Collide

COLLIDE (The Solomon Experiments, Book #1)

Copyright © 2014 by Christine Fonseca.

July 2014 Edition

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Summary

Seventeen year old Dakota Harrison discovers there’s more to paranormal activity than ghost and cheap mind tricks. Thrown into a world of psychic espionage, she uncovers the secrets her parents desperately want to protect, the ones that kill.

Project Stargate, yet another CIA black op caught up in the wave of recently declassified intelligence, claimed to be training the US military in psychic warfare by utilizing remote viewing and other supernatural phenomena in the battle against terrorism. It was dismantled in late September 1995, following an independent report commissioned by the White House that cited a lack of evidence for the existence of paranormal activity. While the commission did not support maintaining the program, given the recent surge in terrorist acts around the world, Russian claims of advancement in this area of study, and the United States’ unsteady standing in the international community, this reporter can’t help but wonder if the time has come to reauthorize the program and continue the research into transmundane warfare.

- Santa Cruz Daily News, July 5, 2004

Project Stargate 2.0

The Solomon Experiments

Dr. LeMercier’s Personal Journal –

June 29, 2002

Day 1:

The children are assembled, selected from a pool of more than a thousand recruits. It’s exciting to have so many of the former participants’ offspring in this group. I expect Jennings and Harrison to provide strong recruits. We agreed it best if I didn’t know their identities to avoid tainting the experiments in any way. Avoid favoritism. I expect them to pass the weeding, especially with their genetics.

Training begins in the morning. Dr. Tate and I have redesigned the protocols. They are more grueling than the previous tests, designed to push not only the candidates’ physical and mental stamina but also their emotional development. The new program measures every aspect of their supernatural potential, from telekinesis to telepathy and more.

We anticipate better results this time. These children are younger, stronger than their predecessors. Their abilities, unmatched. But will it be enough? I can measure their ethics, but I can’t guarantee their willingness to do everything their country requires.

We’ve run out of time. Global terrorism has reached unfathomable heights. The attacks have increased since 9/11. It’s worse than before, worse than during the Cold War. I fear another Hitler. We should’ve acted swifter when we first discovered Hitler and Stalin’s early research into the supernatural. Instead, we let our fear supersede our responsibilities to keep our nation safe.

Never again.

There will be no safety until we find a better way to train our special forces. Our country will not be free from the terrorism that threatens us until we resume our goal of new, advanced weaponry. These experiments are the key. We cannot fail this time as we have before.

The younger recruits offer something we haven’t had in the past, a way to shape and train their morality. We will be able to push the experiments beyond the confines of humanity. We will bypass ethic concerns and find the recruits we can train to use their gifts in new ways.

We will teach them to kill.

February 5, 2016

NOTHING EVER HAPPENS IN CAMBRIA
. Maybe that’s why I can’t wait to get out of here, the sheer boredom of my life. One-hundred-and-fourteen days until I’m gone. Mom won’t be able to stop me. Josh can’t play the school card anymore. I’ll be a high school graduate, eighteen years old. There’s no way they can make me stay.

I stare out of the window of the old Coffee Café and watch the clouds swirl, their dark shades of grey broadcasting a warning of the rain to come. February storms, March storms, April storms; always the same.

One-hundred-and-fourteen days click down in my thoughts, bringing me closer to freedom and a life with more meaning than the tedium of this place. Brushing my blonde layers from my face, I take a sip of my warm chai tea latte, so perfect on this dreary day. An involuntary shudder passes over me as the time continues to beat on, ever slowly, in my head.

“Dakota, hey, you okay? You look lost in your thoughts again.” Elaine’s voice pulls me to the present as she slips into the chair across from me. “Dakota?”

“Yeah, sorry. I was thinking about graduation.”

“And your escape, I’m guessing?” Ever since first grade, she’s always been able to tell what’s really on my mind.

That’s the only nice thing about this small town. Elaine.

“I guess so,” I say. She’s sick of my complaining by now.

“Why do you hate it here so much?”

“What’s not to hate?” Elaine and I will never agree on the let’s-live-in-Cambria-forever issue. “Why do you like it here so much?”

An awkward distance fills the spaces left by our words. The white noise of the crowded coffee bar with people sipping their hot coffees and discussing their big day in Boresville surrounds our silence.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to criticize everything. I just want something more than the same old, same old routine. I what an adventure, something I can feel passionate about. I hate the monotony of this place. Don’t you?”

“I like the predictability. But you need more. You always have.” Her words come out too fast. “I just . . . I’ll miss you.”

I grab Elaine’s hands in mine and release a heavy sigh. “I’m not leaving for one-hundred-and—”

“Fourteen days. I know.” A smile forms on her lips. “I’m not the only one who’s going to miss you.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask as I push back the uneven strands of hair that refuse to stay clipped, and finish my latte.

“Gabe.”

“Whatever!” I choke on the words. “He made his position quite clear, I think. Homecoming? Gracie? I doubt he’ll give two thoughts to me after graduation.”

“Give him another chance. Yes, he was an idiot. But he likes you.”

My thoughts wander to him, the time we spent together. In a breath, my heart speeds up and the unwelcome feelings of longing rush forward. “Way too late for that. Now, if David suddenly came back, that’d be a different story.”

David
. My first real love. Or at least, that’s what I’d thought. We met after Gabe’s drama at Homecoming. There was something so familiar about him, so perfect, like we’d known each other all of our lives. We went to Winter Formal together, he gave me a necklace and a promise of forever. And then he left. Seriously. Moved away with no text, no email, no explanations.

Nothing.

“Tall, dark and mysterious? Oh yeah, he was just secretive enough to make him interesting. Just your type.”

“Yeah,” I say as I get up.
Just my type
. “If he’d stayed around long enough.”

“I guess some secrets aren’t supposed to be known.”

“Guess not.” I chuckle as I walk to the counter, drink in hand. “Can I get a refill?” I ask the barista.

Memories of David’s thick black hair, cream-colored skin and soft green eyes that could see straight through me eclipse my thoughts. My skin erupts in gooseflesh and for a moment, I can’t breathe.

The barista takes my cup and turns away. My face begins to flush.
Get it together
, I think, willing my body to forget everything associated with David Jennings. My head pounds. The pain increases the harder I work to push aside the thoughts of him, of us. White-hot lightning streaks across my vision as bile churns up my throat. I grip the counter. My hands cramp with the strain. My vision blurs and the images of David’s lips on mine are replaced with a dark garage, the smell of exhaust and excruciating pain.

“Miss? Are you okay?”

The voice, her words, they float around me, meaningless. I grab my head and squeeze, desperate to keep it from splitting in two. Panic seizes my lungs and a scream escapes my lips.

“Dakota?”

“No!” I yell. “Leave me alone!” I take the coffee cup and toss the scalding contents at the noises that won’t stop. “Get away from me!” Too many voices surround me, taunting, teasing. The room spins, spins, spins . . .

My world explodes.