CHAPTER 1

Some say I'm crazy. Others say I'm a genius. Me? I don’t know what I am. All I know is I’ve been in a cell for fourteen years of my life. They all talk to me as if I were an infant when I understand them better than they would ever like to believe. They think I don’t know what they say about me behind my back, but I do. How did this all start? Well, it’s a long story, but I’ve got all the time in the world...

My name is Virginia White. I was fourteen years-old with the same problems as any other girl my age: school, boys, peer pressure, the whole nine yards. I forgot about all those things when I was inventing. I would sit for hours in my room making up blueprints, plans, and ideas. It was like I was in my own world where nothing could disturb me.

It was just me and my dad then. My mother died of a drug overdose when I was five. Her face has only left a vague impression in my memory. Sometimes people would feel sorry for me and apologize for my loss. I didn’t feel like I had lost anything; I hardly knew her.

My dad, on the other hand, was my rock. He was very supportive when I was inventing new things, and would’ve spent his last dime on me. I loved my father very much, so much so I didn’t care that we didn’t have a lot of money and we had to live on the poor side of town. Other kids my age would tease me about it, but I knew he provided the best he could.

I didn’t have any friends at that point in my life. Actually, I got along better with my dad’s poker buddies than with my peers. The kids at school didn’t understand me. They would call me names, push me down, and just torment me endlessly. Nowadays, they’d probably be frightened of me. That thought nearly fills me with a sick sense of glee.

On the fateful day when my life would begin to change forever, my dad’s best friend, Matt, came over. He held in his hands a dirty gray computer tower, with a few cables lying on top of it. He set it down on our kitchen table.

“Hey, Kyle,” he said to my dad, who stood in the kitchen drinking a beer. “I found this computer, but I think it’s broken. I can’t get it to boot up. I thought maybe your little genius could take a look at it. If she can fix it, it’s hers. I’ve just got to bring in the monitor.”

I came downstairs then after eavesdropping on their conversation.

“Ginny, Matt found this computer. Do you think you can fix it?” my father asked.

I shrugged. “I can take a look at it. I do have some books on computer repair.”

Matt grinned. “Well, I’ll go get the monitor, and then I’m gonna take off. Good luck, Virginia.”

After Matt brought in the monitor, my dad helped me carry the computer up to my bedroom. I was very excited. I had always wanted a computer, but they were too expensive. I took some books off my shelf all about computer repair. I studied them thoroughly, getting some idea of what parts were what. I grabbed a screwdriver and removed the tower’s case. The inside was dusty and kind of dirty. It was obvious the previous owner had not taken good care of it. After cleaning it up a bit, I got to work checking out the parts.

I worked on it almost nonstop for three days. On the third day, the computer finally booted up without a single problem. The memory module had just joggled loose from its slot. To this day I can't believe it took me so long to figure out that that was the issue. But I digress. I nearly jumped up and down, I was so excited to have fixed it. I ran downstairs to tell my dad.

“Dad! Dad! I fixed it!” I yelled, happily.

My dad smiled, seemingly proud. “That’s wonderful, Ginny. My daughter, the genius. You’ll have to show me your masterpiece sometime. Now, go get washed up for dinner.”

I walked into the bathroom and washed my hands. Then, I went into the dining room to have dinner. We were having canned spaghetti, for the umpteenth time. I sat down at the table across from my dad.

“Dad, I was thinking,” I said, twirling the spaghetti on my fork. “Maybe I could get a disk for the computer.”

“A disk, huh? Well, we’ll see, Ginny,” my dad replied.

“I could put my ideas for inventions on it,” I continued, smiling. “Maybe I’ll make us rich and famous, you know?”

My dad looked at me, with a slight grin on his face. “All right. We’ll go to the store tomorrow, I promise.”

“Why not after dinner?” I asked. I knew I was pressing my luck, but I was too eager to care.

My father hesitated before answering. He looked at me sternly, but I couldn’t stop smiling. He shook his head, probably wondering why he bothered trying to be stern. “Okay. We’ll go when we’re done eating.”

I smiled wider, and started to gobble down my food. My dad could only smirk and shake his head.

