Collide (The Solomon Experiments Book 1) Page 6

  “Two years ago? The argument?” I pause and replay the night Josh left: the yelling-match with our parents, the door slamming as Josh stormed out. “You left because of this?”

  “Yeah. I . . . I didn’t handle the news well.”

  “I remember!” Memories of that night pull forward. I thought Josh was such a jerk, getting mad for his own mistakes, running out instead of dealing with the truth. “You talk about me being a brat.”

  “I never said I didn’t understand what you’re going through.”

  The banter with Josh normalizes the situation somehow; if fleeing to a safe house the day after assassins have chased you and you mentally witnessed the death of someone you used to know could ever be considered normal.

  “Josh?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re going to be okay, right?”

  “Everything will be fine. We’ll find the others before anything can happen to them. Mom and Dad will be waiting for us, I’m certain of it. Then we can all start over. Move on.”

  I smile, instinctively reaching into my pocket and fingering the warm metal chain from David’s locket. Josh never liked David. He told me I deserved someone better.

  He was right.

  We reach the airport faster than I expect. Josh pulls the tickets and fake IDs from his backpack. We pass through security to the gate and to the plane with no problems. As we make our way through the crowd, their thoughts fill mine; their fears join my own. The noise increases as the moments click past. I try to block the sound out, ignore the constant onslaught of questions and pleas. But the chatter won’t abate. We take our seats in the mid-section of the plane, my ears filled with the endless sounds of those around me. I grab my head and close my eyes, wishing for a peace that refuses to obey.

  Josh takes my hand. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.

  At first I think his words are just another thought filling my mind, until he asks again and squeezes the life from my fingers.

  “Dang Josh,” I bark at him as I pull back my hand. My brows knit into a line across my forehead.

  “Sorry, I needed to get your attention. You were grabbing you head and rocking back and forth like you were in pain.”

  “I was!” I take a slow breath. “How do you make it stop?” I whisper.

  “What?” Josh asks, clueless.

  “The noise?”

  Josh looks around, noting every passenger. “You can hear their thoughts?”

  “Yes. They’re screaming at me. I have to make it stop.”

  “Good luck with that.” A sarcastic smile creeps through his expression as he closes his eyes.

  I punch him in the arm. The cacophony continues and I grab my head again. I rock back and forth, trying to find something, one thing, to focus my attention toward. Mari’s voice rises to the surface.

  Remember, she whispers over and over. Be honest with yourself.

  I focus on the words, allowing her presence to wipe everything else away. Within a few moments there is no sound but her voice, no images but the picture of her flaming red hair and deep set green eyes telling me to not to forget who I am. I examine the minute details of her skin, nearly translucent and marred only by a deep scar extending from her nose to her lip.

  The image fades as my thoughts clear, replaced by sleep . . .

  The dream starts quickly, images of lab coats and a house tucked away in a thick forest of pine and maple trees, flanked by a narrow lake. The trees are painted in bursts of yellow and gold. Five children dance and play in an underground room. A familiar boy walks over to me, smiling. Black hair cut at odd angles, light skin, green piercing eyes, and a voice that compels me to do whatever he asks.

  David.

  He smiles at me and takes my hand. “We’re supposed to be together, you know. I’m sure of it.” He smiles and leans in, whispering. “You and me forever, okay?” It’s not really a question. He squeezes my hand and kisses my cheek. “Forever.”

  His image fades, replaced by Mom and Dad smiling as I twirl with two other girls, one with wild hair and skin like the night, and another with green eyes that can see through me.

  Mari.

  The girl joins hands with me and we spin faster and faster. Don’t trust them, she chants as we twirl. They cannot see. Don’t follow them. They cannot lead.

  She stops, no longer a child but the girl from the hospital; the girl from my visions. Don’t believe them. They all tell lies.

  The images spin forward, childhood games replaced with scenes of a car crashing through guard rails and exploding into flames as it collides with the rocks below.

  They all tell lies.

  I wake with a start. Josh stares at me. “Dakota? What’s wrong?”

  I barely process the words, my mind filled with Mari’s haunting expression as she continues to mouth the phrase They all tell lies. I shake her image away and focus on Josh. “I’m okay. Where are we?”

  “The plane is landing. Here, you’ll need these when we get the car.” Josh hands me a New York driver’s license and two credit cards.

  The name on cards is Dakota Marshall, same as the license. “Marshall? Seriously?” The irony is something I expect from Dad, assuming I could ever imagine this situation in the first place. Not exactly typical.

  “I didn’t choose the name,” Josh says with a laugh. “Just make sure you use it.”

  I nod, still staring at the picture on the ID. “The picture’s recent,” I say more to myself than to Josh. When did they take this?

  Josh nods, oblivious. Figures.

  The plane lands in Syracuse by the time I get the cards put away. We disembark with our bags and make our way to the rental counter. I stare at everyone who passes, unable to filter out clips of their thoughts, snippets of guilty conversations and plans best left unspoken. Everyone looks suspicious to me. My senses run on hyper-drive and my skin prickles with the energy coming from the crowded airport.

