Free Frankenstein: The Dead Town by Dean Koontz

visitors after the reception lounge closed at five-thirty.
    “That’ll be Transport Number One,” Deucalion said. “They think they have four zombies to collect. Wait here. I’ll deal with them.”
    Sammy could never have imagined that the stunning revelation of the existence of the replicants and the sight of their alien innards would prove to be less startling than Deucalion’s departure from the room. He, Ralph, Mason, and even half-catatonic Burt all cried out in surprise, however, when Deucalion, turning away from them, did not merely walk out of the room but vanished from it.

chapter 12
    Two extra cushions had been added to one of the kitchen chairs to elevate five-year-old Chrissy Benedetto, who otherwise would have been barely chin-even with the top of the table.
    The girl needed both hands to lift her mug of hot chocolate, and each time that she drank, her eyes widened as if with delight at the taste.
    “You make it different,” she said.
    “I use almond milk,” said Erika, who sat across the table from the child.
    “Almond like that nut almond?”
    “Yes. Exactly.”
    “You must squeeze real hard to get milk out of one.”
    “Other people do the squeezing. I just buy it at the store.”
    “Can you get milk out of a peanut, too?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Can you get milk out of a ka-chew?”
    “A cashew? No, I don’t think so.”
    “You’re very pretty,” Chrissy said.
    “Thank you, sweetie. You’re very pretty, too.”
    “I was the Little Mermaid at preschool. You know, last time it was Halloween.”
    “I’ll bet you charmed all the boys.”
    Chrissy grimaced. “Boys. They all wanted to be scary. They were like ick. ”
    “Pretty is better than scary. Boys always figure that out, but it takes them a long time.”
    “I’m gonna be a princess this year. Or maybe a pig like Olivia in those books.”
    “I’d go with princess if I were you.”
    “Well, Olivia is a pretty pig. And really funny. Anyway, Daddy says what you look like on the outside don’t matter. What matters is what you’re like inside. You make good different cookies, too.”
    “I add pecans and coconut to the chocolate chips.”
    “Can you teach my mommy?”
    “Sure. And I could teach you, too.”
    The last quality that Erika Five—now Swedenborg—should have discovered in herself was a talent for relating to and nurturing the young. Having been grown in a creation tank in the Hands of Mercy, in faraway New Orleans, having gained consciousness as an adult, she had neither parents from whom she might have learned tenderness nor a childhood during which she might have been the object of the gentle concern of others.
    She was created to serve Victor, to submit to him without protest, and was programmed to hate humanity, especially the young. Even then, Victor envisioned a world that would one day have no children in it, a future in which sex had no purpose other than the relief of tension, a time when the very concept of the family would have been eradicated, when the members of the posthuman New Race owed allegiance not to one another, not to any country or to God, but only to Victor.
    “Mommy’s in the city buying me new teddy bears,” Chrissy said.
    That was what Michael told her. In fact, her mother was dead.
    “That stupid pretend mommy tore up my teddy bears.”
    The pretend mommy was the Communitarian that replaced the real Denise Benedetto. Michael had rescued Chrissy, and Carson had but moments later killed the replicant.
    “Where did that pretend mommy come from, anyway?” Chrissy asked.
    She seemed as fragile as a Lladró porcelain. The girl’s trusting nature and her vulnerable heart brought Erika close to tears, but she repressed them.
    “Well, honey, maybe it’s like bad witches sometimes in fairy tales. You know, sometimes with just a spell, they make themselves look like other people.”
    “Pretend mommy was a bad witch?”
    “Maybe. But pretend mommy is gone now and never coming