After dinner, we got into my dad's beat-up station wagon and went to the small electronics store. In the not so far distance, I could hear screams and gunshots. I was used to that, though. The streets were filthy, and vagrants lay out on the sidewalk. I always wished that one of my inventions would make us rich, so we could move to a better place, and at that moment, I thought it was going to happen soon.

We pulled up in front of the store. There were bars on the windows and doors, which wasn't unusual for businesses to have. We went inside, and I hurried right over to the disks. They only sold them in cases of five or more, and the cheapest case was ten dollars. I picked out a case of black disks, as opposed to the gray ones. I took them up to the cashier, and my dad charged them. I knew the amount he already had charged on his credit card was insanely high, almost to its limit, and I felt a tinge of guilt when the clerk swiped the card making the sale final. Not that the debt had been my fault, but it wasn’t my father’s fault either. When my mother got high, she used to charge a truck load of luxuries, most that were unable to be returned. After her death, my father ended up pawning most of it, but it only made a dent in the substantial debt.

After the clerk bagged the case of computer disks, we headed back home. When we got there, I went right up to my room. I inserted one of the disks into my computer's drive. I started typing some plans for an invention I had been working on. It was the best one so far. I typed its use and how to build it, to the best of my knowledge. I loaded all the information onto the disk. I was convinced that this invention would be the answer to all our problems. I should’ve had more sense about it. Stupid childhood delusions clouded my better judgment. I suppose I was smarter than most kids my age, but sometimes my dreams got the better of me. If I had any inkling of the nightmare that was in store for me, I would have found another hobby.

I worked on the plans for my invention all night. I loaded so much information onto that disk, I’m surprised the old computer didn’t explode. I never worked so hard on something in my life. I don’t even remember where I got the idea, or how I could have begun to understand how to plan out such an invention, but my teenage mind must’ve had a life of its own. I didn’t get a minute of sleep that night.

The next morning, my dad noticed how tired I was at breakfast.

“I think that you should stay home from school today,” he said, sounding concerned.

“I’m sure I can make it,” I replied, immediately wondering why I was arguing with the notion of staying home from school.

“No, I insist that you go back to bed. You need your sleep.”

When I got done eating my breakfast, I went back to my bedroom. I lay down on my bed and fell fast asleep.
I woke up feeling very refreshed. I was all ready to check out my disk, but I decided to get dressed first. I walked over to my closet. I put on a pair of blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and a pink sweatshirt over the T-shirt. I looked at myself in the mirror which hung on the closet door.

Out of nowhere, somebody started shooting into my room from outside. I ran into my closet, slammed the door shut, and crouched onto the floor. Though fear crept into my mind for a moment, the only thing I could think about was my disk. It was still on my nightstand where I had put it the night before.

I opened the closet door, and slithered on the floor like a snake. The bullets whizzed above me, shattering the mirror on the closet door, my lamp, and just about everything else got shot up. I got over to my nightstand safely, even with all of the gunfire. I reached up and grabbed my disk quickly.

I slithered back into my closet. I grabbed a bag that was on the floor. I put the disk inside as well as a couple jackets and baseballs. One of the first things my father taught me about living in this neighborhood was that, if you’re under attack, you grab a weapon. Improvise if need-be, but you’d better have something heavier than your fists if you want to survive. It was about the only thing streaming through my mind, as I heard the bullets continue to turn my room into a crime scene.

The shooting finally stopped after several moments. It seemed like hours. I ran out of my room with my bag, panic just beginning to set in. The bullets I understood. You hear shooting, you get down, you get out of harm’s way. The calm is what could’ve driven me mad that day. Not knowing what was going to happen next made the panic in my mind boil.

I ran down the stairs shrieking, “Dad! Dad!” I was unable to hide the fear and panic in my tone. Desperation enveloped my voice, and had I used that tone at any other time, my father would have probably scolded me for nearly giving him a heart attack. This tone was reserved for true emergencies, not seeing a spider in the bathroom or losing a page of my homework.

My father came running up to me. “Are you okay, Ginny?” he asked, grabbing my arms and looking me over. His voice was calm, but his face was distorted with worry.