  “Where are we going first?” I ask Josh when he returns with the keys.

  “The map.” He pulls the old, folded paper map from his backpack. Large red stars mark several locations within a few hours’ drive, each labeled with a name: D, M, SH. “Here,” Josh says pointing at the star marked with a D. “We’ll go there first.”

  The star marks a point just outside of a town labeled “Geneva” that sits at the top of a long lake that resembles an outstretched finger.

  “At least the name is nice,” I say.

  Josh smiles. “It’ll take an hour or so, I think.”

  I nod, unable to process any more information. There’s no way I could’ve prepared my mind for the past couple of days. The hospital, even Mountain View, may have been better. At least it would’ve been believable. This is surreal.

  I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder as Josh shoves the map into his bag. “You ready?” he asks.

  “I guess.”

  We walk out of the airport, past the sleepy passengers seated on their luggage as they wait for their rides. I stare at each person, half convinced they’re watching us. It’s an odd feeling, unnerving. The most innocent of actions, a smile from a child or a nod from a stranger, carry a different, more sinister meaning.

  Outside the morning fog starts to clear, allowing the sun to shine through the patches of clouds. Too-bright rays blind me for a moment and my apprehension grows with every step, every not-so-innocent nod.

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Dakota. We’re going to be fine,” Josh says.

  If you say so.

  The drive to the tiny town takes longer than I expect. The clouds have thinned and the sunlight reflects on endless fields of corn, occasionally dotted with cows and farmhouses. The landscape is so different from the mountains and ocean vistas of Cambria. I can’t imagine myself living here. I can’t image anyone living here.

  “I don’t remember any of this. Do you?” I stare out of the window as more cornfields stream past. “We should remember something, right? We weren’t that young.”
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  “I don’t recognize anything either.”

  “Are you sure we lived here before? What if they lied to us again?” My voice cracks on the last words as Mari’s incessant warning reawakens in my head.

  “Mom and Dad said we were here.” Josh’s voice betrays his confidence. “But . . .”

  “But that doesn’t mean they told us the truth.”

  Silence engulfs the fears we’re both too afraid to discuss.

  “It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it?” Josh asks.

  “That’s an understatement.” A huge one.

  “Hey,” Josh says in his best older-brother voice. “Things will work out. No one will find us here. We’ll figure out what these visions are, why we’re in hiding, what else they’ve lied about. It’ll be fine. You’re stronger than you realize.”

  “You always tell me I’m strong.”

  “Only because you are.”

  I smile as the sun continues its ascent above the tall barns in the distance. Few cars join us on the roads. Several deer line the highway, looking up from their grazing long enough to make sure we’re only driving past.

  “How much farther?” I ask.

  “Not much, I think. Check.”

  I retrieve the map from Josh’s bag, along with a picture of five children and four adults smiling. “What’s this?” I ask as I scrutinize the picture. “Josh?”

  “It was in the go-bag.” His eyes never leave the road, his voice distant.

  I recognize the children from my dreams and my life. I’m at one end of the picture, my face more innocent than I remember. “I’m so young,” I say, mostly to myself.

  The other children carry a hint of familiarity. Josh sits in the middle of the pack, his expression one of both leader and agitator. I glance from face to face, trying to force memories that refuse to come. “Should I know them?”

  “You do,” Josh says. “Look again.”

  I expel a tight breath and allow my eyes to drift more slowly from face to face. The boy sitting next to Josh smiles up from the page and my heart almost stops. Familiar green eyes meet mine and I can practically feel his hand in mine and his breath hot on my neck.

  David.

  I glare at Josh. “Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s all I can say without losing it completely.

  “I couldn’t.” Josh’s voice cracks. “Look at the others.”

  My eyes return to the picture, settling on the ginger-haired girl next to David. Her haunting smile and familiar face pull at my dreams. “I know her, too.” I say more to myself than my brother. “Mari.” Tears fill my eyes as I relive her last moments. In a heartbeat, I scan the rest of the picture. Mom and Dad are part of the group of adults behind us. It’s too much to handle. I shove the picture away as my mind spins, my hands shake.

  And my world implodes.

  Again

  THE ARCHITECT LEANED AGAINST THE RAILING OF THE SMALL PORCH OF HER FAMILY’S HOME. She hadn’t been back in the Adirondacks in a long time, more than ten years. Her mother died in this home and she and her father left shortly after. The house held too many memories, her Papa used to tell her. Too much pain.

  The Solomon Experiment offered an escape from the pain according to Papa. He worked for the Creator and the Architect joined the chosen. She assumed Papa made a deal with the researchers to have her placed in the group. She didn’t posses the power the others held, or the talent. Not at the beginning.

  “You have your own gifts,” the Creator told the Architect whenever she withdrew from the group. “They will prove valuable in the end. Trust me.”

  She did. And when Papa died in a horrible accident, she trusted the Creator’s advice to continue her training with him. When the Creator reformed his organization, the Order, she still stayed with him. When he promised that she could stand as an equal within the Order as long as she completed a few more tasks, including carrying out the assassinations the Order commanded, she still stayed. And when she discovered that the Creator wasn’t working for the government any more, that his goals were more personal now, she assumed his interests mirrored her own. A series of decisions she’d questioned repeatedly over the past ten years. Mari’s death convinced her she’d made the right choice.

