Preview of YA series:

ReGENEration (JAN/2000) ISBN #0-425-17302-X

EXCERPT PREVIEW FOR REGENERATION #1:

PROLOGUE

The yacht rocked gently as waves cradled it in the dark night. The
small boy with ice-white hair shivered, but not from cold. From fear.
"I don't wanna go." He clutched Dr. Hart's soft warm hand, not
understanding why she insisted they leave. The yacht was his home. The
ocean was his friend. He wanted to stay.
And yet Dr. Hart, who was so kind, said, "You can't be here tomorrow."
"Why not? It's my birthday."
"Yes. Your birth AND your termination day. Only I can't let that happen."
Termination?
The boy, whom they called 611B, understood that word. There was much
he understood from listening to the doctors and watching them in the
laboratory, and yet there was so much he didn't understand. He remembered
the cute white mice he'd petted one day, but then the next they were gone.
Terminated, he'd been told. And he knew it was a bad thing. But how could
he be terminated? And why?
Dr. Hart was hurrying down the hall and toward the stairs, holding
611B's bag of belongings. "No questions, please. And keep your voice down."
611B quieted, but questions still pounded loudly in his head. Who
wanted to terminate him? Surely not Dr. James; brown haired, a soft fuzzy
beard, and a good thumb-wrestler. And not Dr. Hart. That left only one
person: Dr. Victor. Tall and scary, Dr. Victor never joked or
thumb-wrestled, and never, EVER, hugged. And 611B guessed Dr. Victor's
secret. He didn't like 611B or the four babies known as 330G, 1025G, 831G,
and 229B.
Now on the deck, Dr. Hart led 611B to edge of the yacht, where a small
speed boat bobbed on ocean waves. 611B felt angry when he saw the four
babies in the boat with Dr. James. Were the yucky babies going away, too?
But he didn't want to share Dr. Hart and Dr. James. They were like real
parents in the books they read to him. Not the babies' parents. HIS parents.
"Come in the boat, Six," Dr. Hart urged, with a nervous glance over her
shoulder. "I'm afraid I heard something...."
"I don't wanna go with THEM." He pointed at the babies who slept
peacefully in their padded carriers. "I'm staying."
"No!" Dr. Hart pushed him, so that he tumbled into the waiting arms of
Dr. James. "Hurry! I did hear some-"
There was a shout and suddenly a flash of fire in the dark. Dr. James
dropped 611B in the boat and cried out for Dr. Hart, calling her Jessica.
There was another fire burst, a gun 611B guessed, and suddenly Dr. Hart
screamed and fell into Dr. James' arms. She looked like a broken toy.
Noises erupted all at once. Dr. James started the boat's motor, an
explosion blasted somewhere on the yacht, and more fire burst in the dark.
The babies awoke, crying in the salty wind.
611B hugged himself, staring at the blood on Dr. Hart's chest. Then,
like the babies, he began to cry, too.

               

