The Hercules Project

By Patti Larsen

Guinea Pig

No.3 plucked me out of my wheelchair and securely strapped me into a three point harness before I could even think to fight, not that I could have struggled much. He ignored me and left me there, carrying my folded chair out with him. I gaped, unable to breathe or think, watching him exit and approach a white-coated man who turned when No.3 spoke to him.

I knew that scientist. “Dad!”

He glanced at me and I felt a shudder of cold drive through my stomach. It was like he didn’t see me at all.

Being super doesn’t come with a training manual.

Sixteen-year-old Wyatt Simons has spent his entire life in a wheelchair, raised by his nanny Abigail since his scientist father wants nothing to do with him. That’s why Wyatt is so shocked when his dad has him brought to his secret underground lab where Wyatt is exposed to a secret military experiment, one that transforms his body beyond all expectations. But physical changes can do nothing to erase the fact his father still treats him like he’s in the way, or help find the dangerous saboteur undermining the project.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patti Larsen
• Release date: Aug 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781927464236

Patti Larsen

About me, huh? Well, my official bio reads like this: Patti Larsen is a multiple award-winning author with a passion for the voices in her head. But that sounds so freaking formal, doesn’t it? I’m a storyteller who hears character's demands so loudly I have to write them down. I love the idea of sports even though sports hate me. I’ve dabbled in everything from improv theater to film making and writing TV shows, singing in an all girl band to running my own hair salon.But always, always, writing books calls me home.I’ve had my sights set on world literary domination for a while now. Which means getting my books out there, to you, my darling readers. It’s the coolest thing ever, this job of mine, being able to tell stories I love, only to see them all shiny and happy in your hands... thank you for reading.As for the rest of it, I’m short (permanent), slightly round (changeable) and blonde (for ever and ever). I love to talk one on one about the deepest topics and can’t seem to stop seeing the big picture. I happily live on Prince Edward Island, Canada, home to Anne of Green Gables and the most beautiful red beaches in the world, with my pug overlord and overlady, six lazy cats and Gypsy Vanner gelding, Fynn.

Book preview

Chapter One

I hated Bring Your Parent to School Day.

Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I was in the same boat as the Brandson twins. But at least they were exempt because of their stay in foster care. I unfortunately had zero excuses, having at least one parent.

If you could call him that.

And what kind of freaked-out high school still held Bring Your Parent to School Day? I thought I’d left the embarrassment behind in elementary. But oh no. My principal was one of those guys who thought parental participation was a good thing.

He had no idea.

I winced as Miss Kelley bent over my wheelchair and smiled, raspberry seeds lodged in the slim gap between her front teeth. Her sympathy was as obvious as what she had for breakfast.

Maybe we can try again next week, Wyatt?

The giggles and snickers from behind me crawled over my skin like a physical attack. I wished my already withered body would just dry up and blow away so I didn’t have to deal with the humiliation.

Sorry, I said. Guess he forgot.

Again. And again. My father was nothing if not absent. No, not absent- minded. Absent.

Shall we get into our next lesson then? Miss Kelley left me to simmer. When the class groaned, I knew I was in for it later.

Boy, was I ever. It didn’t take long after I wheeled my way to my usual hiding place on the nerd side of the student parking lot for my more disgruntled classmates to express their dissatisfaction with my father’s habit of being a no-show in my life.

Why Gnat. Jimmy Anders should have graduated already. Nearly a head taller than most of the other kids, he towered over me like an old oak, shaggy mud colored hair hanging in clumps around his wide face. I didn’t feel like learning anything today, Why Gnat. He thought his nickname choice so clever. Which was why he was still, and probably always would be, in eleventh grade. Parent’s Day is like a day off and you screwed it up. Where’s your daddy?

I considered trying to escape. The benefit of having a place to hide was being outdone by my need for notice by a teacher. But my chair only moved so fast and my arms were already exhausted just from moving over the pitted asphalt.

Good question. It seemed the most non-offensive comeback from the variety of lines popping into my head. Sarcasm and snark would only put me in deeper trouble, experience warned me. I didn’t feel like waiting for a teacher to find me just so I could brush the dirt from myself and get help back into my wheelchair.

Anyone who thought being disabled was some kind of bully defense had never met Jimmy Anders.

Probably too busy with all those alien dissections. Jimmy’s best friend, Paul Kramer, snorted his donkey laugh, gapped teeth showing as his lips peeled back.

Jimmy smacked Paul’s chest hard enough to make him back off a step.

That true, Why Gnat? Jimmy bent closer to me. His deep-set eyes showed not a glimmer of intelligence. Blackheads sat in his sullen pores, wisps of hair hanging from his chin. I shuddered. He had an odor reminiscent of old cigarette smoke and cabbage that reminded me of my dead grandfather’s casket.

Not as far as I know, I said.

