Overpowered

by Mark H. Kruger

  “I’ve been wanting to meet you for some time,” Cochran said charmingly, while his intense dark-brown eyes practically bored a hole right into my brain. “My son speaks very highly of you.” He still had my phone in his hand. Jackson’s name was illuminated on the screen. The entire conversation was being recorded.

  “Oh. Well, Chase is an awesome guy. But then you probably know that already.” I felt myself babbling, but I was desperate to get my phone back before he saw Jackson’s name.

  “I’ve been telling your dad he should bring you by the house for dinner,” he pressed, moving closer to me. “I’d really like to know you better. Hear all about your world travels. And how you’re adjusting to Barrington.”

  “Dinner sounds great.” My eyes darted up and down the block for that security car, which was now idling across the street. Was it waiting to take me away?

  A wave of intense paranoia washed over me. Suddenly this run-in with Cochran didn’t seem so random. I had a sickening realization that Cochran might’ve been tailing me the whole time. Thoughts of all Jackson’s Dana Fox missing posters filled my head. I might have had the ability to disappear, but I didn’t want to vanish like she did.

  I had to get out of there.

  “Can I drop you somewhere?” He pointed to a sleek black Mercedes sedan with tinted windows parked near the Bar Tech Security vehicle.

  “No, thanks. I’m actually meeting friends,” I lied, completely unnerved by the situation. A lame excuse, but all I could think of in the moment. No way was I getting in a car alone with him. “But I’ll need my phone back first.” I reached out. He smiled and handed my phone back to me.

  And then I hurried off, my phone clutched in my hand, trying not to totally lose my shit in the middle of town. I could feel Cochran’s intense eyes watching my every move, as well as that Bar Tech car lying in wait for me. I had no idea how I was going to escape their watch until I remembered that Violetta’s Pizzeria had a rear exit.

  I made a beeline through the front entrance of Violetta’s as if I were going there to meet up with my friends. Luckily, the place was hopping with kids ordering slices, calzones, and drinks. I rushed through the pizzeria without drawing much notice from anyone except for Mr. Bluni, who happened to be there again enjoying a postschool slice with his teaching cronies. Although I avoided his table, he still watched me racing like a bat out of hell toward the rear of the restaurant. I knew I looked suspicious, but I wasn’t about to stop and make up an excuse to my biology teacher. I just had to get out of there. Once I reached the back door, I cracked it ajar and scanned up and down the alleyway. No sign of either Cochran’s Mercedes or Bar Tech Security.

  Weaving around overfilled Dumpsters and parked cars I maneuvered my way through the alley toward a side street with several smaller shops (locksmith and dry cleaner among them) that ran parallel to Main Street. I dashed down the block, head down, praying I wasn’t being followed.

  I quickly crossed the street at the intersection, then bolted down the next block and found myself hurrying down an unfamiliar residential street of newer split-level homes. Keeping up my pace but finally breathing a little easier, I redialed Jackson but got his voice mail again. I left a brief message that I was okay and then hung up. Frustrated and needing to talk with someone about what just happened, I started dialing Oliver, just as a deep-sea-blue BMW coupe pulled up alongside me. I glanced over, hoping it was just a random car driving up the street. But I got this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized that the car was definitely following me. I hadn’t escaped Bar Tech. My throat was suddenly so parched. I desperately needed some water, but more importantly I desperately needed help. My biological “fight or flight” response kicked in. I had to run. I scoped out the immediate neighborhood. The street was deserted. No one was around. As I was preparing to make a mad dash through the yard of this charmless brick colonial, I heard my name being called.

  “Nica.” It came from inside the car. The tinted passenger window rolled down, and I could finally see the mystery driver.

  “Mrs. Henderson?” I was completely taken aback to see her sitting there. Was this a coincidence? Or just a trap to lure me? Paranoia and suspicion washed over me.

  “Get in the car,” she demanded, looking up and down the street.

