The Samantha Project

by Stephanie Karpinske

  “You can’t wait. You have to go. Now!” I looked at Hannah’s eyes, which were begging me to trust her. Maybe Hannah was actually helping me. But why? Doing so would only get her killed.

  She opened the door and pushed me out. I looked to the right and saw six guards lying on the floor unconscious. Had Hannah done that? Was that why the guard chatter had gone silent?

  “Go!” she screamed at me, pushing me to the left, down the hall. It was a long hallway and the explosions above had taken out the power, leaving only the flashing emergency lights. Loud sirens were going off, which to me were deafening because of my superhearing.

  “But there’s nothing down here. It’s a dead end. I have to go right to get out,” I yelled back. I started to turn back but she pushed a cart in front of me.

  “No, you have to go that way! It’s not a dead end. It’s your only way out. You’ve got to trust me, Sam. Please!” She motioned for me to go back to the left. From the look on her face, I could tell that Hannah knew she wasn’t getting out of that building alive.

  “Come with me, Hannah! Why are you staying here?”

  “I can’t. I can’t tell you why, but I can’t go with you. You have to go alone. Now please, please go! Or all of this will have been for nothing.”

  I paused, trying to understand her words. Another boom sounded and the hallway walls cracked and started to crumble. I turned and ran. The hallway seemed to go on forever. I finally reached the end and saw the wall with the fire extinguisher. I placed the badge next to it. Nothing happened. I moved the badge above it, then below it. Nothing.

  It was a trick. I knew it. Hannah had sent me astray. But why? Why not just leave me locked up? I tried again, slowly moving the badge up and down the wall. I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen. It was a solid wall.

  The booming continued but now sounded less like explosives and more like the building crumbling. What was going on up there? This was not the small lab explosion Dave talked about. Had he changed his plan? How could he even pull off something like that by himself?

  I placed my hands against the wall and leaned on it, thinking about what to do next. As I took a deep breath to calm myself, I noticed that the flashing red emergency light on my badge had turned to a flashing green light. And then it spoke. “Hannah Peterson. Level 9 Access. Permitted.”

  The edges of the wall started to rumble and then slowly opened, like the door to a bank vault. I stepped back to give it room, but it opened only partially. I looked inside. Another dark hallway. But this time, no flashing emergency lights. Just pure darkness. “Run!” I heard Hannah’s directions in my head. I squeezed through the door and ran.

  My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness. Hannah said I could see in the dark. How did she know that? I quickly turned my thoughts to what would happen once I got out of the tunnel. Where would it take me? I needed to get to the car that Dave left. But how would I find it now?

  I ran for what seemed like miles of underground tunnel. I finally came to the end, which was another solid wall. A dead end. Now what? I fumbled for Hannah’s badge, which I had stuffed into the pocket of my hospital gown. I tried placing it against the wall again, back and forth, up and down. No luck.

  What had I done before to make this work? I replayed the scene in my head. I had leaned against the door and held the badge there. I tried holding the badge in the same spot as before. Didn’t work. I kept trying other places on the wall until finally, a green light. Success!

  The door opened slowly. I could see the snow-covered ground outside. I walked out and the door slowly closed behind me. I looked around to see that I was in the woods, somewhere outside of town. But it was nowhere near where Dave had left the car.

  It was still dark out. But I could see clearly, just as I had in the tunnel. It was freezing cold outside and my bare feet and hands were starting to feel numb. I could hear cars on a road up the hill in front of me. Maybe I could catch a ride from someone, I thought. It was dangerous but the only option I could think of.

  I turned to walk up the hill and tripped. I looked down to see a large blue backpack, partially covered in snow. I picked it up and opened it. Inside there was a wad of $100 bills, some trail mix, water bottles, and clothes. I pulled the clothes out. Jeans, long-sleeve t-shirt, sweater, hat, and gloves. Sneakers and socks were wedged way in the bottom of the pack. Everything was my size. Had someone left this for me? I quickly put the clothes and shoes on. I shoved the money in my jeans. Not knowing who the backpack was from, I decided to leave it behind. I couldn’t trust that the food or water were safe to consume, so I left them behind as well.

