Jolted

by Arthur Slade

  He was in the trees! Breaking rule number 8! He threw himself to the ground, landing in sharp pinecones and decomposing leaves. He spread out his arms and legs and hugged the ground like it was someone he hadn’t seen for years—like it was his mother.

  The Light Is Not the End of the Tunnel

  * * *

  He was a mole, burrowing into the ground. Deeper, mole, deeper. Away from the sky. The night. His body convulsed with fear. He flailed his arms at the earth, clawing at the dirt.

  The sky flashed again, and he jumped. Thunder three seconds later—the storm was getting closer. He racked his brain, trying to think of a way to get to a safer place.

  The wind was howling in the treetops. In the noise of the storm he thought he heard a laugh—a cackle, really. I told you so, Newton. It was Great-grandmother’s voice. Spite. Spite is what you need to survive.

  Spite? How about fear? He needed to get back to the bus and huddle in the middle, away from the metal sides. The lightning would run down the sides, into the ground. With the windows closed, the bus was where he would be absolutely safe. But how to get there? It all seemed so impossible. He collapsed in a heap, wrapped his arms around his knees.

  He just had to find the strength to go back there. Joséphine poked him in the head and oinked. Joséphine was peering down at him. How was it possible for her face to look so angelic and so porcine at the same time?

  “Find the bus,” he pleaded. “Find the bus.” But she just stood there staring at him. “You silly pig, find the bus,” Newton hissed. He was frightened by the sound of his voice.

  Joséphine backed off two steps and lay down. What was he supposed to do now? And that’s when the rain began, soaking him through, making him an even better conductor.

  Is this how Mom died? Huddled in fright on the ground, close to safety but not close enough?

  “You said you’d always protect me,” he whispered. “You promised.” He wanted to sink into the earth, be done with it all.

  Oink, Joséphine said softly. She trotted over and nudged his knee.

  No. Newton realized he was not alone. He had his father. Joséphine. Jacob.

  And what about Violet? If her leg really was broken, then she was stranded in the rain. By herself. She was no safer under a tree than he was. Did he want to be remembered for leaving another human being helpless and alone?

  Just as he stood up, the thunder roared again. This time he didn’t bother counting.

  “Find Violet!” he yelled over the din. “Please!”

  Joséphine turned and began to run back up Bald Butte. Lightning flashed nearby. There was another crack! then a crackle right behind him. He didn’t look back; he just scampered on through the slick leaves. His kilt, heavy with water, slapped against his muddy knees and threatened to slip down over his bony hips.

  Joséphine led him back to the area where he and Violet had tumbled together.

  “Violet!” he screamed through the storm. He picked up Joséphine and held her close. She was ice-cold. “Violet, where are you?”

  “Newton!” Violet shouted from the dark. “I’m here! Over here.”

  He followed her voice till he could see a dark shape up against a tree.

  “You came back,” she said.

  In a flash of lightning, he saw her determined eyes and chattering teeth. Her hair and clothes were soaked.

  “Your leg—it’s really broken?”

  “Yes. I dragged myself up here to get out of the mud.”

  “You’re a tough one.”

  “I know.”

  “If you set it yourself, you’ll get extra marks.” She laughed, and for a tiny moment, Newton’s breath caught in his throat, and he knew he was happy to be with her. He put Joséphine down and guided Violet’s arm awkwardly over his shoulder, then put his arm around her small waist. She leaned on him. As she lifted her injured leg, he felt her flinch.

  “I thought you hated me,” she said, her breath passing over his ear. He looked up at her, thinking she wasn’t quite so tall after all.

  “I thought I did, too. But now I know you didn’t drop my kilt.”

  She forced a sly smile. “I’ll think of something far more evil to do to you.”

  They were silent for a second, and she bent her head a little to kiss him on the cheek. He froze. He’d never been kissed by a girl other than his mother. But somehow it felt like the obvious thing. The sensation was amazing, an electrical current running from her lips to his heart and all over his skin, until his hair stood on end.

