by Ryan Dalton
They stood in stunned silence.
“Okay, what is going on these days?!” Fred demanded. “I mean, just what the—”
A pillar of lightning descended into the trees fifty yards ahead. Deafening cracks echoed through the forest as plumes of smoke and flame jetted into the sky. Valentine froze, wide-eyed, her bag falling from her grip. Malcolm cried out in shock.
Another bolt fell closer, and a tall pine exploded into a million pieces. Valentine flinched as the roar of destruction reverberated around her.
“HOLY—” Malcolm shouted.
A colossal bolt descended twenty yards from them, pulverizing a birch tree and hurling fiery fragments in every direction. Gusts of hot wind enveloped the group. Valentine felt hands grab her and pull. Shaking from her stupor, she spun as the group fled the way they had come.
“Run!” John shouted. “GO—”
A blinding flash burst in front of her and a boom shook the air. Ringing filled her ears. Terror gripped her heart, squeezing like a vise. Somewhere inside, Valentine realized her feet no longer touched the ground. The world tumbled silently around her.
Chapter 8
Valentine floated in a white void, wondering where her body had gone.
Whoa.
THUNK. Someone was knocking. She tried to call out that she was awake. Nothing happened.
Right. I don’t have a body.
THUNK.
I’ll be late for school.
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
Ow!
A sharp pain jabbed at her side.
The soft, floaty feelings retreated, chased away by a wave of agony. Valentine gasped as it slipped away, leaving the dull gray of dusk. She realized she was lying on her side, gritty pavement scraping against her right cheek. Her ears rang and her vision swam.
THUNK. THUNK.
Someone grabbed her shoulders and rolled her onto her back. She could barely make out the chunks of wooden debris falling from the sky. Nausea swept through her and she fought the urge to retch. She swallowed, closed her eyes, took a deep breath. When she opened them, Malcolm was staring at her and frantically mouthing something.
She concentrated, straining to hear him. Am I deaf? She shook her head to clear the fog. The ringing began to fade, and she immediately wished it hadn’t. The first thing she heard was Malcolm pleading to know she was okay.
The second thing she heard was screaming.
Valentine forced herself up. Pushing away the ache that permeated her body, she nodded to Malcolm that she was okay. At least, I think so.
To the right, what had been a towering oak was now a flaming stump. The stone wall separating them from the tree had buckled, and chunks of wood littered the ground.
Her brother bled from dozens of cuts, his clothes practically ribbons, but he seemed alert. John was pulling himself to his feet, left arm held stiffly at his side. His face was a mask barely hiding the anguish. Fred sprawled on his back, trembling and white-faced as he cradled bloody forearms to his chest.
Winter sat hunched over on her knees, screaming and clutching her left ear. Her wide, frenzied eyes stared into space, and blood trickled between her fingers.
Malcolm moved to check Fred’s injuries. John went to Winter and gently pried her hand from her ear. Wanting to help, Valentine set her hands on the ground and pushed up.
White-hot pain tore through her right shoulder. She dropped back to the ground, gasping and choking back tears. For the first time, she looked down at herself to see torn, dirty clothes and shallow cuts crisscrossing her body.
A jagged shard of wood protruded from her right shoulder.
Valentine trembled as she stared at the blood trickling from the wound. Panic seized her. I’ve got to . . . I’ve got to . . . She gripped the shard with both hands and heaved, rending it from her shoulder.
Three inches of bloody spike came loose from inside her. She collapsed onto her back as nausea and burning agony washed over her. John was suddenly there, ripping his button-up shirt into shreds. He lifted her shoulder off the ground and wrapped it in the soft green flannel.
Malcolm knelt on her other side, handing his phone to John. “Paramedics need to know where we are.”
John put the phone to his ear. “Misty Point Park, at the eastern lookout.”
Valentine squinted against the whirling lights of the ambulance. The EMTs had tended to her and Malcolm’s wounds, and John’s dislocated shoulder had been reset. She’d expected to be whisked to the hospital along with Winter and Fred but was patched up on the spot. Apparently these lightning storms had happened all over Emmett’s Bluff, and their small hospital only had enough room for the serious cases.
John spoke parting words to Winter and Fred as the paramedics closed the back doors. They drove away with sirens blaring, and John rejoined the twins.
“Winter has a perforated eardrum. She’s expected to be half deaf for months until it heals. And Fred.” He shook his head. “Fred won’t be competing in basketball this year. Both of his forearms are fractured.”
Valentine’s heart reached out to them. Even Fred.
“Since he has black eyes, they think he held both arms up to protect his face,” John continued. “A piece of the tree hit them straight on.”
Malcolm grimaced. “Ouch.”
“How are you feeling?” Valentine asked John.
He studied her. “I was about to ask you that.”
She shrugged, then winced. “I’ll live. Half of me still doesn’t believe this happened.”
“And we were lucky. This could have been far worse.” He locked eyes with her. “But I’m glad you were not badly hurt.”
Despite her pain, she felt a smile bubble up. She wanted to respond but couldn’t think of anything that didn’t sound cheesy. Instead, she reached out and brushed his wounded shoulder.
