Collide (15 page)

“Hey!” the Samurai yelled. “You okay?”

The Ninja stood up and stretched his back. “Yeah,” he said. “I know where they are; Mom, Dad, Maya—I know exactly where they are.”

He ran to the car as the Architect watched his excited chatter with the others

Let the games begin
, she thought, pushing aside the regret lodged in her throat.

Project Stargate 2.0

The Solomon Experiments

Dr. LeMercier’s Personal Journal –

October 5, 2002

Day 98:

The Assassin is unmatched. Her capacity to inflict pain belies her young age. Her psychic potential exceeds my own. Every day I grow more attached to her, almost
fatherly
. She’s more like a protégé than a recruit.

Tate’s confident she’ll master killing within the next few weeks. I’m not sure I agree. But for now, I’m satisfied with her training. She’s everything we’ve hoped for and more.

Jennings and Christyn work with the other recruits while I focus my efforts with her. They assure me the others are not a disappointment. According to their research notes, several recruits mastered projection and telepathy. One even developed psychic camouflage. Our hypotheses about psychic training programs are correct. The progress of the recruits has proven it again and again.

The Solomon experiments are a succes, even the CIA agrees.

Jennings’ attitude still worries me. He doesn’t believe the outcomes are all good. He expresses concern over his son, despite my assurances. Worse, his concern infects the others. Despite the evidence of our enemies’ progress, years ahead of what we’ve accomplished, the others insist we exercise caution. They want to slow down our progress. They fear the impact the training has had on the social and emotional development of the recruits.

Christyn, in particular, expresses her concerns over
my
recruit on a continual basis. Most recently, she’s asked to counsel the children. Despite my feelings for Christyn, I’m not certain I can trust her. But, what choice do I have? I must show some unity with Christyn in order to maintain her faith in the project. If I lose that, if the others doubt what we are doing and report their concerns to the CIA, the entire project could be threatened. I will not allow failure, not when we are so close. I must allow Christyn time to see there’s nothing to fear. The recruits have adapted to the conditions of the project.

They are everything we’ve trained them to be—good soldiers.

WE WASTE NO TIME GETTING BACK ON THE ROAD. JOSH AND DAVID SIT IN THE FRONT, AS I SIT IN THE BACK, MY EYES CLOSED
. A memory reaches up from somewhere deep and forgotten. A long narrow lake, punctuated by a few lonely docks stretching into the water. A brick Colonial surrounded by a large porch. Three adults dressed in lab coats walk the length of the porch. The house is old, weathered. The interior tells a new story. Nothing is antique or rustic, only white, sterile and more reminiscent of a hospital than a farm house. The images fade in and out of my mind. I scrunch up my brows as I cling to the fading pictures.

“Are you okay?” Josh’s voice floats through the non-stop movie now flashing in front of me.

“Dakota?” David reaches back and grabs my hand, squeezing hard. “Dakota!”

I open my eyes, blinking in the bright sun. “Um, what?” My mouth won’t work properly.

“You started calling for Mom. Were you dreaming?” Josh meets my gaze through the rear view mirror.

“I did?” No more words form.

“Yeah,” David says, again squeezing my hand.

“I think . . .”

“What?” David’s piercing green eyes reach through me.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m starting to remember.”

“Remember?”

“Yes. Our lives before. The safe house. We did live here, near a hospital. Or perhaps a lab. An institute.” I don’t believe what I’m saying.

“Are you sure?” The tone of Josh’s voice alerts me. He never uses this particular tone, one that’s both firm and cautious, except for bad news.

“I keep seeing parts of memories, flashes of . . . something? When I reach for them, they disappear.”

David and Josh say nothing.

“You guys think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say crazy.” Again Josh speaks in the worrisome tone. “Stressed, maybe. You’ve been under a lot of pressure. We all have. I’m not sure any of us should trust our memories at the moment.”

“You think I’m making this up?”

“I didn’t say that,” Josh quickly replies.

“We just want to make sure you’re okay.” David’s attention darts from me to Josh and back.

I turn and face the non-stop fields. I’m tired of arguing, tired of the craziness. Just tired.

“Dakota—”

“Forget it,” I say before Josh can say anything more.

We drive the next few miles in silence before Josh turns the car toward the long narrow lake from my memories.

“We’re getting close,” he says.

“Good.”

“There!” David points ahead to an old Colonial house that rises up in the distance.

The house is similar to the one in my thoughts; same but different. I survey the details as we turn down a long driveway. White shutters flank large windows on the upper level. A wrap- around porch engulfs the large house.

So many similarities to my memories.

The lake stretches behind the old estate. Out to the left an old barn and another structure flank large cornfields. I take it all in as an involuntary shudder passes over me.

“You okay?” David asks as his hand brushes along my arm, sending another chill through me.

