Next thing she knew, she woke lying on a clammy floor of a darkened room with her wrists and ankles tied with duct tape. She could feel the thick layer of adhesive digging into her skin, itching like crazy, and tight enough to cut off circulation.
But if that was her only pain, she would be overjoyed. Though she didn’t remember how it happened, she was very sure something was wrong with her head. She could feel her heartbeat pounding behind her eyes and she smelled the coppery, thick scent of blood around her. She had no doubt that she’d suffered a pretty serious head trauma.
Margo willed herself to breathe slowly and deeply, hoping the extra oxygen would help her think.
For twelve years, she waited for this day to come. And for twelve years, she prayed and planned and tried to prepare herself for its eventuality. But even after everything she did to try to set it up so the children would survive, nothing could prepare her for the desperation she felt for their safety now.
If the company found her, did they know where the children were too? Had they already captured them? Were they experimenting on them, again? Or did they decide to eliminate the evidence of their “metahumans?” She shook her head slowly trying to clear it and saw pain-filled stars for her efforts.
The more she thought about the children in harm’s way, the angrier she got. The angrier she became, the more clearly her mind worked.
She was far from helpless.
Growing up in a small Kansas town in a middle-class family, she knew the only way out was going to be with a lot of hard work. She couldn’t take anything from her parents, though they wanted to help her pay for school. They had enough to cope with. You see, she had a baby sister who was special.
Becca was a beautiful baby girl who came home from the hospital with mom and dad when Margo was five. By her first birthday, they started to notice Becca was different from other babies. By the time she was three, they had a definite diagnosis. She was autistic.
There are different levels of autism. Becca was high functioning. There were times when she would just astound the family with her intelligence and humor. But those times were few and far between. Most of her days were spent repeating her comfortable patterns. She loved her “hot pink” marker and carried it around everywhere. She wore shirts with no tags. She liked to play peek-a-boo and organize her letter tile squares into perfect rows of ten.
Becca was thirteen when Margo was accepted to West Point Academy. At eighteen, Margo dedicated herself to military service for the next ten years. In exchange, she received a West Point education and an active duty tour highlighted by special ops training. Then there were four years of medical school at a prestigious university squeezed in for good measure. Life was nonstop, and the time flew by in a blur.
After her military contract was fulfilled, her superiors tried to convince her that her place was with them. She disagreed. Now, she needed to fulfill her next goal. She wanted to find a cure for autism.
There was a small list of laboratories that fit her criteria so it didn’t take long for her to choose The Institute of Neurobiological Studies in Upland, California. If Margo knew then what she knew now, things would be so different. But as they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty. She loved her parents so much and missed them terribly. Their passing left a huge hole in her heart.
Memories kept flooding back to her in full color and crisp audio. Adrenaline does that to a person.
She was trying to loosen the tape around her wrists. The ties were so tight they were cutting into her skin with each movement she made. Pain was something she could control. Margo wasn’t worried about the pain. She was worried about damaging herself to where she couldn’t fight when given the chance.
How long had she been here? What day was it? What time? If the company hadn’t captured the children, then where were they? Though she trained them to fight and survive, she was aware that they would have been completely caught off-guard. An involuntary wince had her biting her lip as she continued to work on her binds.
Margo’s mind couldn’t stop racing. What if the children thought to call that number on the emergency contacts lists? And if they did, would her old friend help them? Would he even know how?
All these unknowns were maddening.
“I just need to survive so I can protect the children, God. You can take me as soon as they’re safe. I don’t want to live without them. Please help me, please.” She didn’t even realize prayers were streaming through her mind. She was so focused on loosening the binds around her wrists.
Physical excursion was making her slick with sweat. The moisture was working on the adhesive. Maybe, if I could twist like this, she thought.