The Sandbox

By JW Patrick

What would you do?

After a mysterious impact in the dry Oklahoma landscape, three teenagers discover a world where they can do anything they want. Anything at all: Play. Explore. Fly. Destroy. But as a ripple of consequences impact on reality, Sonny, Isla and Dan realise this is far from a game.  Do they now have the power to change the real world? Because if they do, they know exactly what they want to do first.

Dirt-poor Sonny Monroe blames the oil company that fracked his family ranch for his problems. Dan Hawk, a Native American from the Chickatawa tribe, has never forgotten who stole his native Homelands. Idealistic Isla Duncan, a Scottish Paralympian junior on a charity handcycle tour, would just like to make the world a better place. 

As the three teens attract global enemies and the killings begin, grave doubts divide them: Do they control this new-found power? Or is it controlling them? 

If so, what on Earth does The Sandbox want

• Language: English
• Publisher: J&AW Books
• Release date: Nov 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386869856

JW Patrick

JW Patrick lives in Scotland, UK and has written numerous documentary voice-over scripts broadcast on television in the UK and USA (Discovery Channel, PBS etc.). James also works as a ghost writer, copywriter and part-time chef. James has two children, one of whom he tipped out of a kayak on her 3rd birthday while writing the non-fiction book, Why Have Adventures? James also loves cooking, cricket, reading and cycling. JW Patrick’s other books include: The Family Travel Journal Volumes 1 & 2 Look. Laugh. Talk. Together. Two volumes of fun family activities to get families talking together more and reduce their screen time while travelling. The Invincibles. A boarding school adventure novel set in Scotland for children aged 10+ Why Have Adventures? With Sam Sykes. A free non-fiction book for parents of teens exploring the lifelong benefits of outdoor education.

Book preview

A snake.

A dark, slender snake emerged from a crevice in the cave floor and slithered across the loose gravel surface, towards Sonny’s two friends sleeping beside the dying embers of their campfire. Sonny tried to scream a warning, but no sound came out — nothing but a wretched, strangled gurgle. Sonny tried to stand. He tried to reach for a stone to hurl. But his legs and arms felt pinned to the ground.

The snake hesitated in front of the prone bodies, as if sizing them up. Sonny strained hard, urging and willing every muscle in his body to strike out. But nothing. Just that unnatural vice-like grip restraining him.

As tears started to fill his eyes, the blurred form of the snake seemed to change. He blinked, refocused, and watched as the snake became two, then four, then eight, dividing again and again... until a vision of writhing black tentacles flowed across the ground towards him too.

Sonny could do nothing but watch in horror as swirling tendrils entwined his sleeping friends. Then he sensed movement around his own feet.

My turn, he thought.

Surrender to oblivion? Never

Chapter 1: Day 1 

The Previous Day.

Southwest Oklahoma.

Like many errors of judgement, Isla’s most often occurred when she was hot, sweaty and angry.

Isla Duncan, 17, wore sporty black and fluorescent orange leggings with a matching top. Her crash helmet securely fastened, she cranked her recumbent handcycle down the straight road with the steady, relentless cadence of an experienced road racer. Zinc sun cream covered all exposed skin and she gritted her teeth as her arms rammed down, then up, again and again, over and over.

Flat plains of scrubland surrounded her in every direction, their red soil staining her fingerless gloves, clothes and handcycle. Up ahead, the spectacular granite Witchbuckle Mountains protruded from the prairie below.

Although Isla did appreciate the stunning vista, her attention never strayed far from her iPhone, snug in its transparent waterproof pouch attached to the handcycle. She tapped the screen:

Isla’s American Trip Vlog #73.

Wild West Handcycle Tour.

Friends and strangers, hello. Tis me again. Isla of East Fife Scotland, here in sunny Oklahoma, USA, checking in as usual. You'll get this whenever I next hit Wi-Fi. Soooo... wasss happening? Well 754 miles so far, 17 today, 118 for the week and... yes, I do believe we're now up to Day 24 of our world-famous, Wild West Handcycle Tour. I can say world famous because there's 152 of you watching in Scotland and get this.... 70 watching here in America. Yay to the big sign on my rear. Thanks for the support guys. Click. Donate. Like. Share. Delete if you must. It's all for charity!

Her iPhone chirruped: Inbox. New Message. She ignored it.

Today, again, it's flat flat flat. And red. The soil here is soooo red. Boy does it stain. Highlights of the week? Well, went to the Museum of the Cowboys yesterday, which was, you know, really interesting... for my dad! He read every single exhibit. Every word. Every plaque. Every information sign. Everything. But that's fine. You fix my handcycle. Bring me food and water. Raised me to become a decent independent human being blah blah blah etc etc etc. Love you dad!. With this she released one of her handles and raised her arm to offer her dad, trailing a few hundred yards behind in their ancient Winnebago Sightseer ‘Big Bertha’, a thumbs-up sign.