  Then thunder cracked and he realized why he was feeling so electric. He pushed Violet away and she staggered, trying not to fall.

  “Newton!” she yelled. “What are you doing?”

  “You’re in danger!” he shouted. “Get down!” He ran like a maniac. He had to get farther away; then she would be safe. He heard a series of oinks coming from right behind him. “Go away,” he shouted over his shoulder at Joséphine. “Go away! Please!”

  A great boom! like an explosion shook the ground. A jagged bolt of lightning crossed the night sky and cut a line straight down, directly into the top of Newton’s head.

  A Striking Moment

  * * *

  It took only a microsecond for three hundred kilovolts to pass through him, but that was time enough, it seemed, to experience a hundred different images and sensations, among them feeling his hair shoot straight out; feeling his heart beat hard, then stop; seeing everything around him fade to white.

  His body was made of cotton. Two neon figures floated in front of him and several above him. Newton, Newton, Newton. It was his mother’s voice. You aren’t supposed to be here now. Not yet. Not yet. And then another, older, ragged voice whispered, He’s still cross-eyed.

  The lightning continued to burn through his brain, his arteries, his muscles—forcing all of them to contract.

  What does it mean? Why us? he asked.

  He’s still whining.

  One creature of light moved closer. Was that his mother’s face? Yes! Her eyes, blue and gray, sparkled.

  It’s a stage. That’s all. A stage of the journey. So don’t let yourself be ruled by fear. Let it all pass through you.

  She was already fading.

  No. Mom. Don’t leave me.

  She disappeared, and Newton felt his life being dragged out of his body as the current escaped through a hole at his ankle. He would die alone.

  Mr. Dumont’s words came back to him: We can only let Mother Nature flow through us.

  At that split second something touched his ankle. He couldn’t move a muscle to look, but he knew it was Joséphine. She rested her head across his foot, letting the charge enter her body, straightening her tail.

  The lightning left Newton, and he fell, smoking, to the ground. A sizzling bacon smell entered his nostrils. It took all his strength to turn to Joséphine. She smiled a half smile and let out a soft oink, then closed her eyes.

  Excerpt from The Survival Handbook of Jerry Potts Academy of Higher Learning and Survival

  * * *

  Survival is not about being unafraid. People who don’t feel fear are unnatural. The key to survival is in acknowledging your fears. Accept that you will feel afraid, and act in spite of it.

  The Aftermath

  * * *

  Newton awoke to about ten faces looking down on him, the pale sky of sunrise behind them. One of them was Violet, leaning on Mr. Dumont. Next to her, Jacob. Newton blinked. His mouth tasted like battery acid. He spat, and everyone ducked, then returned to gawk at him some more. Some of their mouths were moving. I can’t hear you. I can’t HEAR you.

  He couldn’t seem to open his mouth. His teeth ached as though he’d been punched in the jaw. His right ear popped. Then his left.

  “Hey, there’s a pig over here,” someone said.

  “Jo-sé-phine?” Newton rasped, his lips now functioning. “Jo-sé-phine?”

  “Who?” asked Mr. Dumont.

  “She’s—I’m afraid she’
s not moving, Newt,” Jacob said. “Looks like she got jolted, too.”

  Mr. Dumont leaned in and sat Newton upright. “We’ll get you home, son,” he promised. Newton blinked, tried to process the information. His head throbbed wildly.

  “Bring Jo-sé-phine,” he mumbled, looking around for her. Jacob skipped over a few feet and brought her back, cradled in his arms.

  Newton could barely raise an arm to touch her. She moved her leg, let out a soft oink.

  It sounded to Newton like “I told you so.”

  After the Aftermath

  * * *

  Newton remembered little about the ride. Mr. MacBain drove the bus, while Mr. Dumont watched over him the whole way, a grave look on his face. Newton faded in and out of consciousness.

  “Where are we going?” he asked during one of his more lucid moments.

  “Maple Creek.”

  “Oh. Good.” Darkness. Light. Darkness. Then: “I found the talisman.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Was . . . was I first?”

