The Pandora Project

by Heather A. Cowan

  When my head hits the headrest, I practically melt into the passenger seat. Exhustion settles over every fiber of my being like a heavy blanket. Being a battery takes its toll on a body. John gets in and seems to fill his side of the car. I lean my head against the window and fall asleep immediately.

  Chapter 15

  Waking up to the soft glow of twilight and John humming softly under his breath makes the transition from deep sleep to wakefulness a pleasant one. “How long have I been out?” I ask, unable to shake the sleep from my voice.

  “Five hours, but you looked so peaceful I couldn’t bear to wake you.”

  My hands are still bare and I feel naked. Any lingering sleep haze evaporates in a rush of terror; the picture of my gloves lying on a distant forest floor filling my mind. “What’s the matter?” he asks, senses on high alert in response to my emotions.

  “My gloves,” I practically scream, shaking my hands, hoping that will postpone any threat they pose.

  “Oh, that,” he says casually and reaches into his back pocket. “I grabbed them during one of my flips, thought you might want them.”

  Relief and gratitude envelope me in equal measure. I slide my fingers into the safety and comfort they have known for seventeen long years. “You don’t need those around me anymore, you know.” He says with a smile.

  “You haven’t seen all they do,” I reply.

  “Your hands or the gloves?”

  “My hands.” He doesn’t ask and I don’t tell.

  The kink in my neck only mildly distracts me from the pressure in my bladder. What is it with this guy? Doesn’t he ever have to go? Couldn’t he make a pit stop every once in a while for the sake of my pride? “Um, John…”

  “Don’t even worry about it, I have had to go for the past hour, but I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m already looking for a good exit.” Well at least I didn’t have to say it this time.

  “Could it be a little nicer than the last place, please?”

  “Nice places are more likely to have cameras, but I’ll try.” Cameras, of course.

  “Does Cox really have that much power?” I ask, wanting the Pandora Project to be just him and a couple of his buddies.

  “Let’s assume for our current circumstances that Dr. Cox can do most things you see in movies.” His answer takes my breath away. How are we supposed to fight that? We are teenagers for Pete’s sake!

  He must be able to feel my distress because he reaches over and puts his hand on my knee, “We’re not just teenagers, we are genetically enhanced super teenagers with all your father’s planning and genius behind us.”

  “Can you read minds now, too,” I ask, shocked at how accurately he knew my thoughts.

  “No, although I do keep waiting for some awesome super power like your mom’s or dad’s to show up. It isn’t hard to guess what you are thinking. You wear your thoughts all over your face.”

  “When your mom can read your mind, it doesn’t do much good to be careful about your face.” He laughs and we pull off the interstate. Positive that the run down, mom and pop station with a sign with only half the letters lit is our destination; he surprises me by pulling up to a monstrous travel center with at least twenty semi’s dotting the parking lot.

  “Don’t look up where the cameras can get a good look at you. Do what you have to do and meet back as soon as possible.” We both get out of the car and head to our respective restrooms. Quickly taking the opportunity to wash all the exposed skin on my body, I refuse to worry about what the restroom soap will do to my complexion. When I finish, John is filling the car with gas. It is amazing how long it takes to fill two tanks, but I am thankful we don’t have to stop more often.

  Keeping my head down, I slide in the car and wait for him to finish. All too soon we are back on the road. The car is beginning to smell like two teenagers have been living in it for two days. That combined with the claustrophobia from being in a tight space for so long begins to give me cabin fever.

  “So, I’ve been thinking a lot,” he starts.

  “And…”

  “Well, you underwent the same treatments the rest of us did,”

  “And…”

  “Well, what else do you do?” he asks and looks at me expectantly.

  Logical question but it still pisses me off. “You mean other than a walking nuclear power plant, your own personal jump start kit and the Pandora that will release all sorts of horror and disaster on the earth?”

  “Don’t get testy,” he says, throwing his hands in the air as if to protect himself. “I was just wondering.”

  “I’m not really sure,” I say honestly. “I seem to be pretty smart, even if you feel the need to explain things slowly to me, but that can just be a byproduct of two really smart parents. I don’t get sick…but no one who lives with my father ever would. I’ve never really played sports, my parents have always done what they could to keep me away from others outside of school, but I do like to run and it is pretty easy for me. From what you have told me, it would be a pretty safe bet I could hold my own with any of Cox’s other experiments.”

  He nods his head slowly, turning everything over in his super enhanced brain. “So you have never activated something within yourself?”

  It only takes me a few seconds of internal struggle to wonder whether or not to tell him about the sink and then figure what the hell, I signed on hook, line and sinker when I offered to touch him. I recount exactly what happened that night and he looks a little uncomfortable.

  “I am really glad I didn’t know that before. You could have disintegrated me!” He says, slightly panicked.

  “But I didn’t,” the headiness of success drowning the guilt of what could have happened. “Don’t make me sorry for sharing.”

  As we have been talking, John has been scanning all his mirrors. It is common practice for him, but the vigor of his movements shows a tension that hasn’t been present since we left Painted Rock.

  “Is something going on?” I ask, my heart dropping to my stomach.