Her iPhone chirruped: Inbox. New Message. She ignored it.

Catch you all soon! Over and out! she addressed the screen of her iPhone, then clicked it off.

Seconds later it rang. It was her dad’s ‘Magnificent Seven Theme’ ringtone. When it became clear that Isla wasn’t going to pick up, Big Bertha’s horn sounded.

Isla sighed, released the handles, squeezed the brakes till her handcycle rolled to a stop and unclipped then removed her helmet. A wave of long, tangled autumn-red hair cascaded down her back and she removed her stylish ND:R sunglasses unveiling a pale face, a sharp, delicate nose and steely, emerald eyes. She peeled off her fingerless gloves to reveal plastered fingers and chafed, tender palms. Finally, she took a deep breath and answered her phone. The Winnebago drew to a halt behind her. Isla shivered, hating it when her dad drew up that close to her. John Duncan jumped down and headed over. They’ve issued a storm warning. We have to get you inside and find a safe place to park up for the night. Now! he concluded, anticipating the inevitable protests.

John Duncan looked around as he swept his fingers through his thick, wiry, ginger hair. He had a high forehead and his dense, malleable hair stayed wherever he pushed it. He currently looked like he was in a wind tunnel. Isla couldn’t help smiling and sighed in affectionate exasperation while he spun around, scrutinizing the 360-degree horizon, using his hands to shield his pale and vulnerable skin from the harsh glare of the sun.

Dad, you’ve said that every day we’ve been in America...

This is Tornado Alley. Storms come on quickly here, with no warning. It’s not like Scotland.

Dad! Look around—there’s no sign of a storm. It’ll be fine.

But the radio said Severe Weather Warning.

Dad! I’ll stop when my app says 25 miles completed. That’s what I promised the charities. That’s what I need to do.

Hon, you’ve already raised thousands of pounds and you’ve ridden plenty of miles today. They won’t mind one short day.

Isla shook her head in frustration, her eyes blazing as she raised a single eyebrow. Her expression making her feelings crystal clear – Dad! I need to keep going!

Darlin’, come on inside. We’ll park at the next town and go for pizza. His words came out too slowly, half-hearted and defeated. He knew he’d already lost his battle. As usual.

She remained calm but her brittle tone left no more doubts.

Please, Dad. Just let me finish what I set out to achieve. As. We. Already. Agreed. I promised at least 25 miles a day. And I will deliver at least 25 miles each and every day.

John Duncan spun around again, completing yet another 360 degrees, staring out forlornly at the clear blue sky, yearning for there to be something up there, some sign of an imminent storm that he could point to that would make her change her mind. But there was nothing. His narrow shoulders sagged.

And Dad, don’t drive up so close behind me like that! It’s a really horrible feeling having something that big, so close. Give me some space. Keep me in sight if you want but give me a little space here. It'll be fine. I have my phone. You have yours. You can track my GPS to your heart’s content.

What if something happens?

Look around. It’s all fine! Just relax. It’s all good, Dad. The road is flat and we’re saving the world one mile at a time. Isla smiled, trying to reassure him. He paused, hesitated, started to say something, then paused again. Finally, he surrendered.

Isla, with a wince, rolled her bloodstained fingerless gloves back on to her aching hands. Still her dad hovered, looking around, until finally he turned and headed back to the vehicle.

John reboarded Bertha and slumped down in the driver's seat as she slowly pulled away up the dusty road. Isla sighed as their scruffy but beloved Winnebago shrank away to nothing behind her and her gaze once again flickered between the mile counter on her iPhone and the Witchbuckle Mountains ahead.

Two hours later, she saw the black storm in her rear-view mirror.

Ohmybloodyhell!

Chapter 2: Day 1

Hogan Town High School. Oklahoma.

Sonny Monroe?

Sonny Monroe didn’t hear his name being called. He rarely did. Stuck in Mrs Curso’s English class, staring out the window at everything, which was pretty much... nothing. Empty playing fields, full car park, no people, no shrubs, no trees... just nothing. Still waaaaaay more interesting than Classic American Literature, he thought.

Sonny?

Daniel Hawk, a Native American, nudged Sonny who jumped, startled back into reality. Sonny turned his head, the crease of his semi-permanent frown deepening even more at the unwelcome interruption. Dude. What?