He smiled back. “A few weeks’ time and I’ll be stronger than ever. In the meantime, Fred lent me his phone, so I will call his driver to return us home.”
“Good.” Malcolm hesitated, then held out his hand. “I saw the things you did back there. Thank you.”
Valentine’s face went hot. What is he doing? Suddenly, she wanted to crawl under the broken wall.
John reddened but took the offered hand. “Of course.” He glanced away. “I should make the call now.”
When he was out of earshot, Valentine whirled on her brother with an accusing glare. “What was that all about?”
“He did something nice, and I wanted to thank him,” Malcolm said with a dismissive shrug. He moved to retrieve their bags.
For some reason, his calm infuriated her. “You made it awkward. Why did you have to say anything?”
Malcolm met her glare with hard eyes. “Let’s be real for a minute. We should be dead. You, me, all of us—dead. That wall saved us from the worst of it. In all that chaos, I saw him leave his friends to check on you. Now, call me crazy, but you’re my sister, so I guess I got a little sentimental. Okay?”
He stalked farther up the path, kneeling to gather items their friends had dropped. Staring after him, Valentine suddenly felt sick. And embarrassed. And ashamed. Why did you have to snap at him? She approached slowly.
“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry.” He leaned forward, and she noticed that a few cuts were still seeping blood. It hit her then. I never even asked if he was okay. I’m so selfish. “How are you?”
He didn’t respond, just knelt there clutching his backpack and staring at the trees. She put a hand on his shoulder. “Mal?”
“Val.” He pointed at the trees farther up the path. “What do you see there?”
“What am I supposed to see?”
Malcolm stood. “I didn’t notice until now. It looks like . . .”
Abruptly, he slung the bag over his shoulder and scrambled over the wall. He turned ba
ck to her. “Are you coming?”
Surprise had rooted her in place. “Coming where? What are you doing?”
“Testing a theory.”
He headed northwest, where the hills rose higher. Valentine shook her head and scaled the wall, favoring her right shoulder. Malcolm waited at the base of a steep incline that rose nearly a hundred feet.
“I’ll bet this is where we were heading tonight.” He began to climb.
“Mal, what’s gotten into you?”
“I have to see.” He gazed back at her and his expression softened. “I know you’re hurting. So am I.” He held an arm out. “Here, I’ll help you.”
“What about John?”
“He has Fred’s phone. I’ll text him so he doesn’t worry.”
They scrambled up the side of the hill, grabbing onto rocks and roots for support. Every cut and bruise screamed at Valentine, and her lungs burned with exhaustion. Then they were there, standing on the peak and looking out over lower hills. They paused to catch their breath.
“Don’t worry,” Malcolm panted. “If I’m right, this’ll be worth it.”
“If you’re not, I may push you over the side.”
Chuckling, he shambled over to the outermost ledge. After sending a quick text, his gaze swept back and forth over the forest.
“There! Val, come look at this.”
She sighed and joined him on the ledge. If I pretend to see it, maybe we can leave. Her eyes widened.
At least thirty trees had been blasted into charred stumps. The bolts had struck in concentric circles, traveling out from a central point. Smoldering husks now formed rings around a patch of open space in the forest. A spot where no trees grew.
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. This just got a lot less random.”
Valentine stared at the open center. “So, if that’s where everything started . . .”
Malcolm nodded. “What exactly is in there?”
Their eyes met. Wordlessly, they spun and scrambled back down the hill as fast as their battered bodies would take them. They plunged into the forest, where fragments of shattered trees littered the ground in every direction. A smoky tang hung in the air and scratched at their throats.
They broke into the clearing—a circular patch thirty feet across, carpeted with knee-high grass. Valentine moved to the center while Malcolm paced around the edge. Shuffling through the soft grass, she scanned the ground around her feet. Closer inspection revealed . . . grass.
Malcolm kicked a fallen branch. “I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t nothing.”
Valentine ran her hands through the surrounding blades of grass. “Maybe we should go. It’s getting dark for real now, and . . .” She trailed off.
Her palm was streaked with ash. Two minutes before, it had been clean.
Retracing her steps, Valentine knelt and studied the ground. In the waning light, she could just make out a blackened patch of grass, and beneath the blades was a scorched hole about six inches across—perfectly round.
“Mal, over here.”
Approaching, Malcolm knelt by her side. She traced her fingers around the hole’s edges.
“Still warm,” she said.
“Hmm. Storms have been hitting all over town for months,” Malcolm said. “And people say they’re getting worse. So if this happened here, did it happen anywhere else?”
Valentine shrugged, then winced and rubbed her shoulder, the pain reminding her how exhausted she was. Her head felt twice as heavy. “Maybe, but right now this is just another weird mystery. I’m tired, I’m cut up, and I was just attacked by lightning. I’m going home.”
Malcolm stared down at the hole, chewing his lip.
“All right,” he said. “Nothing we can do tonight. The car’s probably here anyway.”
The front door clicked shut. Valentine slipped off her shoes and padded over to the den with Malcolm trailing behind. As expected, Neil sat in a recliner, absorbed in a book while Oma Grace lounged on the couch with a crossword puzzle.