  “I’m not sure,” he taps the brakes to disengage the cruise control and our speed drops steadily with John looking more out the rearview mirror than out the front.

  Suddenly we shoot forward as John slams on the gas. “What is going on?” I scream.

  “Four cars back, in the right lane. Black sedan, I noticed them earlier, but everyone heading east uses I-80 so it is not uncommon to get around the same cars, travelling the same pace. I thought we would lose this guy when we stopped. We didn’t. They have stayed behind us the whole time, it’s not right.”

  It isn’t hard to spot the tail as they are the only black sedan hauling butt trying to keep up. “They’re gaining on us.”

  “I can see that, thanks for your help!” he snaps.

  “Now, who’s testy?” I snap back.

  Turning back around, my hand seizes the assist handle while my feet practically punch through floorboards trying to increase our speed. “What are we going to do?” I whine, panic and fear dripping from every word. Life has been too easy. This is my punishment for thinking for two seconds that I am normal. Vacation mode shifts quickly to a race for our lives. It’s almost a relief, a jolt back to normal life. This is what monsters do with pretty boys; this is much more natural. I am not a monster, I haven’t had to rely on my internal pep talks for days, John is changing me in more ways than he will ever know.

  John doesn’t immediately answer, instead he shifts lanes, continuing at breakneck speeds, “Climb into the back and open the trunk access. We are going to need that gun.”

  That effectively answers the question of whether or not he saw the gun. “Do you even know how to use it?”

  The look he gives me is enough to stifle any further questions. Throwing off my seatbelt I dive into the back, keeping as low as possible just in case bullets start flying. It is normally a simple matter of pulling down the center console to reveal the trunk access, but with my body flying from side to side as John chang
es lanes like a madman it takes more effort. After a little digging I locate the gun. As my fingers curl around the fabric and the hard steel peeks through a gap, the power of this deadly weapon strikes a chord deep inside my chest. Are we really ready to shoot someone?

  Taking a deep breath I pull it out and climb back into the front seat, relieved to be buckling back in. “What now?”

  “We have to lose them, but I don’t see that happening in this car. We need to draw them out in the open and make sure they can’t follow us anymore.” The intense look on his face worries me. I’m not ready to hurt anyone. My whole life has been about keeping others safe. Safe from my powers, safe from harm, safe from me. But I haven’t experienced the hurt and loss that have dogged John’s every step these last few months.

  He looks ready for a fight. I’m not sure what drives him more at this point, revenge or the desire to protect us. Either way, I can’t let him be something I know deep down he is not. I won’t let him be the monster I have fought for so many years.

  Setting the gun on the floor between my feet, I lay out my intentions. “We have to lose them, but we can’t kill them.” I am quiet but strong.

  He looks at me with disbelief, “I don’t think you understand,” he says slowly and the menace in his voice makes me fear him for the first time. “These are the people who killed my father, probably killed my mother and will kill me the first chance they get for siding with you!” He practically spits the last word at me.

  “No!” I shout, “you don’t understand! My grandmother killed herself over the horrors she saw. Horrors I will somehow bring about. My whole life I have fought against the idea that I am a monster and I will not let you make me one!” The coldness of moisture running down my cheek is the first indication that I am crying.

  He doesn’t look at me and I don’t know if it is because he is concentrating so hard to stay ahead of our pursuers or because he doesn’t want me to see what his eyes will tell. He takes an exit ramp and makes a left so quickly it jars me back and forth between the middle of the car and the window.

  “We will have to use the one thing we have going for us then,” he finally says through clenched teeth. “They don’t know I am super powered up. We can use that.”

  Will I finally start to regret giving him that edge? “How?”

  “In about thirty seconds I am going to run the car as far as I can toward the tree line without damaging it. We will take off for the woods and hope they don’t shoot at us. I don’t think they will because they need you alive. Either way, you will slow us down so I want you to jump on my back.” Not wanting to be a baby monkey, I want to protest, but it makes too much sense to do it his way. “I guess we will get to see how strong I am, huh?” He finally looks at me and is smiling, It’s not a comforting smile, the slightly maniacal expression has me drawing back slightly.

  “So, just so I am straight on the plan, you’re going to use me as a shield to get to the forest?”

  Raising his eyebrows as if he is hurt he says, “I’m not using you as a shield, I just don’t want you to slow us down.”

  It’s probably better there is no time to respond, I don’t want fear to slow us down either. John pulls the car hard to the right and drives through the ditch toward the trees. If the screeching and jarring are any indication, we might not have a car when all is said and done. He slams on the brakes, turns the engine off and is running away from the car before I even fully understand what is going on. Belatedly I take off, running for all I am worth to catch up. I don’t look behind me but headlights light my way, letting me know they aren’t far behind.

  Chapter 16

  John slows and smoothly and gracefully pulls me on to his back. He runs full out and his speed amazes me. My added weight doesn’t slow him at all. After four terrifying minutes of dodging trees and branches with my face buried into his back to protect it, he stops so abruptly it takes my breath away. He uses one arm to pull me around so I am facing him and pushes me down behind a tree.

  “Stay here,” he says and starts to move away but I grab his hand and squeeze as tightly as I can.