“Yes, but we have to get out of here,” I said, beginning to shake now.

My father took my hand and led me into the garage. We got into our station wagon. It had almost one hundred and forty thousand miles on it, and ran like it was about to collapse—not a great getaway car. My father started the struggling engine and drove through the garage door.

“Dad, where are we going?” I asked, terrified.

“We’re going to the airport. We’ll pick up Matt along the way. Then, we’re leaving the country and going to—”

“Dad, stop talking!” I exclaimed. “The car could be bugged. You’ve said too much already.”

I don’t know what made me think of that, in my panicked state no less. Maybe I had seen enough spy and action movies to know that if someone wanted to know your plan, they’d bug your getaway car. Or perhaps it was an act of God.

I looked around the car, as my father drove speedily. Sure enough, I found the bug under the steering wheel. We were dealing with professionals, who had this all planned out. For some reason I wasn’t surprised. It was almost as if somehow I expected it. I tossed the bug out of the car window.

We decided that it would be safer to skip Matt’ house. It was too risky, and besides they’d probably get to him first. We just headed straight to the airport, which was probably not much better. But we figured we’d be safe with all the people there.

We pulled into the airport parking lot and saw that it was eerily deserted. There were no people anywhere. We were the only ones there, as if the airport was closed or abandoned. We didn’t think that could be a good sign, but we had to get out of the country as soon as possible.

Suddenly, they started shooting at our car. They were everywhere, emerging from behind cars as well as from inside the parked cars. It was the most nightmarish scene I had ever witnessed. Luckily I was ducking down, however my dad was not. As they continued shooting, he was hit at least a half a dozen times in his arms and torso. A bullet had even scraped by the side of his head, leaving a trail of blood. His expression was a look of shock, desperation, and defeat. I remained expressionless, as if I had somehow known he wasn’t going to make it that day. The dreamlike state my mind swam in kept me from reacting to the horror around me.

With his last bit of strength, my father pulled up right in front of the doors to the airport. He was sitting in a pool of his own blood, and when the car stopped he slouched down, as if too weak to hold himself up anymore. I took his bloody hand and looked into his eyes one last time.

“I love you, Dad,” I told him. No tears were in my eyes, no lump was in my throat...at least not yet. But my words were sincere, and I know he knew that.

He opened his mouth to try and speak, but only blood passed his lips. He let go of my hand and waved forward, indicating that I should go inside. I looked at my dad one last time and then got out of the car. I held my bag tightly while running to the automated doors to dodge bullets.

The inside of the airport was as deserted as the parking lot. I didn’t understand why there weren’t any people at there. Was it a bomb scare? Terrorist threat? Fire Drill? Even if any of those were the reasons, there should’ve been police or reporters or someone somewhere in the vicinity. It looked as if the airport had been abandoned for a week or two. I ran in and out of rooms. No people at all. I was extremely scared and confused, but I continued to run.

Finally, I bumped into a police officer. The relief to see someone almost brought tears to my eyes.

“I need your help. There are people who want to kill me,” I said to him, sounding panicked, perhaps even insane.

The policeman said nothing. He had a strange, empty look in his eye. He reached for his gun, and I didn’t trust that he intended to use it on the shooters outside. So, I swung my bag at his head, causing the baseballs to clock him pretty hard. He fell to the tiled floor, completely knocked-out. I suppose my fear and panic gave me strength, or else those baseballs packed more of a wallop than I thought.

If you’re under attack, grab a weapon. My father’s voice echoed in my ears. I grabbed the policeman’s gun and ran onward. I knew the cop was on their side. But who were they? Who were these shooters who turned my life into the action flick of the year?

Without warning, someone grabbed me and dragged me into a small, dark room. The person let me go, and I stood perfectly still, holding the gun out in front of me.

“What do you want?” I asked, trying to sound brave.

“I want to help you,” the person said. I now knew it was a male, though he didn’t sound very old.

He turned on a light. There stood a young man, dressed in camouflage pants, a gray untucked shirt, and a long black trench coat. He had black hair that hung limply to his shoulders, squinted brown eyes, and a strong, wise, determined face for being so young. I looked around at the room. It was filled with guns and other weapons. There was a whole pile of bulletproof vests in the corner. The room looked as if it belonged in a police station, not an airport.