Dan, his patient face framed by curtains of raven-black long hair, simply pointed at Mrs Curso, who waited impatiently, her tiny eyes peeking out from her pink cheerful face that was surrounded by a bird’s nest of curly brown hair.

Ah Sonny. Returned to us at last. Don’t worry this next question isn’t about Mark Twain, I wouldn’t want to trouble you about anything so trivial as your education. I was actually wondering if you and your family were considering attending any of the anti-fracking protests this week? Her accent hinted at a childhood in England.

His blank expression offered her all she needed to know.

No point ma’am. It’ll make no difference. Y’all can’t win. So what’s the point?

She visibly bristled, and Sonny realised he’d scored a minor hit. But the satisfaction didn't last. She wasn't his enemy and his frown softened.

Well, Sonny, if you have strong views on the matter then maybe you’d like to share them? retorted Mrs Curso.

She might not be his enemy, but she certainly wasn't his friend. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with mischief and he smirked. You want more? Well, OK then.

Ain’t no point ma’am. Y’all are decent folks n’all and I support what you’re trying to do but you’re up against Suits. Real Expensive Suits. And Real Expensive Suits always git what they want. That’s just the way of the world.

She sighed, appealing to Dan for some much-needed reason.

Well maybe, if you get your grade point average up, you too could become a... Suit. And maybe try changing the system from within? But even Mrs Curso didn’t sound convinced.

Sonny tried hard not to laugh and ended up just staring at her, like she was some deluded simpleton.

That ain’t never going to happen Mrs Curso, we both know that.

Mrs Curso’s tight eyes narrowed and her attitude hardened.

Well Sonny maybe you could share some of the facts that underpin your evidently strong opinions?

Sonny rolled his eyes.

Well? Well? Could you perhaps describe the Hydraulic Fracturing process to the class? If you’re such an expert?

Sonny looked back out of the window and took a deep breath...

It works like this. Rich Suits stick their big metal straws in the ground, suck up all that black. They turn it into green and spit it right out into Wall Street pockets. Poor folks, like us, well, we just get left with the garbage and the pollution.

Sonny looked up to gauge her reaction and discovered Mrs Curso’s pink face again writhing in turmoil. She so clearly wanted to agree with him. But her professional boundaries silenced her. She exhaled.

Just the facts Sonny. The facts and only the facts. Please give us an iota of information as to why you believe this all to be true.

But the bell rang. As one, the class stood up and surged towards the exit. Mrs Curso shouted out to their backs, Don’t forget! 7pm on Tuesday night in the school hall. Stop the fracking! Be there if you want to save this town... she couldn’t help herself from smiling, from the Suits!

A passing boy shook his head in annoyance and muttered, That’s my Pa’s job you’re trying to get rid of. I’ll be sure to tell him what you said here today. You tree huggers shouldn’t be allowed to go preachin' in the classroom!

This is democracy Charlie. Your dad, and his employers, get their say, same as we do! then under her breath, more even, because they own the newspaper too.

The school bell was still ringing as Sonny Monroe and Dan Hawk exited the school’s main entrance, an eddy of calm, in a fast-flowing current of babbling excited students.

Sonny and Dan both stood tall for their age. Sonny wore unruly, unloved shoulder-length sandy-coloured hair and bowed his head slightly, just enough to avoid eye contact with anyone. His brown motorbike jacket hung open to reveal a grey unironed T-shirt stretched across his lithe, athletic frame. His large belt buckle was embossed with a fork-tailed bird, a flycatcher. With one hand Sonny installed his earphones, aligned his shades and fixed his gaze on the ground directly in front of him — hoping the world might just leave him alone.

Beside him walked Dan, with pronounced cheekbones, dark olive eyes, a cool, detached gaze and an enigmatic smile. He strode with purpose, as if nothing in the world could possibly stop him. Dan wore a long black leather coat and around his neck dangled a black leather cord with a delicate silver pendant — an embossed hummingbird. Unlike Sonny, Dan clearly enjoyed the appreciative glances thrown in their direction.

Out in front of the school gates stood a group of campaigners holding up placards, posters and clipboards with petitions for people to sign.

––––––––

No Fracking Way!

Stop the Fracking Pollution!

Public Meeting Tuesday Night. School Hall: 7PM

––––––––

Sonny ignored all the campaigners. Except one.

Red Alert. Jenny Mac, grinned Dan as he too spotted Jenny Mac amongst the crowd, eyeing them approach with a sly glint in her eye. Dan nodded a warm greeting at her. After a momentary pause, she smiled back. Sonny threw him a sharp glance.

Dan spoke out of the side of his mouth, Don't worry dude. I haven’t forgotten the Code.