The Search (March/2000) ISBN #0-425-17368-2

EXCERPT PREVIEW OF REGENERATION #2: THE SEARCH
                 
CHAPTER ONE

"RUN!" I shouted. "RENEGADE! GET OUT OF THE ROAD!"
But the yellow Lab pup, sitting about a mile away, couldn't hear my
warning.
And when I peered in the other direction, my special sight stretching
another mile down the road, my stomach twisted with terror.
The pale gray car was still coming.
FAST.
Shoving my thick-lensed glasses into one pocket of my hunting jacket
and my tape recorder in the other, I raced toward the distant road. I'd
never make it in time.
Never.
Without the glasses to steady the ground and clarify obstacles, my eyes
watered. I rubbed them, feeling the usual sense of dizziness as I struggled
to adjust my vision. I was nearly at the end of the pasture, where dense
woods bordered the ranch. My brothers and I used to have a fort called Boys
Rule in these woods, so I knew them well. But if my legs didn't carry me
fast enough, that wouldn't much matter.
Spindly branches and overwhelming greenness seemed to suck me in,
blurring my perception of light and dark, near and far. I could see great
when I wore my glasses, but without them distant shapes came closer, and
closer shapes distorted.
Testing my unusual vision was the reason I'd been in the pasture at the
edge of the woods. Recording ordinary measurements in my mini-tape
recorder, I'd been amazed to view tiny multi legged insects on a far-off
stump. I'd looked even farther, a mile away to the blacktop oil road where
the runt six-month-old pup lazed in the noon sun.
But then I'd spotted the swift moving car.
"RENEGADE!" I called out again, stumbling into a bush, falling, but
then picking myself up. Klutz. That's what they called me, kids who razzed
me at school and even my brothers Larry Joe and Marcos when we were going at
it. They were right.
I used to laugh at my klutziness. Sometimes I'd put on outrageous
wigs and paint my dark skin bright colors, then twist colorful balloons into
wacky animals or wild hats. Playing the family clown made me feel special,
like I was doing something good. But then I'd learned the reason for my
awkwardness. Allison, Varina, and Chase had traveled all the way from
California to tell me the incredible truth.
I was a clone.
C-L-O-N-E. Not an abandoned baby, but an abandoned experiment. I'd
been created in a floating lab on a yacht, designed for study and
examination. Eric Prince: genetic specimen.
The ground dipped and I fell hard, this time into a dried creek bed,
and my knee stung where the cloth ripped away in a jagged tear. But it was
nothing compared with what would happen if I couldn't reach the road before
the speeding car turned the final corner.
As I zoomed my gaze beyond dense trees, seeing through branches and
brambles to the seemingly quiet country road less than a hundred yards away,
my heart thumped even faster.
Renegade was a bull's-eye target. Curled up in the center of the road,
he nipped at some fleas, enjoying a brief spell of sunshine. The pup lifted
his yellow head lazily, glanced around, then resumed flea-nipping.
And the speeding car continued forward, wheels spinning, churning,
roaring toward Renegade.
"Hurry!" I told myself, willing my thin legs to leap long and far, and
praying I wouldn't fall again. Closer now and yet still too far to warn the
wayward pup. I called Renegade over and over again, but knew he couldn't
hear. The canine target was helpless in the path of death, with only one
hope: me.
Who asked to be a clone, anyway? My powerful vision was a gift, yes,
but it was also a curse. And I cursed this gift that showed me danger and
yet hampered the simple act of running.
Frustrated, I reached for my glasses. When I put them on the near
world came into view, but I could no longer see far away. With the glasses,
it was as if the road, the car, and Renegade had vanished from sight.
But a frightening sound came closer. A roaring motor, winding faster
than the limits on the rural oil road. The car didn't belong to a neighbor
or friend. Strangers, I'd already guessed from the rental car sticker on
the license plate.
It shocked me to realize that I'd actually been able to see a license
plate maybe two miles away! I forced myself to speed up, around trees, over
rough ground, and through prickly bushes. Pounding feet, thumping heart,
sweaty brow, and clenched hands. I ran as if my life depended on it, because
Renegade's did.
Just a little further and the woods would unfold into a seldom-used
ribbon of road. The motor roared louder . . . closer, but still invisible
through the trees. My ears sharpened and I heard the squeal of wheels
tilting at the sharp hairpin turn: the final corner.
A whine of brakes screamed a warning; sharp honks, the hot smell of
burnt rubber, a startled bark . . . and then nothing.
With tears streaming from my cursed eyes, I kept running . . . until I
finally reached the road.

The Truth (May/2000) ISBN #0-425-17415-8

Allison is thrilled to meet the woman she was cloned from-until deadly accidents make her wonder is someone wants her heart-and the only way to get it is murder.

Leaning forward, I felt a surge of excitement. Orange construction cones appeared at the side of the road and there was a warning sign of bridge work ahead. Yes! We were gaining on the car, practically bumper to bumper. I could only see a vague shape of the driver, and wished we were close enough to see her face, to find out for myself if she truly resembled Varina.

_________________________________________________________
PREVIEW OF #4 REGENERATION

       THE IMPOSTER         (SANDEE'S BOOK)