“Where did you get all this stuff?” I asked him.

“I stole it all from those guys,” he replied, simply. He picked up a gun and started loading it. He set it down and loaded another one, robotically. He then grabbed the cop’s gun out of my hand.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, realizing my reflexes failed me miserably.

He handed me the two guns he had just loaded, without saying a word.

“Who are you?” I asked, perplexed, as I took the firearms.

“My name is Dash. Those guys out there are a gang of powerful criminals. They are excellent at what they do. I worked for them three years ago when I was fourteen, for about a year. They are professionals. They get cops on their side, so you cannot trust anyone,” he explained, sounding stern.

“Why are they after me?” I asked, confused.

“The disk,” he said, looking at me seriously. “They’ve been watching you. They knew that you would invent something that they would want—”

“If they want the disk, they can have it,” I interrupted.

“No!” Dash yelled, scolding me. “They plan to build the invention and kill a lot of people. Your invention, little girl, is very dangerous and very powerful. You have no idea what you've done.”

“I could make some sort of a deal with them,” I suggested.

“They have no hearts. They don’t bargain. They’d kill you in a second. They don’t care about anyone, not even each other. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Dash asked.

“Yes,” I replied, suddenly feeling sick. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

“We’ll figure that out later. Put this on,” Dash ordered, handing me a bulletproof vest.

I took off my sweatshirt, put on the bulletproof vest, and put my sweatshirt on over it, to conceal it. It was much heavier than I was expecting. It felt like I was wearing the metal armor of a knight.

Dash stuffed my bag with guns and bullets. He took out my jackets to make more room.

“What if it gets cold?” I asked him, in a smart-alleck tone.

Dash shot a look at me, as if to say, “I don’t have time for this.” But instead he simply said, “Keep one around your waist if you want.” He continued to fill the bag.

I tied one of the jackets around my waist.

Dash took the disk out of the bag and handed it to me. “Put this somewhere safe.”

I gestured to my outfit. “Where is a safe place, exactly?” I asked, a little annoyed.

Dash glanced at me, and then put the disk into one of his coat pockets.

“What am I supposed to do with these handguns?” I asked.

Now it was Dash’s turn to look annoyed. He glared at me like I was a pesky kid, and looking back on it, he probably thought just that.

“Put one in your waistband and hold the other one,” he instructed, impatiently.

“My waistband? And what if it goes off?” I asked, sounding concerned.

“Be happy you don’t have balls to shoot off, ok?” Dash remarked, but had a somewhat serious tone.

I rolled my eyes, and put one of the guns in my waistband. Since I was wearing jeans, it didn’t leave me much breathing room. I watched as Dash moved over to the door and pressed his ear against it. He then moved back over to the table in the center of the room where he was loading up my bag.

“Why did they kill my dad?” I asked him. The words didn’t send me sobbing or make me vomit. I just felt empty.

“He got in the way,” he replied, simply.

Anger started to fill some of the void inside my heart. “He got in the way? He was the only person I had. I’m an orphan now, Dash.”

“They don’t care, Virginia.”

“How did you know my name?” I asked, suspicious.

“Because they talked about you when I was still with them.”

“They did?” I asked, shocked. “I was only eleven then.”

Dash looked a little sympathetic, but masked it by changing the subject. “There are fifty of them total. We have to kill them all.”

“Kill?” I asked, taken aback. “Can’t we just paralyze them or something?”

“They killed your father,” Dash replied, looking at me intently. He then stuffed more supplies in the bag. “Aim for the head. They wear bulletproof vests also.”

We started hearing more gunshots.

“We have to get out of here,” Dash said, zipping up the bag. He pulled it onto his shoulder and grabbed his gun.
He took my hand and led me out of the room through a back door. We were back out in the parking lot. We ran over to a car and crouched behind it. I looked over and saw my car. My dad’s dead body hung out of the door. The void was suddenly enveloped in shock and denial. I stood up and started walking over to my car. I was stuck in a trance, at the sight of my dad’s dead, limp body. I vaguely heard Dash talking to me, but I wasn’t there enough to respond. I had to keep on walking. I was almost to my dad.