  CLICK. She unlocked the passenger door with a flick of a switch.

  “You wanted to talk, right?” It was a question but it sounded like an order. “Hurry.”

  I stared at her, hesitant and not moving, trying to read a hidden agenda. Dare I trust her? I stepped off the curb and grabbed the handle, opening the door. Maybe I was deluding myself, but I had a gut feeling that Mrs. Henderson wanted to talk too (perhaps as much as I wanted to talk to her?). So I slid into the soft gray leather seat and strapped myself in with the safety belt.

  Mrs. Henderson gave me a serious, poker-faced look before rolling the window back up. Then she shifted the car into gear, turned right at the first intersection, then sped up a winding street toward the hillier part of town. Neither of us said a word.

  All the while my heart was beating so rapidly I thought I might pass out from anxiety. Was this the smartest thing I’d ever done? Or was it the dumbest?

  11. THE INCIDENT

  * * *

  Mrs. Henderson parked the car on a dead-end street that backed onto a secluded wooded preserve. We were all alone. Chances were no one was going to accidentally stumble upon us.

  “Certainly is private here,” I remarked, secretly wondering if I could make a quick escape if I had to run.

  She shifted her body in the seat to the right so that she could face me.

  “Sorry for standing you up earlier, but talking at school wasn’t the best idea,” she stated guardedly. “So tell me what’s troubling you?” She asked it calmly as if she were counseling me in her cozy office rather than huddled in her car in the middle of nowhere.

  “Troubling me?” I took Jackson’s advice and played it cagey. “You mean other than terrorism, global warming, and the ballooning deficit?”

  “Listen to me, Nica,” she responded with a serious expression. “We don’t have much time to talk.” She glanced out the rear window. “Exactly what is it you think you know?”

  I chewed on my lower lip. Time to get real. It was now or never.

  “The pulse,” I blurted out. “I know about the pulse.”

  Mrs. Henderson’s eyes grew wide with apprehension. “I was afraid of that. I should take you home.” She was about to push the ignition button.

  “No,” I snapped, grabbing her hand. “You can’t get me to fess up and then go all radio silent.”

  “I’m trying to protect you,” she countered. “The less you know the better.”

  “Right. Protect the kids. Impose a curfew. Pretend nothing weird is happening in this town.” I was really pissed. “Well, the train’s already left the station, Mrs. Henderson. It’s too late to bury my head in the sand.”

  She shut her eyes for a moment and exhaled before settling back into her seat. “What did your father say about it?”

  “Nothing. I’m afraid to tell him anything. Or even my mother.” She looked surprised by my admission.

  “So why are you telling me?” Now she sounded angry.

  “Because. You know what it’s like moving here and trying to fit in. You know there are things about this town that are different from other towns. Like having the mandatory curfew, and all that private security. What are people worried about? What are they afraid of? It’s the way people are not talking that’s so suspicious. You understand.” I watched her expression soften considerably. I could tell I was getting through to her.

  “Does anyone else know what you know?” She leveled her gaze at me.

  “No,” I replied, lying through my teeth. I wasn’t about to incriminate Jackson or Oliver or Maya or tell her anything more before I knew more about her.

  “Tell me what happened, everything,” she ordered, clearly concerned. �
��I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

  “It was a few nights after I arrived,” I said, reliving the experience in my mind. “My dad had to go back to the hospital after dinner. I had a bad case of cabin fever so I snuck out. I wasn’t planning on staying out long. Next thing I knew it was after curfew.” Mrs. Henderson listened attentively as I told her about my joyride culminating with the pulse. No mention was made of Jackson.

  “How have you been feeling? Since the pulse.” She was scrutinizing me.

  “A little strange,” I said, lying with an evasive shrug. “Mostly scared.”

  Any other time I might’ve been a little freaked out by how good I was getting at lying. At that moment my conscience was taking a backseat to my curiosity and self-preservation.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” she declared, doing her guidance-counselor best to reassure me. It wasn’t exactly working.