Sonny fixed his gaze on the ground, determined not to catch Jenny Mac’s eye again but he couldn't help it. He glanced up at her and gave her a nonchalant wave, a wave only someone who was very chalant indeed could. S’all ancient history anyways, muttered Sonny, without much conviction.

Dan and Sonny's pace slowed as they entered the throng of people, on an unavoidable course towards Jenny Mac.

Dan engaged the people he knew with eye contact, polite smiles and nods. Someone casually pressed on him a flyer:

––––––––

What they never tell you about Fracking!

––––––––

...but they took it back when they turned and recognised Dan.

Nothing we need tell you about fracking, Dan. See you at the protests. Your mom is the best!

Dan nodded thanks, just as Jenny Mac stepped in front of them to block all possibility of escape.

Jenny Macintyre was 18, with bleached blond hair, recently cut short, and little make-up. Her elfin features might just have earned her a place on the girls’ A-List — if she’d ever wanted a place. Jenny proffered a leaflet with a cheeky smile.

Sonny hesitated, ignored her flyer, barely able to catch her eye — so Dan accepted it on his behalf with an apologetic, half-flirting, half-smile. Hey Jenny. Long time no see.

You guys and your dumb Bro Code, well it’s much too late, she grinned and opened her palms out in mock regret. This ship already sailed, boys... waaaaaaay over the horizon.

Sonny and Dan appeared taken aback, then glanced at each other, exchanging a rapid series of knowing glances that only the very best of friends can pull off.

What?

Did you know?

No.

You OK?

Course!

Well then.

One second later, they both grinned.

We good?

Hell yeah.

Sonny and Dan nodded at a glowing Jenny Mac, then squeezed past her and the remaining campaigners towards where the school busses were waiting.

Hey, can I hitch a ride over to Winchester's? asked Dan. My mom's waiting there.

They headed over to his parked ride – an ancient Kawasaki dirt bike.

You fixed up your other dirt bike yet?

The Honda? Yup! Sonny’s eyes lit up. Got the new clutch yesterday from Lame Cody. Traded it for a week’s labour in his garden.

So can we ride out later?

Is your mom OK with that? I thought she hated you riding dirt bikes?

She does. But she's not here. It's not the bikes, she just hates me spending time on any activity that won't advance my career. My sister could play three instruments at my age.

I know. You only mentioned that seventy-three times before. Sonny laughed, gunned the accelerator and they launched out of the school parking lot.

Sonny kept to the speed limit as they passed through Hogan Town, past sprawling blocks of low rundown clapboard residential homes, abandoned warehouses and the occasional pristine red-brick Baptist church. Soon they approached the town centre with its dominating red granite Town Hall, pillared courthouse and the old Pacific Railroad station, now converted into an office block with window signs advertising numerous independent law firms.

As they slowed down, Sonny’s top lip began to curl up ever so slightly and he shook his head in disgust. Dan grinned, knowing that as far as Sonny was concerned, they were now entering Suit Territory. Back near the school, all the parked-up trucks had been old, beat-up and dusty but round here, on Hogan Town’s newly-regenerated Main Street, all the cars had seemingly been washed by a river of cash. Shiny new Dodges and Chevrolets mingled with big city cars like BMWs, Lexus’ and even an imported Jaguar.

The focus of all this new wealth was not the civic buildings but Winchester's Bar & Grill.

All the big-shot Suits sealed their deals at Winchester’s Bar & Grill – licensing, land sales and consultancy jobs – all magically upgrading cars and buildings for miles around.

Sonny and Dan dismounted the dirt bike and walked down one side of Winchester’s scrutinizing all the diners through the large windows, windows that displayed its high and mighty customers for all the town folk to see. Sonny clocked every single one of their smug faces for future reference. Among them was Sheriff Hauser, ruddy-faced, with frog-like bulging eyes and a fleshy sweaty neck. And then there was Gayle Hawk, Dan's mother. High cheekbones, perfect skin, dark intelligent eyes and utterly assured. Sonny exhaled. F.I.N.E. He caught himself and glanced behind him guiltily to see where Dan had got to. He was relieved to see him standing beside his mother’s scarlet Range Rover.

Dan’s mother moved easily amongst the Suits, wearing an elegant tailored navy blue trouser suit, her long raven black hair tied back into a neat ponytail. At a table behind her, unnoticed by Gayle, two lawyer-types looked her up and down and clinked glasses.

Goddamned Suits! growled Sonny in a tone that suggested he’d just trodden in something nasty.

Sonny checked the coast was clear before slipping the dirt bike key from his pocket and wedging it firmly between his fingers. He then sidled up to the nearest BMW and gouged out a long wavy scar down its passenger side.

Dan stared in astonishment. What the hell are you doing?