“Hey, kids,” Neil mumbled, his nose practically between the pages. “Thought you’d be out longer. How was it?”
Valentine shuffled her feet, unsure where to begin. How do we explain that lightning tried to kill us?
“Well,” Malcolm said. “It could’ve been better.”
I guess that’s a start.
“New friendships can be fragile,” Oma Grace said. “Give it time and . . .”
She glanced up and her words trailed away. The puzzle dropped to the floor. With a gasp, she exploded from the couch.
“Oh, dear lord, what happened to you?”
She circled the twins, pointing at every cut and peppering them with questions. What did this? Was everyone all right? Why were there wood chips in Valentine’s hair?
Neil pulled away from his book and went behind Oma Grace, re-examining each wound. Whenever he found a bad one, he made a concerned noise and brushed it with his fingers. Under all this examination, Valentine felt like a science project.
The twins did their best to answer everything, though Valentine noted that Malcolm left out their discovery. She decided to follow suit until they could talk more about it.
“We’ll go visit your friends in the hospital tomorrow. Right now, you need to have those cuts cleaned again and re-bandaged,” Oma Grace commanded. “Valentine, go upstairs with your father. And you come with me, young man.”
Valentine trudged upstairs and changed into denim shorts and a black tank top. Most of her cuts would be easily reachable now.
She gathered her fiery locks into a ponytail and stepped into the bathroom. Her father had flicked on the antique lamp, bathing the room in a soft amber glow. He dug through the cupboard for the first aid kit as she settled on the cool counter.
Neil found the kit and went to work. The room filled up with silence, broken only by his mumbled musings over her wounds.
It was almost too awkward to stand. Will we ever talk like we used to? Valentine tried to look him in the eye, but he avoided her gaze. I guess one of us should give it a shot. She took a breath.
“How were things before this happened?” Neil said. “Were you having a nice time?”
She stared at him. Is he actually trying? He looked up at her, and Valentine realized she hadn’t responded yet.
“Um, yeah, it was good. We’re kind of an odd group, but it works so far.” Images of Fred’s bloody arms and Winter’s screaming flashed through her mind. Her stomach ached. “I hope they’re okay.”
“Me too. They’re nice kids.” He fell quiet again and bandaged another cut.
That’s it? Valentine wanted more. She searched for something to keep the conversation going. “So, um, where’d you learn to do this?”
“Remember Night Shift, the thriller I wrote about a paramedic?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, you were a toddler. I spent a month riding in an ambulance for research. They taught me a few tricks.” He chuckled. “One night, they got a call about a guy having seizures. I go in with Randy, one of the EMTs, and this guy on the couch starts shaking when he sees us. I’m feeling bad for the guy, but Randy starts laughing.” He finished bandaging a deep scrape on her shin and started on a cut to her forearm. “Randy’s coworker comes in and asks, ‘What do we have here?’ The guy on the couch stops and says, ‘Hey man, can’t you see I’m having a seizure?’ and then starts shaking again.”
Valentine burst into laughter. “He didn’t!”
Neil nodded, laughing with her. “He did, and Randy knew right away the guy was faking.”
He’s actually talking! It felt almost like before.
“I swear, I’ll never forget that.” His fingers brushed over her bandaged right shoulder.
Valentine gasped, her laughter cutting off. White-hot pain lanced throug
h her.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it was that bad. Are you all right?”
Valentine shut her eyes and breathed slowly. Gradually, the pain ebbed and her muscles relaxed. “Yeah, it just hurt for a second.”
Neil tilted his head to examine a cut near her neck. “This one goes pretty deep. EMTs must’ve been in a hurry—you need a couple more stitches.” He retrieved a needle and thread from the kit and looked at her apologetically. “This’ll hurt.”
Valentine gripped her pendant. “Okay.”
Her dad set to work while she turned away, trying to focus on anything else. The cool metal in her hand. That felt better.
“How does it feel?”
“Not too bad.” Her voice came out strained.
A smile touched the corners of Neil’s mouth. “You’re a tough girl, Valentine. Always were.” He finished the last stitch and reached for the shears. “Remember when you sprained your ankle at that dance recital? You were only eight, but you barely even cried.”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“You could hardly stand, but you still wanted to do your routine. That Russian teacher of yours said, ‘Flower cannot stand on broken stem. Do not be fool.’ And I had to make you sit down.”
She grinned at the memory. “‘We’re fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance.’”
Neil stiffened. His face became a mask, still as stone.
Valentine’s heart sank. No no no! “Well, I mean, uh . . .”
She grasped for anything, but felt frozen inside. Her father looked down again, avoiding her eyes. Please, no.
He set peroxide and a clean cloth on the counter. “Twice a day, for a week,” he muttered, barely audible, and turned to leave.
He was slipping away from her, disappearing inside himself again. Her chest tightened. Please, not again!
“Dad.” She grabbed his forearm. “Why can’t you talk to me anymore? What did I do?”
Neil’s face recoiled as if he’d been slapped. “Valentine, no. That’s not—you didn’t—”
She waited for more.
He just looked down, his face a mask of sorrow.