  Mr. Dumont’s expression didn’t change. “No. You and Violet were last.”

  Despite his difficulties, Newton had no difficulty processing this news; it was a shock of another order. “Last? But . . . how did . . .”

  Mr. Dumont’s eyes met his and twinkled. “Everyone else worked as a team.”

  “Oh. How . . . dumb of us . . . ,” Newton mumbled as he embraced the next spell of darkness.

  The next time he came to, he was outside on a stretcher, being wheeled toward a very small hospital.

  “Lad,” Mr. MacBain said, his voice tender, “you wear the kilt well.”

  Newton gritted his teeth and grinned. It was the greatest compliment he’d ever been given.

  When he opened his eyes again, a doctor with a South African accent was saying, “We’d better send him in an ambulance,” and, as though his words made the ambulance appear in a flash, Newton was on his way to Moose Jaw Union Hospital.

  For the rest of the day he slept.

  That evening his father arrived and sat at his bedside. They spoke little.

  When Newton was feeling well enough, he asked, “Dad, could you help me out of bed?” and, leaning on his father, he staggered to the washroom so that he could look in the mirror. His hair was burned to the skull where the lightning had hit him. His eyes were black, like he’d been in a fistfight. Generally he looked like death. Every last muscle was tired, as though he’d been stretched on a medieval torture machine.

  “I saw Mom,” Newton said, matter-of-factly. “I know this’ll sound weird, but I saw Mom.”

  His dad tightened his grip. “In a dream?”

  “No. While I was being struck by lightning. She was there.”

  His dad’s eyes grew large as he mulled this over.

  “I don’t expect you to believe me,” Newton said. “I—I’ve been thinking about her a lot. Why she was out on the day she died.”

  His father nodded. “I think it was my fault, Newt. I forgot to switch the calendar over. She didn’t know it was lightning season.”

  Newton felt suddenly light. He might have just floated away if his father hadn’t been holding him.

  “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” his dad continued. “But . . . I didn’t want you to blame me.”

  “It’s not your fault, Dad. It’s no one’s fault. It was just a mistake. Maybe we should be happy she was going out. Just for a walk. To be outside.”

  “Maybe,” his father said. He put his face into his hands.

  “I—I don’t know how to explain this, either. I let the lightning pass through me. And I think that’s why I’m still here. That and . . .” He paused. “Where’s Joséphine?”

  “Who?”

  “My pig. Joséphine.”

  His father’s eyes lit up. “Oh, right. The pig. Yes, your friend Jacob is looking after her. You aren’t supposed to have pets at the academy, you know.”

  Newton’s face muscles were bruised and sore, but for Joséphine, he somehow managed a smile. “She’s alive? Alive? Fantastic!”

  His father helped him back into bed. “Newton, I should’ve watched you more closely.”

  “It’s okay, Dad,” he replied. “It’s out of our hands. Really, it is. Totally out of our hands.”

  Burning the Midnight Oil

  * * *

  Newton slept and slept until he felt something poke his forehead. Lightning? His eyes popped open, and, lying on his side, he found himself face to face with Violet. She was entertaining herself by tapping a pen on his skull. She sat in a wheelchair, a cast on her right leg.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” she said. “I’ve been here twenty minutes. I got bored and decided to speed up the process.”

  “Oh,” Newton said, and scoped the room for his father. He must have left. “How are you?”

  “I’ve been worse. Well, not much worse. But it sure is boring here, isn’t it? Aren’t hospitals boring? Are you bored?”

  “Right now,” he said, “no.”

  That got a smile. “Thanks for coming back for me,” she said.

  “I should’ve stayed in the first place. I should’ve believed you.”

  “Yep, you should have. Don’t I have a believable face?” She grinned. Newton decided he liked her smile.

  “You do. I just didn’t see it before.”

  Violet nodded. “Anyway,” she said, “just wanted to be sure you were all right. That you have all your faculties. I worried that the lightning might’ve fried your sense of humor.” She paused. “By the way, you’ve got really cool eyes. Catch you soon.” Violet spun around in her wheelchair and rolled out the door, leaving Newton speechless.