He grunted right in my face. I tried not to gag and held my breath, easing my head to the side. Apparently a toothbrush had nothing to do with his daily routine.

Quite a crowd had gathered by then. I spotted Melody Adams looking at me and forgot all about Jimmy for a moment. She even smiled, twirling a perfect blonde curl around her index finger and giggling to someone next to her as she posed like a super model in her skin-tight jeans and t-shirt, contact-tinted blue eyes sparkling like rare jewels in the sun.

She had the best giggle.

My chair shook and me with it, the personal earthquake caused by two huge fists grasping the arms until the metal groaned in protest. I jerked my attention back to Jimmy.

Answer the question, Why Gnat!

Oops. There was a question? Melody and her friend giggled again.

Um… no? Best guess. I had a 50-50 chance.

Wrong answer.

You being a smart ass? Jimmy shook my chair again, the front wheels clearing the ground for a moment as I popped an involuntary wheelie. You said your daddy is a secret scientist.

He is, I backpedaled, trying to guess his question. Works for the military.

So why’d you say he wasn’t?

Melody played with her gum. Lucky gum.

Sorry, my mistake. I hunted through my brain for something to make him stop shaking me. Top secret stuff, you know? Can’t tell me anything.

Wouldn’t, that was.

Cool, Paul said, head bobbing. Area 51, right?

I didn’t bother to answer. Santa Fe was two whole states from Nevada. But it seemed to do the trick for Jimmy. He backed off, still annoyed enough to kick my front tire.

I missed out on a free class because of you. Jimmy snuffled some mucus and spit to the side, just missing my sneaker. Instead I had to take notes. Right. Like he even had an idea which end of a pen to use, let alone what the term notes even meant. Tell your daddy he better show up next time. He reached around and liberated my lunch from the back pocket of my chair, proving just how grown up he really was. Or else.

So original. And yet, despite knowing how tiny his imagination could be, or else to Jimmy likely involved physical harm and I was in bad enough shape.

Show over, the crowd quietly dispersed. I settled further into my seat and ignored the rumbling in my stomach. This wasn’t the first time my lunch was stolen. I'd previously tucked a snack bar away for just such emergencies, but didn’t have the energy to fish it out.

Is your father really a scientist?

I looked up to find Melody standing nearby. A small knot of her pretty and popular friends hovered just behind her, whispering to each other and looking at me like it was funny. I didn’t care. I may have been dying by inches every day, but at least I didn’t look like a wannabe clone of the prettiest girl at school.

Yes, I said. He really is.

That’s cool, Melody said. I’m sorry Jimmy is so mean to you.

She was talking to me. The girl of my dreams, the head of the cheer squad and shoe-in for prom queen no matter what grade she was in, was talking. To. Me. The disabled kid in the wheelchair.

Thanks, I said. It’s not so bad. As long as he doesn’t breathe on me.

She laughed at my joke. My heart jumped out of my chest and landed at her feet, panting like an adoring puppy.

Does it hurt? She eased a bit closer. I wasn’t sure what she meant, distracted by the breeze carrying the fragrance of her shampoo to my nose. There were cherries involved.

I loved cherries. Well, I did now.

What?

She laughed, covering her mouth with one hand, pointing at my wheelchair with the other. Her friends' chatter fell silent.

Now I got it. The freak show was being called on to perform.

Yes, I said. Sometimes. All the time, but Melody didn’t need to know the details. How sometimes I woke up screaming from the agony in my useless legs, or the knife-like stabbing in my spine traveling to the base of my skull.

As much as I was sure telling her would win me sympathy, her compassion wasn't exactly what I was after.

Were you always… you know? I could tell she was really curious, and not in a nasty way. So I answered her.

It’s genetic.

She stared openly, like I’d given her some kind of permission. So did her friends. I never realized before how much it bothered me most people just glanced at me and looked away rather than being honest. But the staring? Yeah, just as bad.

Will you get better? Her sympathy was almost more than I could take. I'd never win anything other than pity from Melody and I knew it. My happiness fizzled.

No. I looked away, wishing she would leave. The curiosity in her eyes ruined my fantasies about her.

She took the hint. Okay, well, see you, Wyatt.

Melody turned and went back to her friends, making some remark I couldn’t hear, and they all laughed. I didn’t want to consider what she told them probably wasn’t nice and instead retreated to my imagination, letting it take me where my body couldn’t.

***

I waved as I ran, the football bouncing in my hand, the crowd going wild as I bounded the last stride, well ahead of the panting pack, to score the winning touchdown.

Melody ran to me, her perfect body quivering in her cheerleader uniform, long lashes blinking rapidly at me as she clutched my arm.

"Oh, Wyatt, she breathed. You're amazing!"