I heard gunshots in the distance. I was knocked out of my trance when something hit me hard. I fell backwards to the ground with a thud. Dash’s voice calling my name was still vague and soon died out completely as I fell unconscious.

I woke up confused. I thought that I had died. I looked around and realized I was in the backseat of a moving car. I wondered who was driving. My head throbbed. I looked down at my sweatshirt and saw there was a hole in it. I had been shot, but I was wearing the bulletproof vest. The force must have made my head hit the concrete pretty hard. I slowly reached to the back of my head, and sure enough there was a small lump. I touched my stomach and felt that the gun that was in my waistband was gone. Strangely enough, though, the one I was holding was still in my hand. I held it up to the driver’s head.

“Don’t move,” I said to him, feeling my head whirl as I sat up.

“Relax. It’s me, Dash,” he said.

I put the gun down and climbed into the passenger seat.


“What happened after I was shot?” I asked him.

“I dragged you over to this car. I put you in the back seat and just drove away after that,” he explained.

“Why did you save me?” I asked, curiously. “You had the disk, you could’ve just left me there.”

“We have a better chance if there are two of us. Two fighters are better than one,” Dash replied.

“Fighter? I’m far from a fighter. You’d be better off without me,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Dash didn't say anything.

I slumped down in my seat, trying to relax, when we heard gunshots again. I looked behind us. Three cars were fastly approaching us.

Dash pushed me down. “Stay down!”

I wasn’t about to argue with him. I was now slouching low in my seat, my legs bent awkwardly in front of me. My head was aching worse than before.

One car started hitting into our car from the back. The other two cars came up on either side of us.

Dash started speeding up and shooting at one of the cars. “Take the wheel!” Dash shouted to me.

I reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, awkwardly.

Dash pulled out another gun. He started shooting at both of the cars simultaneously. His eyes shifted back and forth, wildly, trying to keep his aim and avoid getting hit. I saw him kill three people in each car, including the drivers. The cars swerved off the road, and the third car gave up and stopped pursuing us.
Our car was very beat up. There were bullet holes on the sides and shattered windows.

“Are you okay?” Dash asked me, taking the steering wheel.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied, sitting up straight now.

“Listen, there’s another reason why you have to stay alive,” Dash told me. I looked at him expectantly. “You made this invention, so you’re the only one who has all the details. Only you know all the secrets behind it, because it is in your mind. It would be impossible for anyone to know as much about this as you. If you die, and this disk falls into the wrong hands, it would give many people a death sentence.”

“Why don’t we just destroy the disk?” I asked.

“They would know that we did it, and they would definitely come after you. At least now they figure that all they want is the disk. They wouldn’t have to kill you. If you destroy the disk, they will get you and torture you. Then, eventually, they would kill you. The only way we win is if we kill the leader of the group and all of his henchmen. We have to work together and do just that,” he explained, sounding determined.

“So, we have to kill all fifty of these guys?” I asked, trying to grasp the concept.

“Yes. We have no choice,” Dash replied, firmly.

I shook my head to show my disapproval. I began to wonder how I even came up with the idea to make such a powerful weapon. I didn’t understand why I thought it would make us rich. I suppose I was just a foolish child, naive in many ways with a clouded sense of logic.

The concept of killing fifty people couldn’t sink into my mind. I couldn’t justify killing so many human beings. With that in mind, I didn’t understand why I invented a weapon to kill people. Was being rich that important? And at that point, it was all for nothing, because my dad was dead.

Suddenly, a car came up along side of us and started crashing into our car in an attempt to run us off the road. Dash tried to keep control of the car. He didn’t look too worried about the situation though. He stayed perfectly calm, while I screamed at the sounds of crashing metal and breaking glass.

The car crashed into us harder and harder.

I fastened my seatbelt, quickly and hung onto the dashboard for dear life.