  At the top of the hill was the interstate. Semi-trucks roared by. It was too early for most cars to be on the road. About 50 feet ahead, a semi was pulled over on the shoulder. I decided to approach it rather than try to flag down a car or truck going 80 miles per hour.

  A short, heavy-set guy, probably in his midfifties, was on the passenger side of the cab. He seemed to be messing with the door. When I approached him, he fell back into some snow that was piled near the road.

  “What the hell?” He scrambled to get himself up.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just—”

  “What in God’s name are you doing walking along the interstate? And why the hell would you sneak up on someone that way? You trying to get me killed?” He swatted at his pants, trying to brush the snow off.

  “I need a ride. I wondered where you were headed.”

  “You think you’re gettin’ a ride after you pulled that stunt? Heck no! Why don’t you— ”

  “I have money,” I interrupted, later thinking that probably wasn’t the smartest thing to reveal.

  “How much money?”

  “That depends. How far can you take me?”

  “I’m headed to Kansas City. I can get you that far—for the right price.”

  “A hundred dollars,” I said, wondering how much money I actually had. In my race to get away I hadn’t had time to actually count that wad of hundreds.

  “A hundred dollars? You know what gas costs these days?” He put his hands on each side of his oversize waist and stood up tall.

  “You’re only taking me to Kansas City. That’s like, six or seven hours from here. A hundred fifty.”

  “Two hundred. Cash. And I want it now.” He held his hand out.

  “Fine, but you only get half now. I’ll give you the rest in Kansas City.”

  He thought about it. “I suppose that’ll work. Now give me the hundred.”

  I turned slightly to get some privacy and reached into my jeans to pull out a single bill. The man snatched it from me and shoved it into his pocket.

  “Well, get in.” He opened the door and I stepped into the cab. It had more space than I imagined. There were dishes, blankets, pillows, and clothes jammed into the area behind my seat. His home away from home.

  “Your door is rattling, so I hope you don’t mind loud noises,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s side. “I was trying to fix it when you came by. But it looks like I lost a screw so it’ll just have to be like it is.” He shook his head, annoyed that he would now be stuck listening to the rattling. “I’m gonna have to order that damn screw. You know how long that’ll take? Weeks!” I didn’t think he was talking to me, so I kept quiet.

  We took off down the interstate as the door rattled in a rhythmic pattern. “Damn, that thing’s gonna drive me crazy,” the man muttered to himself. After a few minutes, he must have accepted the rattling because he turned his attention to me.

  “So what’s your story? Teen runaway? What are you—maybe 16, 17? What are you runnin’ from?”

  “I’m 17. My parents died. I was supposed to go into foster care, but I wouldn’t do it.” I tried to sound convincing. I wasn’t used to making up stories. “I had a friend in foster care. They beat her. Really bad. They put her in another home and it happened again. No way I’m doing that.” The words just came out as I tried to imagine a sto
ry this guy might actually believe.

  “Yeah, I know kids like you. I got a niece, story just like yours. Parents died. She had nowhere to go and ended up on the streets. But she got it together somehow,” he said, as if trying to give me hope. “I think she’s somewhere in Ohio now. Got two kids last I heard.”

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I couldn’t come up with enough lies and stories to last six hours.

  “So what’s your plan? Just trying to get as far away as possible?” He fiddled with the wiper blades as big wet snowflakes started to land on the windshield.

  “Um, I have a cousin. Down in Texas. She said I could stay with her. She owns a diner. I have to work there for free, but she’ll give me room and board.” I surprised even myself with how easy the lies were rolling off my tongue.

  “Well, that’s lucky for you. Most kids got—” He was interrupted by the ring of his cell phone, which was attached to a holder on the dashboard. He grabbed it to see who was calling, then answered looking annoyed.