  The Architect smiled as she sat in the old swing on the porch, her legs dragging on the ground. She stared at the forests surrounding her home and took a deep breath. Sunlight filtered through the trees and reflected off the dewy moisture typical in the early morning hours. A sense of peace settled along her skin; the first in nearly a decade. Mari’s death released some of her pain, just as the Creator had promised.

  The other killings had never offered any type of relief. Not when she killed the lab animals, not even when she murdered the doctor. They didn’t hold the same meaning to her; they didn’t offer her vengeance.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. Pine and rain combined with the soft breeze and tranquil bird sounds. A smile curled her lips. For a moment she imaged herself with Papa. Happy.

  You’re finding yourself at last, your purpose.

  She welcomed the Creator in her thoughts.

  You’re finding your peace.

  Yes, sir. Just as you promised. The Architect opened herself to him. Memories of the experiments at the lab surfaced quickly, followed by images of the accident and what it took from her:

  Her family—gone.

  Her home—gone.

  All because of the others.

  No one else had lost what she did when the accident closed the lab. No one understood her pain. Her memories moved to the Creator. He took her in, gave her a home, purpose to her life.

  I’m proud of you, the Creator thought. The Order will be proud as well.

  Her heart swelled.

  You must finish your task.

  “Yes” filled her mind before she processed the Creator’s words. I serve you and the Order. Just like always.

  The Creator left her thoughts just as the sun rose, drying the last remnants of morning dew from the trees. She thought of her remaining targets. They would be more difficult then Mari. They were more talented, stronger. She cared about them more.

  Especially the Ninja.

  She laughed at the name, remembering how he’d earned it. She and the others had worked for weeks together, learning new skills every day. Remote viewing, telekinesis, clairvoyance; nothing was off limits. When they weren’t working in the lab or testing out their abilities, they played together in a large open room of the residence. They became a family during the off hours; they plotted and planned a future together. Their “code names” were a by-product of their plans.

  She was called the Architect, a name that suited her well. She always saw the future and created her best outcome. Although she didn’t value the skill as the others had, there was no denying her talent. The Architect was a master strategist.

  Mari’s talent involved clairvoyance. Code-named the Eagle, she mastered remote viewing more powerfully than any of the others. Within the first few days of training, Mari recreated detailed floor plans of distant buildings, knew the contents of any safe, and found missing people—all with no more than a quick close of her eyes.

  The Architect had expected a bigger fight from Mari; she thought her presence would be discovered sooner. The Creator said the others’ memories had all been modified, that none of them retained their gifts. The Architect didn’t believe it until her confrontation with Mari. Now she knew the truth. None of them matched her training now.

  The other recruits also had names reflective of their talents. The Samurai and the Ninja both loved the art of warfare. Where one loved weapons—especially the sword—in addition to his psychic fighting skills, the other was a master in the art of hiding and espionage. He could camouflage himself and those around him while also convincing others not to find him. It was a gift that made the weekly hide-and-seek adventures both difficult and intriguing.

  The Architect felt closest to the Ninja. He was the leader of the group
and she followed him around like a lost puppy. But the Ninja didn’t reciprocate her feelings. He thought only of protecting his sister. Nothing the Architect did drew the Ninja’s attention, not even after the accident that took her father’s life.

  The Creator believed the Samurai and the Ninja possessed skills necessary to the upcoming missions, but they weren’t his favorite. Neither was the Architect. That title was reserved for the Assassin. She represented everything to the Creator—clairvoyance, telekinesis, telepathy. More, she was completely cut off from her own morality. The perfect weapon.

  Jealousy had enveloped the Architect during the experiments. She wanted to be the perfect weapon. She wanted the others to look at her with awe. She wanted to be the center of attention.

  Envy didn’t consume the Architect’s thoughts now. Only vengeance for his father’s death.

  And a thirst for retribution.

  Project Stargate 2.0

  The Solomon Experiments

  Dr. Jennings’ Personal Journal –

  Sept 8, 2002

  Day 71:

  My trust in the projects falters. I fear Tate and LeMercier are developing the children into weapons. That’s not the goal; at least, it’s never been mine. I tried to speak with Christyn about my misgivings, but she won’t listen. Her heart still belongs to LeMercier; she trusts him too much, believes in his lies. It’s too difficult for her to accept the truth, so she risks too much. Again.

  Part of me wants to go along with her, with all of them. I can’t, not when the changes in the children are so profound. Not when I see what the experiments are doing to my own son.

  These children are being groomed for war; groomed to kill. Their abilities, the experiments—it’s all a game to them. They’ve even developed code names like they are part of the video and role-playing games they enjoy. I wonder if they understand the truth of their talents, if they can tell the difference between their fantasies and reality. There’s no moral compass guiding the children’s actions now, nothing to help them understand the seriousness of their gifts.