Dash turned the steering wheel towards the car. Sparks flew wildly from the scraping metal frames of the cars. Dash turned the wheel away and then rammed our car into the other car with full force. Both cars spun off the road wildly. Our car almost hit a tree, but Dash turned the wheel as far as he could to avoid it. The other car crashed right into the tree. The guys in the other car were terribly mangled by the windshield glass and looked to be dead. Dash and I weren’t even bruised, however our car had stalled.

Dash tried to start the car, but it would not start. “Come on!” he yelled at the car.

I looked behind us. Five large men were walking towards us with guns in their hands. It was then that I realized that no matter where we went, they would find us. They anticipated our every move, and were always ready to take us out.

“Dash, they’re coming,” I said, panicking.

Dash looked behind us. “Dammit! Come on, we have to make a run for it, or we won’t stand a chance.”
I nodded in agreement. I started to unfasten my seat belt, but it was stuck. I tried as hard as I could to get it loose, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Dash, my seat belt is stuck,” I said.

Dash tried to unfasten it as well, but he didn’t succeed either. He grasped the belt with both hands and pulled with all his might, but it was no use.

“What am I going to do?” I asked, desperately.

I looked behind us again. The men were getting closer and closer. Only several yards away now.

I kept trying desperately to get my seat belt to unfasten. Sweat began to run down my forehead and into my eyes. I wasn’t reacting calmly now. My hands began to burn as I grabbed the seatbelt tighter and began to try to pull it free.

I kept expecting Dash to get out of the car and run, but he didn’t. He stayed and rummaged through the glove compartment to see if he could find something to cut the seatbelt with. There were only maps and a pair of reading glasses inside.

Dash glanced behind us.

“Stay here,” he said.

That was a dumb thing to say. Where was I going to go?

“Dash, what are you going to do?” I asked, my voice shaking a little out of fright.

Dash didn’t answer me. He grabbed his gun and crawled out of the car door.

I heard a lot of shooting. I hated not knowing what was going on. I was scared that Dash was being killed.
I slipped the part of the seatbelt that went over my shoulder behind my torso. I tried to pull myself upward to climb out from behind the seatbelt. It was a futile effort, since the seatbelt was locked tight against my stomach.

Just then, somebody started opening my door. Before I could lock it, the door opened slowly. A bulky, muscular man was stooping down next to me. He had short brown hair and hazel eyes. He pulled out a sharp blade, that looked similar to a box cutter.

“Don’t hurt me. I don’t have the disk. I’m not lying about that either,” I rambled, scared for my life.

The man brought the blade closer to me.

I turned my head away. I closed me eyes and began to cry. I was expecting to die right then and there.

My eyes shot open when I heard a sawing noise. I turned my head and saw the man cutting through the seat belt.

“Who are you?” I asked, bewildered.

The man ignored me and kept cutting through the seat belt.

“Aren’t you going to answer me?” I asked somewhat offended.

The man finally cut through the seat belt. He started pulling me out of the car, but I resisted.

“Tell me who you are,” I demanded getting quite frustrated now.

The man stared at me, but he still didn’t respond. A constant look of contempt was written on his face.

“Can’t you talk? Are you here to help me?” I asked.

“I just did,” he remarked. “Come with me.”

“No, not until you tell me who you are. I won’t go with you, and you can’t make me,” I said, stubbornly.
That was a rather stupid thing to say, I realize now, since he had the blade and outweighed me by about eighty pounds.

“I'm trying to save you! Now come with me!” the man yelled, becoming quite irritated.

I started to get out of the car as slowly as possible. I wasn’t in a big hurry to go with this strange man. The man was in a big hurry though. He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the car. He stormed down the street, pulling me along with him.

I was so focused on the man that I didn’t realize that the shooting had stopped. I looked behind me to see what was going on. There was no one there. I furrowed my brow in confusion, but I can’t say I was surprised. The whole experience felt like a an episode of The Twilight Zone. I had to admit I was worried about Dash. I desperately wanted to go back and look for him, but the man was gripping my arm too tightly.

I didn’t know who this mystery man was, but I didn’t exactly distrust him. It could’ve been a trap, but I had little will of my own that day. I knew I had to go with the flow and hope it wouldn’t get me killed.