Jimmy jogged up, a goofy grin on his face, both hands outstretched as he fell to his knees and offered me two bottles of water. Wyatt, he said, you're my hero!

As the team and the audience cheered and clapped, Melody grabbed my face in her hands and pulled me down, her warm lips pressing against mine while other parts of her joined the fun—

***

The bell rang, jerking me out of my happy creation.

Sad and pathetic, yeah. But it was how I made it through my days.

Wyatt Simons?

The sun went out. Probably because a big, hulking guy in a black suit filled the sky where it used to be.

Yes? I took note of the standard issue sunglasses and the transparent coil running to his left ear.

Your father sent us. Only then did I notice there were two black suited men blocking my light. The government probably had a clone program for this type of agent. I could never tell them apart. You need to come with us.

Make that triplets. My chair started to move as someone behind propelled my chair forward before I could ask another question. That didn’t last long.

Where are we going? I hated the squeak in my voice.

I’m afraid it’s classified, Black Suit No.1 answered in his deep voice.

Visions of a zombie apocalypse double-tapped my heartbeat.

Is everything okay? I twisted around as much as my body would allow. The guy pushing me had the same tank-like jaw line of his two buddies. The world’s not, you know, ending or anything?

Dr. Simons will explain everything when we get there, Black Suit No.2 said in a similar rumbling voice.

I felt heat flush my cheeks as my chair rolled through the parking lot and toward the front of the school. It seemed like everyone watched and even though it was kind of cool having three military agents escort me to some secret rendezvous, I wasn’t sure if I should be embarrassed or not.

My appreciation would have been more forthcoming if I wasn’t so freaked out. Especially considering Jimmy and Paul gaped like dying fish. They both backed off immediately when the suits walked by them as if the two boys were invisible. I caught a glimpse of No.1 glaring at the local bullies like they were in some kind of trouble. My last look at Jimmy was most satisfying. I think he may have had an accident.

But Melody’s wide stare and little wave felt the best of all.

I think that's why I didn’t protest until it was too late. They wheeled me up to a giant black SUV even before any of the supervising teachers had time to react. I spotted Mr. Pendergast huffing his way over, but knew my physics instructor was outclassed before he even reached us.

You can’t just take this boy, he wheezed around his walrus mustache, round glasses fogged up from the exertion it took him to haul his bulk to the SUV.

No.1 flashed a slick black ID holder. I caught a flicker of gold and an official-looking document inside. Impressed the hell out of me, though I’d seen stuff like it my whole life, thanks to Dad’s involvement with the army and his research. Still, there was nothing like having agents and soldiers show up for secret meetings in the middle of the night to embed a feeling of awe and apprehension at their presence.

Mr. Simons is coming with us. National security. Back off, please, sir.

No.1’s please wasn’t all that heartfelt from the tone of his voice and the way he and No.2 blocked my teacher with their considerably massive bodies. Mr. Pendergast didn’t stand a chance. No.3 transferred me smoothly to a soft leather seat in the third row of the vehicle, stowing my chair and slamming the door shut before the concerned teacher could even say my name. I watched him argue with the two agents through the heavy tint of the glass, but his words were muffled. I caught his brief call the police as the agents entered the front, only to be cut off again as the passenger door closed firmly in his face.

No.1 turned the key, No.2 beside him while No.3 climbed in to sit directly in front of me, blocking my view. His shoulders probably had their own time zone.

I wasn’t opposed to adventure, but these guys were seriously freaking me out.

I want to talk to my dad. The SUV pulled smoothly away from the curb, building speed, forcing me back into the padded seat.

Just try to relax, Mr. Simons, No.3 said.

I want to know what’s going on. Now I wasn’t in a position to do anything about it, my fight or flight reflex decided to make an appearance. Helpful.

I’m afraid it’s classified, No.3 said. We would appreciate it if you remained calm and quiet. He glanced back at me over his shoulder, sunglasses still hiding his eyes.

Yes, I was scared of him. He didn’t do anything threatening, but it didn’t matter.

I sat back in my seat and tried not to worry.

Fail.

***

Chapter Two

They drove me out into the desert. I didn’t get to visit often, so I did my best to enjoy the ride, though my view was blurred by our speed and the depth of the window tint, distorting the scrub and dull gray of the soil.

If I hadn’t been looking, I would have missed the No Trespassing sign. We slowed briefly before racing ahead. I caught a glimpse of a homemade gate manned by two men in plain clothes.

Subtle, I said.

No.3 grunted at me, but it was all the reaction I received.

My pocket vibrated and I jumped before I realized it was only my phone ringing. It was obvious to me who was calling before I even checked the number.

Abigail. Of course, the school contacted her. My primary caregiver, she had to be terrified. Not like my father to give her any advance notice, either. Before I could answer and tell her I was fine, a massive paw descended over the back of the seat and liberated my phone.