  “What’s causing it? The pulse?” I pressed for more answers.

  “No one knows for sure.”

  “Is it connected to what happened here seventeen years ago?” This was the moment I’d been waiting for, and it provoked a big reaction from her.

  Mrs. Henderson silently sat there. Her mouth hung open in surprise and astonishment until she gathered her thoughts and finally spoke.

  “Who told you about that?” She barely talked above a whisper, and I caught her looking through the rearview mirror. It was evident that our conversation was making her feel uneasy.

  “No one told me anything about it.” I perched on the edge of my seat.

  “Then how did you find out?” She locked eyes with me.

  “Weather charts,” I replied. She looked confused, so I spelled it out for her. “I discovered an anomaly in the electromagnetic radiation index from the nights when the pulse struck. Four separate incidents in seven months. I searched back further. The first anomaly occurred seventeen years ago.”

  “June seventh.” She nodded, corroborating what Jackson, Oliver, and I had discovered.

  “What happened that night?” I was not going to leave until I had some hard answers.

  Mrs. Henderson took a deep breath and exhaled before she spoke. “I’d met my husband, Ben, while vacationing in Italy after college. We had one of those whirlwind courtships. Next thing I know, I’m married and living in Barrington. He worked for the US government as an aerospace engineer. He helped me get a job in human resources.”

  “You worked for the government?” I was surprised to hear this fact.

  “Yes. They had a top-secret research facility just outside town. Anyway, at 10:37 p.m. on the evening of June seventh, something went terribly wrong. There was an accident at the facility.”

  “Like an explosion?”

  “No, not exactly. In fact I never heard a blast. Neither did my husband, or anyone else for that matter. There just was this unexplained spark of greenish light over the town. It only lasted for a few seconds and then abruptly disappeared.”

  “That must’ve been the first pulse.” This confirmed what Jackson, Oliver, and I thought.

  “I didn’t know what it was. No one did,” Mrs. Henderson continued. “Only that it felt as if a powerful charge had passed through my body. Everyone was terrified. Was this pulse a vibration from beneath the surface of the earth? A meteor? Alien contact?”

  “So what did you do?” I wanted her to keep talking.

  “Emergency workers in hazmat suits descended on the town. The government facility was immediately shut down. The town was quarantined.” She paused, and then lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “Six employees who worked in the lab vanished.”

  “You mean they just disappeared?”

  “Without a trace,” she nodded. “No one—not even their families—ever knew if they died in the incident or were horribly injured. They were just gone. A few months later Bar Tech took over the facility.” Her left hand gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles were practically white.

  “And now it’s their headquarters,” I acknowledged. “With Richard Cochran in charge.”

  “He’s rebuilt and expanded Bar Tech through the years to accommodate their growing businesses. They manufacture everything from scientific satellites to medical equipment. They do business on every continent. Their influence is truly global.”

  “But why didn’t anyone ever talk about it? Why didn’t the media report what happened?” I was completely baffled by the lack of coverage.

  “Because the media never knew about it. We were all paid a lot of money to keep silent and never speak of what had happened,” she ashamedly confessed.

  “And if you didn’t comply?” I asked, unnerved by this disturbing tale.

  Mrs. Henderson paused before answering. “The few who protested or refused to go along vanished with no forwarding addresses. A matter of national security, we were told. But my husband and I got the message loud and clear: Keep your mouths shut and we’ll take care of you, or else.” I could see the fear was still in her eyes after all these years.

  “So you were all bribed to go along with it and keep quiet just so you could live the good life.” I was horrified by what she was telling me.

  “You have to remember, we were all living in fear back then. It seemed a small price to pay for peace of mind,” she insisted. “Jobs in Barrington were suddenly plentiful. A curfew was imposed and security tightened. We all tried to go on with our lives, most choosing to forget. Others had a harder time.”

  “Like my mother, who left town,” I remarked, suddenly understanding why Lydia had been so eager to leave when I was a child.