  “Yeah. What do you need, Ross?” The truck swerved a little as the man tried to maintain the giant steering wheel while positioning the phone to his ear.

  “I know you need it by noon, but that’s probably not gonna happen. Have you seen the weather forecast? I’m just outside the Cities now and it’s startin’ to snow.” He let go of the steering wheel for a second to adjust the wiper speed. I’d seen a lot of truck rollovers on the news and was sure this was our future, given the guy’s driving abilities.

  “And I hear Iowa’s gettin’ freezin’ rain. And if it’s like last time, I ain’t drivin’ in that. Nearly lost my truck in that ice.”

  I started to worry that I wouldn’t make it very far that day. And if I had any chance of escape, I had to get as far away from Minnesota as possible. The necklace had disabled my location tracker, but I knew people would be looking for me. I remembered Dave saying that GlobalLife had people everywhere—even local and state police. By now, they probably had reports out to every police station about me. Maybe it was even on the news.

  While the trucker continued on the phone, I turned and pretended to sleep. I didn’t want more questions. I must have dozed off because just over an hour later, I was awoken by the truck’s sudden jerky stop.

  “What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” I sat up and tried to see what was ahead. The snow was coming down harder.

  “Oh, the cops got the road blocked for some reason. Maybe there’s an accident. Whatever it is, looks like we’ll be stuck here for a while.”

  Cars and trucks were backed up for what seemed like miles. I started to feel anxious. Even more than that, I had a strong feeling that I was in danger. I wondered if sensing danger was one of my new abilities. If so, what good was it if I didn’t know how to escape the danger?

  We sat quietly in the truck, inching up a few feet every couple of minutes. Trucker guy seemed bored and looked over at me. I ignored him, hoping he would get the hint and not start talking again. He didn’t talk but instead kept staring at me. The bad feeling I had got even stronger. It was making my stomach sick. What was he staring at? I wondered what he was thinking. Then it hit me. I can read minds! Why wasn’t I hearing his thoughts?

  I remembered my training sessions at GlobalLife. The researchers theorized that my mind-reading was still developing. That I had to practice it and teach my brain to really focus on the other person’s thoughts. They also said that it might be easier at first to read the minds of people I knew, which explained why I could hear Uncle Dave’s thoughts so well.

  I put all my concentration toward the trucker. I closed my eyes and imagined my mind making a connection with his. Five minutes went by. I still hadn’t heard a word.

  “Hey, you got a boyfriend?” The man poked my arm, breaking my concentration. “Pretty girl like you must be leavin’ someone behind.” I looked over to see a weird grin on his face.

  “I’ll be your boyfriend, honey. An older man. Yeah, that’s what you need. You just wait till we get to Kansas City.”

  I shot up in my seat and jammed myself into the door. “What did you just say?”

  “Relax darlin’. I just asked if you had a boyfriend.” He smiled again, showing his crooked, stained teeth.

  “No. You said,” I paused, suddenly realizing that I had just heard the man’s thoughts. The only words he had spoken aloud were about me having a boyfriend back home.

  “Um, no. I don’t have a boyfriend. Well, actually, I had one but don’t now.” I moved back away from the door and tried to act normal. But the man’s sick thoughts were now loud in my head.

  “Long, soft hair. Good shape. Nice rack for a girl her age. But 17, that’s jail time. She’s a runaway though. Bet she’d treat me real nice if I gave her back that hundred dollars.”

  I was finally able to hear his thoughts. But now I wanted it to stop and I couldn’t turn it off. How dare he think those things! I was at least 40 years younger than him.

  I looked ahead at the road to see flashing lights. Police had blocked off two lanes of the road, leaving just one lane of traffic. It looked like every vehicle was being stopped. I’ll tell the police about the trucker, I thought. But instantly I knew that wasn’t an option. The police could easily be my enemy.