“Yeah,” I lie, wishing I could stop myself from reacting to him. I stare at the house, my mind extended, searching for Mom and Dad. Nothing but cold emptiness greets me. “Are you sure they’re here?” I ask as Josh parks the car in front of the house.

“Yeah. I saw them here. All of them.”

I close my eyes again and reach for them. Again only my thoughts greet me. My skin erupts in gooseflesh, never a good sign.

“Come on,” Josh says as he leaves the car, his body showing the same apprehension as me. “Let’s go.” His eagerness is contagious, but false. I know no one’s here.

I climb from the car, disappointed. “Josh—”

My voice leaves in a rush, stealing my air. At once my legs refuse to bear any weight. I reach for David, stumble, fall. David’s secure arms wrap around me.

“Josh!” David’s voice does nothing to quell the panic that overtakes my senses.

“Head . . . in pain . . .” White-hot pain streaks across my vision, reminiscent of the feelings I experienced in one of my visions, moments before death. I grab my head and squeeze my eyes shut.
Focus Dakota
, I yell. Nothing in me complies. The world begins to spin, faster and faster. Screams—my screams—escape my mouth.

“Dakota!” David pulls me tighter, his embrace threatening more pain.

“Stop . . . let go!” I manage to push out. “Hurts . . .”

The ground rushes up under me as the bones in my skull continue to push together. Darkness eclipses thought and agony weaves through every emotion.

“Hold on, Dakota. Hold on.” David strokes my head, his warm breath my anchor.

Time to pay
, a voice screams up through my pain.

My brain detaches. My eyes pop open as a feral rage unleashes in my screams. I pull away from David.

“Dakota!” Josh meets my glare, his arms motioning me to stop.

I refuse to listen.

Rocks swirls around me in a vortex. Another animalistic growl emanates from deep inside. I spin around, desperate to release a power that will not be contained.

Laughter explodes in my thoughts. My head feels like it may explode as another round of agonizing torture begins. I fall to my knees. “No!” I yell. “I won’t subm—” Darkness swallows my words and covers my sight.

I fall back and my body collides with the hard pine-needle covered ground.

The warmth of the sun on my skin pulls me from the murky waters of a dreamless sleep, followed by the strong scent of espresso. I push myself up on my elbows, disoriented. Blinking away the fog from my thoughts, I look around the room. The walls are reminiscent of David’s house, and for a moment I think we never left that place. Until everything comes back in a rush—the emptiness of the house, the agonizing pain, and the knowledge that I was about to die.

“Shh. You’re safe, Dakota. You’re safe.” David walks to me and kneels, taking my hand in his. “You’re okay. We all are.”

The tears come before I can stop them. David wipes them away with his thumb. I shudder, in part because of his touch and also because of the crazy-train I can’t seem to avoid.

“Where am I?” The words scrape against my already raw throat. “What happened?”

“We’re at the safe house,” Josh says, staring out of the window, his back toward me. “Mom and Dad aren’t here.” His voice hides none of his despair.

“We’ll find them,” I say as I attempt to sit, my body wobbling with the effort. My head fills with questions about the attack, my response, how I got into the house—all of it secondary to finding Mom and Dad and removing the anguish in Josh’s voice.

David steadies me and takes the seat next to me on the couch. I scan the room, noting the dust-free surfaces. The furniture is more modern than I’d expect. Urban, even. Bamboo floors and lightly colored walls give the impression of a classic modern home, not an abandoned farmhouse.

“Why isn’t there any dust?”

“What?” Josh turns to face me.

“The furniture? Why is there no dust on the furniture?”

David and Josh both look around, seeing the room as I do. Lived in. No dust. No stale odor permeating the air. Someone has been living here. Recently.

Josh furrows his brow. “David, come on, let’s check things out.”

“You’re not leaving me!” I scramble to my feet, still steadied by David. Pulling free from him, I head out of the door first.

The kitchen is as modern as the rest of the house, granite countertops, updated appliances—everything in working condition. I open the refrigerator, expecting it to be stocked.

Empty. The first, only, sign that no one is here.

“Are you sure Mom and Dad haven’t been here? Someone has.” I walk to the next room and the next. Everything is the same—clean and well kept. Either this place has great maid service or someone else has been using it.

We walk back into the kitchen, past the pantry, toward a door that almost appears hidden from view. I look from David to Josh and nod. Josh pulls on the doorknob. The heavy wood creaks its resistance.

“Help me with this,” he says to David.

The two of them again pull on the heavy door, forcing its submission. They grunt and strain before the door gives in and opens, releasing a torrent of stale air up from the basement.

We climb down the steps. My instincts tell me to stop. Go back. I pay no attention and follow Josh and David into a large open space lined with alcoves reminiscent of college dorm rooms.