  “Years went by. There seemed to be no harmful aftereffects—medical or otherwise. The pulse never happened again. Life returned to normal. So much so that I . . . we forgot there ever was a pulse.”

  “Until one night seven months ago when the pulse mysteriously returned,” I interjected. And Jackson’s girlfriend, Dana Fox, disappeared, I thought. For some reason I sensed that it would be dangerous for me to say that aloud.

  Mrs. Henderson suddenly sat up in her seat and pressed the ignition button. “We need to go.”

  I turned around and saw what had suddenly spooked her. A Bar Tech Security vehicle was cruising up the street. Mrs. Henderson quickly turned the car around the cul-de-sac and then proceeded down the road, passing the security car along the way. The uniformed driver glanced over in our direction but decided not to follow us. Mrs. Henderson kept her cool and drove toward the nearest intersection.

  All the while, I tried not to flip out. My mind struggled with the awful knowledge that the town had not only sold us out but our futures, too. We were left with a dark legacy that was not our fault.

  • • •

  We arrived at my house a few minutes later. Mrs. Henderson seemed down, almost depressed. There was more I wanted to know, but I knew it would have to wait for another time. Still, I couldn’t get out of the car without at least asking if she had a theory.

  “So why is it happening again now? After all these years?”

  Mrs. Henderson shook her head and looked at me. “I don’t know. My husband refuses to discuss it with me,” she admitted with trepidation. “Just told me not to worry. Said Bar Tech has always done right by this town. So I’m trying not to worry, like everyone else.” No matter how much she claimed otherwise, it was obviously weighing as much on her mind as it was on mine.

  As I reached for the door handle to exit the car, Mrs. Henderson touched my shoulder. I turned around to face her.

  “You won’t say anything about all this,” she said, almost pleading with me. “To anyone. Especially your dad.”

  “Not a word,” I vowed, knowing I would violate this promise as soon as I got in the house. I knew I had to tell Jackson and Oliver. They had a right to know what I had found out. It impacted all of us. And I also knew that if the situation were reversed, they would definitely confide in me.

  The question I wrestled with was how to tell them. Mrs
. Henderson’s paranoia had started to affect me. I started dialing Jackson’s phone number on my cell when I abruptly ended the call. No way could I risk saying anything that might expose our secrets. Who knew if we were being watched or taped? If only we had a secret code or way to communicate that no one else understood.

  I pondered my options while I nuked a chicken burrito. All this deception made me incredibly hungry. I wondered if it was just my teenage metabolism, or did all spies have huge appetites? As I wolfed down the cheesy mess, I had an epiphany.

  I immediately texted Jackson: Science project crisis. Meet at overlook? Tell Oliver? Not the most brilliant encryption ever, but I had a feeling Jackson would catch on. Less than a minute later he replied: On my way.

  • • •

  The three of us met up thirty minutes later at the same remote overlook where I’d run into Jackson the night of the pulse. It was the perfect hideaway. No annoying Bar Tech Security vehicles roaming around or getting up in our business.

  “Why the 911?” Oliver asked as he hopped out of Jackson’s Mustang. “I was in the middle of an awesome Gears of War match.”

  “Sorry to spoil your geek-out, but I just had a very enlightening tête-à-tête with Henderson,” I announced, much to Oliver and Jackson’s surprise. “You won’t believe the secrets she told me.”

  “Enlighten away,” Jackson responded, in a much better mood, eager to hear my report. He had a little grin, as if he was proud of my work.

  Barely taking a moment to breathe, I spewed out all the secrets surrounding “the incident” and Bar Tech and its cover-up that Mrs. Henderson had confided to me that afternoon. Neither Jackson nor Oliver made a sound while I spoke. They listened with rapt attention, absorbing even the smallest detail. I finished recounting the conversation, and we all just looked at each other.

  “Holy shit,” Oliver muttered, in total shock. “It’s like we’re living in some toxic dump.”