  “What are you going to do?” I try to whisper but panic rips the words from mouth.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t kill anyone. I am just going to make sure they can’t follow us.” He kisses my fingers lightly. “Try not to make any noise and Paige…”

  “Yes?”

  “Try to get your hands fired up, they are the only protection you have,” with that he takes off quickly and quietly.

  Darkness has fallen and is thick around me, obscuring the view of my hands that have now become weapons. Does he really think I would intentionally blast someone? Doesn’t he understand that I would rather them kill me or take me than live with the knowledge that I killed someone with my bare hands?

  If I allow myself to be captured, I could be dooming many more to a much worse fate. If the death and destruction my grandmother foresaw was caused by my power falling into the wrong hands, it would be my first priority to remain free. How stupid of me to never consider this before.

  For the first time in my life I don’t feel guilt over her suicide but anger. Couldn’t she have been a bit stronger for me, for Mom and Dad, for mankind for Pete’s sake? If we had a psychic on our side we could avoid most dangers and change things, for the better. The hurt and betrayal of her selfishness boil inside me, the heat rolling off me in waves. For the first time in my life, I don’t quell the anger, the heat, the light. I feed it and let it build inside me.

  Slowly pulling off my gloves, I prepare myself for a fight. I won’t be captured, I won’t give in. Dad heals because of me. Mom communicates and protects because of me. If John doesn’t go on a killing spree and uses his strengths for good, I’ll take credit for that too. I’m not a monster, I’m a tool. A tool that can be used for good or evil; I choose good.

  The deafening blast of a handgun splinters the night and draws me out of my reverie. Stifling a yelp of surprise, my eyes search the trees and brush that surround me. Who fired the shot? Was anyone hurt? Why am I cowering behind this tree? The surprise and the fear drive my heart rate higher and I feel like I might explode with the energy building ever higher in my body.

  The sharp crackle of branches breaking and leaves crunching underfoot draw my attention. I make tight fists, ready to defend myself, but not quite ready to attack. I peek around the trunk of my sheltering pine and can just make out the outline of someone staggering toward me. They don’t see me and I hold my breath, determined not to make a sound.

  John jumps from a branch he was perched on just behind my would-be attacker. He brings the butt of his gun down on the man’s head and he drops like a sack. John stands above him for a few seconds, not even breathing heavily.

  “Come on out, Paige. I got them all,” he says in an extremely normal voice given the circumstances.

  Unwilling to move, I remain tucked away until I fight back the overwhelming power surging through my veins. Panting with the effort, it takes longer to calm down than it did to fire myself up.

  When I am composed enough to speak, I ask, “What does ‘got them all’ mean, exactly?” I haul myself up to a standing position, pull my gloves back on and go to stand over the body with him.

  He turns his head to me but the darkness throws shadows that makes it impossible for me to read his features. “It means I incapacitated three men who want to kill me but did not seriously injure any of them so they can kill me another day.”

  Can’t say I love the sarcasm, but at least he did what I asked. I want to thank him, but it won’t sound very sincere in response to his tone so I remain silent. He leans down and throws the man easily over his shoulder in a modified fireman carry. Without a glance in my direction, he turns back to the car, I don’t have any choice so I follow.

  On the way back he picks up another man who he throws over his other shoulder. His strength both impresses and scares me. If he is not all that he appears I have made my situation much wo
rse, but for now it is working in my favor.

  Right before the forest clears, John drops the men roughly to the ground beside the third and final assailant. The headlights of both cars glare in our direction, throwing shadows I would rather not cast. We both crouch as low to the ground as possible, eager to be invisible. “Be right back,” John says and speeds off. The headlights fade to black and John is back amazingly fast. I hope the hostility and awkwardness between us fades quickly because I want to go back to admiring the incredible specimen he has become.

  Bending down John starts roughly tying the men together. He must have gotten rope from one of the cars. It better be strong. After a couple of minutes the men are secure and unless someone takes a knife to it, they will pay hell getting out. John digs through their pockets until he finds each of their phones. He throws the first one against a nearby tree. Instead of shattering, it lodges deep into the trunk.

  He laughs, “I guess I don’t know my own strength,” he jokes as he walks to the tree. He jumps lightly in the air and brings his foot down on the exposed part of the phone, breaking it clean in half. He continues his destruction of the phones as I just stand there, mouth slightly agape, feeling completely useless.

  “Now that you are satisfied that they are still alive, are you opposed to me dragging them further into the woods, to make their inevitable escape a little harder?” From the tone of his voice it is impossible to tell if he is being condescending or really asking for permission.

  “Do whatever you think is right,” I respond. He grabs the rope and hauls the adult men away, banging their legs on surrounding trees. The combined weight of three does seem to make the task slightly more difficult so at least he is not all powerful…is that good or bad?

  On his way back, he jogs right past me and to their car. Briefly surveying the trunk, he finds a crow bar, stabs each of tires with the wedged end and then takes care of the GPS as well. Whether out of frustration or just to be thorough, he also smashes the head and tail lights before walking to our car and throwing the crow bar in the backseat. Waiting outside the driver’s side door, he calls to me, “Are you coming?”