  My fears were confirmed when I saw a digital sign blinking above. It was one of those signs used to alert drivers of changing road conditions, traffic, and other hazards. But today, the sign was used for something else. It read, “Amber Alert. 17-year-old girl missing. 5'5'', 115 lbs. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Last seen this morning.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Truck Stop

  I could no longer hear the man’s thoughts as my mind focused on what to do next. There were maybe six or seven cars ahead of us before the police checkpoint area. I couldn’t run. Cars surrounded us, all trying to merge into our lane. If I ran, it would draw attention and they would match me to the description flashed on the interstate sign.

  “Hey, that sounds like you.” The trucker turned to me, this time scanning my face instead of my body. “All this trouble is for you? Why are they looking for you? Did you lie about your parents? Did you rob someone? Is that why you’re carrying around $100 bills?”

  “No. I told you everything. I swear. They want to catch me and force me into foster care. That’s it. But you can’t let them take me. I have to get to my cousin.”

  “Just tell the courts or your case worker that you want to live with your cousin. Problem solved.”

  “I can’t. She’s, well, she has a bit of a past herself. The courts would never release me to her.”

  He looked over at me again, suspicious that everything I’d told him was a lie.

  “I can’t go back there. I’ll do anything. Please. Anything.” I knew that those last words would get his attention. His sick mind would assume that “anything” meant I would agree to whatever disgusting plans he had conjured up earlier.

  “Okay. You’re old enough to be on your own. Get in the back.” He pointed to the pile of clothes behind his seat.

  I climbed back there and started moving the clothes to make more room.

  “Put the cooler up here on the seat so it doesn’t look so empty.”

  I did as he said, tossing up some old food wrappers as well to make it look like my seat was just his eating area.

  I positioned the clothes on top of me and hunched down as much as possible behind the trucker’s seat. The rest of the backseat was piled high with more clothes, blankets, some pillows, plates, and an array of plastic cups. When we finally reached the checkpoint, my legs were numb from sitting on them. I was desperate to move but couldn’t.

  The trucker rolled down his window. “Mornin’, officer. You need to see ID or somethin’?”

  “No, we just need to know if you saw a girl. She’s a teen, around 17. Petite build, brown hair and eyes. Here’s her picture.” The officer handed the trucker a photo. “Name is Samantha, but she goes by Sam.”

  “Nope, can�
��t say I saw her. Course, I’ve been on the road. Haven’t stopped much at all. Trying to beat this storm, ya know. So, that it?” I was amazed at how well he was pulling this off. Completely calm. Said all the right things. Clearly he had lied to the cops before.

  “Mind if I just look around quick in your truck? We’re checking every vehicle.”

  “Sure, go right ahead.” The trucker got out, letting the officer inside. The smell of the old food wrappers had been buried by the clothes but was now stinking up the front seat. The officer coughed as if the smell was getting to him. His inspection was cut to just a few seconds and he quickly climbed out of the truck.

  “Okay, you can go,” he said as the trucker got back into his seat.

  “Guess I should clean some of that trash out, huh?” He laughed and rolled up his window.

  I didn’t emerge from my hiding spot until we had driven a half hour. I pushed the clothes aside and stayed in the backseat, pretending to sleep. I wondered what sick thoughts were running through the guy’s mind, but I didn’t try to read them. Instead I pretended to sleep but spent the next couple hours focused on how to get away before he could try anything.

  “Hey, wake up, Sam. That’s your name, right?” the trucker asked, looking back at me. “I’m gonna pull off here in Des Moines at the truck stop. I’m just fillin’ up with gas and then we’ll hit the road again. If you want somethin’ to eat, they got a food shop there.”

  “Yeah, okay. I am starting to get hungry.” I actually was starving but hadn’t thought about it until he mentioned food. A small wave of excitement hit me as I remembered that I could now eat real food instead of nutrition pills.

  The weather had cleared up, leaving just gray skies and a cold wind. The truck stop was packed with trucks, buses, and cars—all filling up with supplies in case the storm picked up again.

  “I’m going inside to get a snack and clean up a little. I’ll see you back here, okay?”