Pike (The Pawn Duet #1) - T.M. Frazier Page 0,19

man in the passenger seat is leaning out of the window….holding a gun.

The sound. It wasn’t a car.

We’re being shot at.

“Girls, get down!” Mama cries.

Disguises or not, I recognize the men. Men I’ve known my entire life. Men my father insisted we all interact with for the sake of his research.

Research I realize has obviously taken the turn my mama always feared it would. These are not reasonable men. These are men with hearts full of hate, and right now, that hate is a weapon. And just like the gun, it’s aimed directly at us.

I turn back around in my seat so that my sisters don’t see what’s behind us. I try to hide the panic consuming both my body and my brain for their sake.

I meet my father’s eyes in the rearview mirror once again, and with one glance, I know he sees what I see. I want to ask them why they’re shooting at us, but I already know.

Papa’s been found out.

I wrap my arm around Mallory and push on her shoulders so her head is down, mirroring the position of Maya and Mindy. “Shhhh. It will be fine. Just a little unscheduled trip,” I say to try and soothe her fears, but her shoulders are shaking uncontrollably.

“Ben,” my mother says, her voice cracking.

Papa slams his foot on the gas. “Get down!” he cries as the back window is blown out. Glass rains down all around us.

It all happens so fast.

The squeal of tires on the pavement.

My sisters scream.

My mother prays.

The sound of the metal guardrail as we smash through it. The impact pulling the seat belt painfully against my waist.

The feeling of falling.

Falling.

Falling.

The overwhelming realization that this will be my very last memory.

Ever.

The screams. Oh, God, the screams.

The icy cold water as it rushes into the van.

Only one scream remains.

Mine.

Followed by the most terrible sound I’ve ever heard, and I’ll never forget.

Silence.

The nerding hours.

That’s what my sisters call the couple of hours I spend each morning doing research or conducting experiments while the rest of the house is sound asleep.

It’s not my fault I’m the first person awake. My bedroom window faces the sunrise. Every morning, the first rays of the sunlight flicker into my window until it forms a steady beam, heating my face and backlighting my eyelids until I’m forced to recognize the new day and finally open my eyes. I could put thicker curtains over my window, but I think I’d miss the sun’s nudge back into consciousness. Besides, I get a lot done in those couple of hours when the house is silent except for me and the endless chatter of my curious thoughts.

Today, the light is waving at me from the other side of my eyelids, bouncing around as if someone is playing catch with the sun, tossing it back and forth. The warmth I’m feeling is not the usual gentle reminder of morning I’m used to, but a wild scorching heat, invading my subconscious, dragging me kicking and screaming from my sleep.

Opening my eyes is an impossible task. I blink several times against the intrusive pulsing of light, but I can’t keep my eyes open. I try to shade my eyes, but I can’t use my hands.

I tug at them again.

Panic seeps into my pores and rushes into my veins, infecting my senses.

I can’t move my hands…because their tied together behind my back.

The mattress is so thin I can feel the hard floor beneath.

That’s weird, my mattress is thick and plush.

This isn’t my bed.

Where the hell…

The loudest music I’ve ever heard shouts angrily in my ears. The bass is a battering ram against my ribs, slamming harder and harder as if it’s trying to break through to my convulsing heart. I cough, and I sputter. Then, as quick as it came, the music is gone again, and so is the light.

Ghosts of light dance in my vision. When they fade enough and my vision clears, I still can’t see anything, because it’s pitch black.

“Hello?” I ask into the abyss. My voice echoes several times. Both wishing someone will answer and hoping to God no one does.

A shift in the corner of my eye startles me. I gasp, searching the shadows for the cause of the movement. I manage to make out the silhouette of a large man sitting with his legs spread wide in a chair only a few feet away.

The light in the room shifts and I realize there’s a window high above my head. The walls are rusty corrugated