Dishing out a little bit of social justice. Suits come into our town with all their lies and pollutin’. Just offering a little payback s’all.

Dan threw up his hands in despair and climbed into his mother’s Range Rover and slumped down, covering his face with one hand and watching through his fingers while Sonny worked his way down the row of parked executive vehicles, scarring each and every one of them with his key.

Ten smart saloon cars scratched down to the bare metal in the space of a minute.

Suddenly, Winchester's front door swung open. Sonny ducked down between two BMWs.

Dan flinched, paused and checked where Sonny was. Then he cracked open his door and gestured to Sonny. Get in here now. You asshole!

Sonny climbed into the back seat of the Range Rover and kept his head down. Dan couldn’t bear to look at him.

Those could be my mother’s clients!

Then Winchester’s double doors opened out again and this time Gayle Hawk strode out, closely followed by one very tall Suit.

Whooa check out that big dude behind your mom!

A tall, ebony-skinned man, wearing a $2000 Armani suit strode out, carefully positioned his Gucci sunglasses and headed over the road towards a black Lexus parked two cars behind them. Sonny and Dan could hear his strong Nigerian accent as he talked into his cell phone.

The tree huggers presentation is in a couple of days, yes. I’m not worried. They are much too late; the surrounding counties are as good as ours now and there’s nothing the protesters can do to change anyone's mind. Ohhh crap... nothing. Some varon mugunta keyed my car. If ever I find the little...

Sonny squirmed down as low as he physically could in the cream leather back seat so no could see him. Dan, up front, turned and glared at Sonny, You are a class one moron, he hissed. Sonny held his forefinger to his pursed lips.

Don’t look at me, turn around!

The driver’s side front door was suddenly yanked open.

But it was Gayle Hawk who climbed in.

Hi honey, she said as she leant over and kissed her son on the forehead. She touched the Start/Stop button and the Range Rover’s throaty V8 roared into life.

Mom. Could you wait a moment please?

Hi Mrs Hawk, came Sonny’s voice from low in the back seat.

Oh, hi Sonny, didn’t see you hiding back there. Your bike broken down again?

No, Mrs Hawk. It’s just fine.

Oh. OK. Well I was heading out to your farm today anyway. I have some papers for your parents to sign.

The tall Nigerian's Lexus pulled out slowly, and he nodded his respect to Gayle Hawk as he passed. Sonny waited another long moment until the coast was well and truly clear, then he jumped out of the car.

It’s cool. I’ll follow you on my bike he shouted over his shoulder as he strode away from the car.

The Range Rover roared out of town a few minutes later, with Sonny in hot pursuit on his dirt bike.

Chapter 3: Day 1

Road to Hogan Town, Oklahoma.

Isla’s American Trip Vlog #74.

Wild West Handcycle Tour.

Can you guys see this?

She leaned out of shot to reveal a billowing, fast-darkening cumulonimbus far behind.

It’s absolutely miles away isn't it? And most likely headed in a completely different direction. No? But still. OMBH! Anyone see Big Bertha and my dad? No! Told my dad off. Now feeling guilty. Soz, Dad. Told him to back off and give me my space. Who wants a thing that size up their jacksy all day long, right? Now he's got a flat tyre, way back there somewhere and he's going to be even more stressed when he sees that bad boy overhead. So I'm feeling a wee bit sorry for cranking up his stressometer. Sorry Dad! I promise to be polite about your cooking AND your movie choice tonight (as long it's not John Wayne). OK, OK, you can choose a John Wayne movie if you must. But Clint Eastwood would be better. If it really has to be another Western. Which is fine. Honest. OMBH it’s cold. The storm’s still miles away isn’t it? Sorry Dad. Those bad-ass grey clouds can’t be any worse than a storm back home. Can they? OK Breathe. Breathe. I can handle it. I’m Scottish!

Nevertheless, Isla upped her pace and focused ahead. Her arms ached and a shiver of anxiety ran down her back – almost every day for the last month her dad had been trailing her in Big Bertha. Within that month, he hadn’t once slipped more than a mile behind. Neither had they ever had a single problem with Bertha. She braved a look in the rear-view mirror.

Isla, what have you done? OK. Don’t panic. Everything will be fine. You have five litres of water, a GPS cell phone that can be charged by solar power, a paper map and your bike. You can track Dad, he can track you. Chill... you’ll be having a warm shower followed by pizza in a few hours’ time. Hogan Town better have a decent pizza joint!

Chapter 4: Day 1

Monroe Family Farm. Hogan County, Oklahoma.

Gayle Hawk’s Range Rover veered onto the farm track leading up towards the Monroe’s