them, the twin pulse of her own life chasing her.

That was when Elle found the gate—locked, but her deft fingers twisted wires and coaxed the rusty latch open in seconds. Behind the fence, a dirt road wound into shadows.

“Follow.”

The moonless night turned the world black, but Lee saw the outline of ruts, the slick glimmer of puddles. She could tell where trucks had rolled hours ago—fresh rubber, oil on mud. Elle led with desperation, never stumbling. All Lee’s senses burned behind her eyes, as she tuned out the memories of her clone’s wet, sliding footsteps.

Finally, they reached the clearing: here, camouflaged with tarps and brush, crouched a battered helicopter, its rotors caked with mud.

Elle scrambled into the cockpit, hands moving over dials, switches, and loose wiring with the confidence of a veteran. “Get in the back. Hurry.”

Lee climbed in. From behind the rotary, she inhaled the strange digital tang of machine oil, ozone, and the metallic pulse of freshly soldered electronics—Elle’s scent was everywhere, stress mixed with lavender. She smelled clone, too—her clone and Elle’s. They were close, but not quite here yet.

“I’m starting us up,” Elle hissed. The rotors spun, the engine coughing, then growling to life. Distantly, Lee heard the crash of brush—her clone’s footsteps, frantic.

The skids angled up. Lee ducked her head as bullets whistled, ricocheting off steel; then they were airborne, the clones left howling in the dust.

Lee pressed her face to the glass. “Are we heading—?” she started.

Elle cut her off. “Canada. Haven’t you been listening?”

But Lee’s eyes narrowed. The engine’s vibration sang a discordant note. The GPS—a model she’d memorized in training—chirped a code she understood. The wind’s course, the scent of ocean, the slant of the moon—nothing aligned with a northbound route. Subtle as shadows, the helicopter veered west, not north.

Lee’s heightened senses screamed at her. She knew—absolutely—they were not going to Canada.

She said nothing. Curiosity, suspicion, and a tiny thrill curled in her gut. What was Elle planning?

She watched the world spool away below them—rural towns, darkened fields, a ribbon of highway. Elle gripped the controls, jaw tense, eyes never leaving the panel. There was fear in her, or guilt, or something harder to parse.

“Why west?” Lee’s question came as softly as the hum of the rotors.

Elle flinched, but she had the pilot’s calm in her reply. “Canada isn’t safe. Not for us.”

There it was—a confirmation, but no explanation.

“Who told you?” Lee probed, leaning forward as her senses tracked the lies in Elle’s heartbeat, the dryness in her mouth.

Elle hesitated. “I intercepted a message—they have checkpoints. Checking blood, DNA. They’re looking for us—clones and originals. It’s everywhere. We don’t stand a chance if we cross.”

Lee considered. She tasted the salt of truth in Elle’s sweat, mingled with the sharp tang of something unsaid. Sorrow, perhaps, or betrayal.

“Then where are you taking us?”

A pause. Below, pine forests swept by, the lights of a town flickering on their periphery. Elle still didn’t look at her.

“I know someone. Off the grid. He has a safe house—outside Vancouver.”

Lee caught the beat of a lie in the rhythm of Elle’s speech. Vancouver wasn’t west from their starting point. Lee said nothing.

Instead, she listened—tracked their direction, measured the pressure change in the air. The signals told her the truth. They were heading to the coast. Not to Canada, not to safety, but to a long stretch of deserted shore she’d scented before on a mission—coastal Washington, where smugglers hid contraband and fugitives disappeared.

“You trust him?” Lee asked, voice so low only Elle would catch it.

“I trust you,” Elle answered, finally looking back. For a moment, her anger and fear receded, replaced by warmth Lee rarely saw in anyone, let alone Elle.

Lee closed her eyes, letting her senses open. There was danger all around—her clone still out there, somewhere, the echo of gunfire in her memory—but here, flying west, mystery opened its arms. Even cheated, she found herself curious.

The rotors beat overhead, wild and unfettered, as the world slipped away behind them—clones and copies, friends and betrayers, all lost on the road below.

“Let’s see where you take me, Elle,” Lee whispered, breathless with both dread and anticipation.

And the night swallowed them up.

This story was generated by user jess.jessie0 with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.

Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.

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