I heard a scream, then excited shouts.
Suddenly the front door of the house burst open. A petite dark-haired
woman in jeans, high heels, and an oversized navy-blue sweatshirt ran out.
She held something small, like a notebook or a compact disk, in her hand.
As she raced down the driveway and passed Chase's truck, I glimpsed a
triumphant smile on her face.
No one needed to tell me that this hoochie was bad news. Whatever she
had in her hand didn't belong to her. She'd stolen it from Chase's friends
- like Slam had stolen my songs from me.
I forgot about avoiding trouble, and started running. After her.
Across the street, down the sidewalk, passing a blur of perfectly manicured
homes. The same route I'd raced with Renegade, only my opponent wasn't
heading for a finish line.
Behind me, I heard shouts and recognized Allison and Eric's voices. I
glanced back and saw that they had joined the chase, only they'd gotten a
slow start and were a block behind. Varina and Chase were even further in
the distance.
I kept running, keeping the woman in sight. She turned right onto
another residential street. So I turned right. Amazingly, I was gaining
on her. Maybe because I ran in sneakers and she wore ridiculous
high-heeled dark-blue shoes. Her footsteps click-clacked noisily. Mine
slapped with soft purpose.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw me, and glared. Pausing, she
looked in all directions, then jerked to the left, cutting across the
street. She hesitated at a drainage ditch, but then stepped down into it,
then popped up on the other side, scampering into a tree-shaded park. One
of her high heels wasn't so high anymore and she limped on uneven shoes.
I had to stop as a car passed, then I picked up my speed again. I cut
across the street in pursuit. And I wondered who the dark-haired woman was
and what she'd taken from the Fergus house. Something valuable, I guessed.
Lots of things were valuable, although not necessarily worth a lot of money.
Like the songs I wrote.
A new burst of determination energized me and I ran faster. As I
gained speed, the woman seemed to slow down. Her limping grew worse. I
was close enough to hear her ragged breaths. But she kept going, leaving
the grass and teetering down a paved park pathway.
I looked ahead in the distance and saw glittering sun-diamonds
gleaming off a park lake. People picnicked at wooden tables and little
kids threw bread to ducks. A few of these people glanced up curiously when
the woman and then I raced past. But no one jumped in to help.
My heart pounded. Sweat dripped down my skin. My legs ached, but I
was intent on stopping the thief. I was so close now, just a few yards
away. And up ahead was the lake, spreading out like a water barricade.
She slowed as she reached the shore, looking around for an escape.
But there was none.
She was trapped.
Triumph spread through me. I ran with heightened purpose. That wobbly
middle-aged witch didn't stand a chance against me. I could take her down
in a heartbeat.
Only suddenly she turned and ran along the shoreline. There was no
place for her to hide. The lake wasn't very large and she'd only end up
running in a circle. What was she doing?
Then I saw the bridge.
A rickety wood suspension bridge stretched across the narrowest part
of the lake, from one end to the other. The woman paused at the bridge.
She turned around, met my gaze, then flashed an arrogant grin.
I was so close. I could almost reach out and touch her. But I
didn't. The swirling dark-blue depths of the lake froze me in place. I
stared at the sparkling waves, mesmerized and overcome by an intense stab
of panic.
While I hesitated, the woman darted onto the bridge. The wood swayed
slightly with her movements, like a rippling snake slithering across the
water.
My stomach lurched and I trembled. I flashed back ten years,
remembering how my snug two-piece pink suit had pinched my skin. I also
remembered Woody's laughter. Woody, the brother of my foster mother, was
in his early twenties at the time. He'd seemed so mature and cool, and I'd
been thrilled when he offered to teach me to swim. But when we reached the
community pool, instead of showing me how to swim, he picked me up and
threw me in the deep water. While I thrashed and sputtered, sure I was
going to die, he'd laughed. Eventually, he'd pulled me out, but by then
the damage was done.
And I'd never tried to swim again.
Now the woman was getting away. But I couldn't go after her. Not on
a wobbly bridge. Never across deep water.
"Sandee!" I heard Allison and Eric yelling.
I turned and saw them hurrying over. "Why did you stop?" Eric
exclaimed, catching up with me.
I just shook my head, wrapping my arms around myself. I couldn't stop
shaking. Nor could I explain my fears. People laughed when you admitted
you couldn't swim.
"Come on, Sandee!" Eric pulled my arm, but I shook him off and backed
away. He gave me a disappointed look before joining Allison in the race
toward the bridge. By now, the dark-haired woman was almost halfway across.
Allison pointed. "She's running off with the formula!"
"We'll get it back!" Eric shouted as he kept moving, dodging around
some little kids who threw a frisbee.
What formula? I wanted to ask. But no one was paying attention to me.
"She's getting away!" Eric hollered.
"She won't get far!" Allison exclaimed as she reached the bridge. "I
have an idea!"
Neither of them turned to look back at me. I didn't blame them. I'd
let them down.
I heard more voices. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Varina and
Chase. They'd finally caught up and were now racing through the park. I
was relieved Chase was here, but irked that he was with Varina. They
weren't talking, yet their hurried movements seemed in sync with each other.
I swiveled back to watch Eric and Allison. They'd stopped at the base
of the bridge. Why weren't they going on the bridge? The fleeing woman
was halfway across now. Once she reached the other side of the lake, she
could disappear into tall trees and we'd never catch her.
But Allison was doing something. She was bending over the entrance to
the wooden bridge. She placed her hands firmly on each rail, then gave
them a powerful shake. The bridge swayed and shuddered with an incredible
force. In the center, the woman stumbled. She shrieked and clutched the
bridge rail for support.
Behind me, I heard rapid footsteps. Then Varina raced by with Chase
at her heels. Chase paused, turning back to ask me if I was okay. I
quickly assured him I was fine.
Varina didn't pause for anything. When Allison gave the rails another
powerful shake, Varina rushed past her, leaping onto the bridge.
"Give the tape back!" I heard Varina scream, running wildly forward.
Allison had stopped the shake and quake action. She sprinted forward,
rejoining the pursuit. Eric and Chase weren't far behind.
The bridge continued to rock and roll, no longer because of Allison's
strength, but because of the pounding footsteps. The woman hadn't been
able to move forward, instead she'd lost her balance and fallen down on the
wooden planks.
She grasped the rails and pulled herself up. She wavered, trying to
stand. That's when Varina lunged at her. The woman screamed, tumbled
back down, her hands flailing helplessly in the air.
And the dark object she held, flew up high toward the sky, then
dive-bombing over the rails, and PLOP! into the water.

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