  She likes my eyes.

  He looked to the bedside table for his glass of water and broke into a grin. A single rose smiled back at him.

  Then, from down the hall, someone shouted, “Ouch!” to which he heard Violet reply, “Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

  A moment later Jacob came limping in, one hand on his knee. “Violet ran over my foot.”

  Newton laughed. “It’s probably best to not get in her way. I’ve learned that.”

  “The phoenix has risen,” Jacob said.

  It took Newton a second to figure out that Jacob was referring to him.

  “So, how are you feeling?”

  “I ate crickets.”

  Jacob nodded. “We caught a couple of rabbits and made a fabulous stew. Too bad you didn’t stick with us.”

  “Yeah, not one of my smartest moments. I’m sorry I ran off on you like that.”

  “Ah, worry not, my friend. I don’t hold a grudge. Well, I wanted to bring Joséphine, but there’s a no-pet policy here.”

  “Tell her I miss her,” Newton said.

  “Oh, tell her yourself.” He stepped back around the door frame and reappeared with the pet carrier containing Joséphine. “I couldn’t just leave her in your room.”

  He flipped open the door, and Joséphine shot out like a bright pink jack-in-the-box. She bounded across the bed, landing on Newton’s chest. She rubbed her nose on his chin.

  “Joséphine!”

  Oink. Oink. Oink. Oink! she squealed, dancing in a circle on his stomach. Like the top of Newton’s head, the top of her head was burned where the lightning had struck her.

  Newton smiled. “Thank you, Joséphine,” he said. “Thank you for everything.”

  The Big Goodbye

  * * *

  Three days later Newton’s dad took him by cab to the academy to pack up. There wasn’t much—three kilts, four shirts, undershorts, civilian clothing, his laptop, a few books and toiletries. He lifted his mother’s picture and drawing from the wall and packed them carefully in the folds of his kilts. He took a moment to don a clean one.

  “All done,” he said, surveying the spartan room. His father had Joséphine’s pet carrier.

  Mr. Dumont rapped on the door as he stepped in. “Ah, already packed.” He lifted the suitcase easil
y. “Well, Newton, you’re going to miss a quarter of your classes this year, but you can make them up later; you’re a quick study. It’s more important that you fully recuperate. Take all the time you need. Most people can’t walk for weeks after being struck by lightning.”

  He handed Newton a thick leather-bound book. Newton looked at the cover: The Survival Handbook of Jerry Potts Academy of Higher Learning and Survival. It was surprisingly heavy. He could knock out a bull with it. “My very own copy?”

  “Yes. And I expect you to study it carefully while you’re away.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I just have to ask, Newton: Why did you bring a pig with you on the expedition?”

  “The Polynesians used pigs on their boat trips. They could smell land. She helped me find water. Actually, she found everything,” Newton said, somewhat sheepishly.

  Doubt filled Mr. Dumont’s eyes. “Well, very curious. Creative, too. But it did give you an advantage over the other students.”

  Oh, here it comes. The punishment I deserve.

  “We’ll add an extra week of kitchen duty to your schedule upon your return. And you’ll have to leave your pig at home next term.”

  Joséphine oinked.

  “She’ll be good company for me,” said Newton’s dad.

  “That sounds fair,” Newton said, picking up Joséphine. “Thanks, Mr. Dumont.”

  Mr. Dumont walked them down the stairs and out into the courtyard, then bade them farewell. While Newton and his dad were waiting for their cab, Jacob came running out of the dorm.

  “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to get this for you. It’s the latest version of my novel!” Jacob handed him a folder stuffed with paper. “It’s a printout of my novel. You might enjoy it. And I’ve signed it. If I become really famous, you can sell it on eBay.”

  “Thank you, Jacob.” Newton opened the folder and was relieved to see that the novel wasn’t one long sentence. “I’ll start reading it on the plane.”