I’m afraid that’s not permitted, Mr. Simons. He hit end before killing the power and tucking the phone into his inside pocket.

Fear or no fear, if I had something to hit him with, I would have.

My nanny will be worried about me. Abigail was way more than a nanny. Friend, teacher, support staff, surrogate mom. She kept me going. I couldn’t just let them leave her in the dark.

Ms. Franks has been informed, No.1 said from the front seat.

Yeah. Right.

Then how come she’s calling me? I thought it a good question.

No.1 either wasn't permitted to or, more likely, couldn’t be bothered giving me an answer.

I was working on some smooth comebacks when we finally came to a halt, the force of No.1’s braking rocking me in my seat. The front driver's window hummed down and his badge flashed.

I could just make out the face of a camouflage-clad, rifle-wielding soldier on the driver’s side while the dusty-edged windshield two seats away revealed a nondescript chain-link gate straight ahead. My whole body convulsed in a shudder at the hum of electricity in the air. The tingle from the fence made my hair stand on end. They must have been running enough volts through it to take down an elephant.

A second guard sat behind the glass, watching from the small booth on the driver's side. Another big black SUV sat parked beside it. I tried not to grin. The conspiracy theorists would have a field day. If they were ever allowed to make it this far.

Priority clearance, No.1 said.

We didn’t receive any orders. The guard’s voice sounded deep and ground over my ears like gravel. Exactly how I imagined a gate guard to a secret government facility would sound. I wondered if they picked him for that reason. He peered in the back. Who’s the kid?

Subject, No.1 said. The guard looked at me again.

Hang on a second. Subject?

The soldier retreated to the shack and exchanged a few words with his partner. When he returned, he seemed less grim.

All clear, he said.

The window hummed back into place. I felt the truck vibrate as the driver tapped the gas.

What did he mean? I found myself shaking.

No.3 refused to answer, just sat and stared straight ahead. I caught the two guards trying to see inside, to catch another look at me.

When the steel-frame slid open just wide enough, the driver gunned the engine so hard the tires spun on the old asphalt, sending up a plume of windblown dust and pebbles as he drove through.

You have to tell me what’s going on. I was so overwhelmed by the implications of what subject meant, I found it hard to order my thoughts. I want to know what's going on.

No.3 turned around and looked directly at me for the first time. He slid his glasses down from his cold, empty green eyes.

I said quiet.

I didn’t appreciate the threat. But I was helpless and he knew it. I glared at him and sat back again, turning my thoughts to my father. What was he getting me into? Whatever it was, it had to be good or my father wouldn’t involve me. Right?

Um. Gulp.

My only consolation, and a small one at that, was we were getting close enough I’d have all my questions answered shortly anyway.

We crested a small rise, a glimmer ahead catching my attention. Shock replaced curiosity when we pulled up to what amounted to a shack in the middle of the desert. The dull gray, corrugated metal had the odd rust spot showing. A shabby door wobbled on damaged hinges. I found myself staring at the dilapidated building when the SUV door whooshed open beside me. The heat hit, stealing my breath after the cool of the air-conditioned truck. My black-suited babysitter jerked my door wide and easily lifted me from the seat, depositing me in my chair. No.2 climbed back in the truck and the driver spun away. I choked on the dust of their departure, even as I was wheeled toward the shell and through the creaking doorway into cool darkness beyond.

So much for a run-down shanty. The shell was just that—a fake. The walls looked like thick concrete, the ceiling and floor the same lifeless gray. A soldier lurched from his chair in the corner, one single exposed bulb lighting the book he read.

He saluted abruptly as his eyes slid sideways and met mine.

Sir.

No.3 ignored him and keyed a panel beside two shining metal doors. A soft chime and a whoosh of air revealed a large elevator. The soldier on guard didn’t have time to say anything else before we were inside and falling. My stomach did slow turns as the number on the lit panel above us tracked the floors. I was glad I missed lunch. At twenty the heavy drop slowed. At twenty-four, the elevator came to a soft bouncing halt and the doors hissed open. No.3 rolled me into a huge hallway of pale gray cement, fluorescent bulbs buzzing far above us. The walls echoed with the agent’s footsteps and the hushed hum of my tires on concrete.

ID, a deep voice said as we came to a halt next to a heavy metal desk. A soldier with dull eyes and a blonde crew cut blocked our way, one hand outstretched, the other resting on the gun at his waist. To me, he seemed huge and intimidating and I hated feeling intimidated.

This is the subject?

When he looked away, I admit I felt relieved. The soldier’s cold gray eyes were the exact color of the walls and reminded me of a hunting shark.

As ordered. No.3 handed over some paperwork.

He’s just a kid. The soldier seemed angry for some reason and I kind of hoped he’d hold us back. It felt more and more like this was a very bad idea. My eyes drifted to his desk where a