Grounded

by G. P. Ching

  At home in Hemlock Hollow, we go to school until eighth grade in a one-room schoolhouse. The older kids help the younger kids. We learn math and how to read and write. We also learn about the English world, especially how it relates to our community’s history and our needs. Even before Maxwell tells us about the Great Rebellion and the history of the Green Republic, I am aware of most of it.

  The pollution that brought about the rebellion reached us too. But the Amish community accepted the resulting hardships with passive rebellion. We didn’t try to fight the outside world, except to promote our own independence. The Green Republic claimed to clean up the environment, a change that would have benefited the Amish as well as the Englishers. But the war itself took a horrific toll and did nothing to curb the Englishers’ energy addiction. Maxwell claims there could be enough power and food for everyone, but that the Greens use political influence to maintain control of the masses. “The rich stay rich and the poor stay poor.”

  I shake my head. For the Amish, this history lesson is a warning to keep our focus on God and on simplicity. Our way of life is to stay separate. It’s why we don’t use electricity, because then we’d be dependent on a sinful world. We’ve been living more or less the same way since our ancestors arrived during the early eighteenth century in what was then called North America. It’s not my place to tell Maxwell what to do, but war is never the answer. The look in Jeremiah’s eyes says it all. This is not our fight. We are visitors here, nothing more.

  “Max, er, Mr. Stuart,” I say. “Jeremiah and I can’t become involved. It’s against the law of our community.”

  Jeremiah nods and nudges me under the table again. “We don’t believe in using violence to settle our differences.”

  “What about how they treated you? What about what they did to you and Korwin?” Maxwell asks.

  I can’t meet his eyes. Instead, I look to Jeremiah for support.

  “What did they do to you?” Jeremiah asks me under his breath.

  “They tortured her,” Maxwell chimes in. “The Green Republic is corrupt to its core.”

  “I’m sorry. But we can’t help you,” Jeremiah states firmly.

  But Maxwell doesn’t quit. “I don’t think you’re grasping how bad things are here. Imagine your factory makes shoes and your competitor is favored by the Green Republic because he lobbies his customers to support Green Republic programs—like the recent one that established random home inspections. Pretty soon, you notice that your competitor is making twice as many shoes as you. And you realize that it’s because he can run his factory for ten hours instead of eight. Your business fails, and they have the nerve to tell you it’s because of poor business practices when you know, without a doubt, the chips were stacked in your competitor’s favor. But if you complain, well, then your house is selected for a random inspection—and what do you know, they find you’ve been scamping energy. You’re never heard from again.”

  “How can they do that?” Jeremiah asks. “Wouldn’t people eventually figure it out?”

  Maxwell spreads his hands. “Yes! We’ve figured it out. We’ve formed our own rebellion, the Liberty Party. Across the continent, we have houses scamping energy, draining the grid.”

  “Why would you do that?” Jeremiah asks. “Isn’t scamping like stealing? Wouldn’t it make it worse for everyone? Less to go around and tighter security?”

  Maxwell holds up one hand. “We’ve been rerouting energy for years, evening the score. Who do you think we give it to? The wealthy? No. We use it to help the poor. And now we have as many supporters as they do. We could free the continent from energy tyranny. If Lydia joins forces with us, we’ll be unstoppable.”

  Across from me, Korwin leans against the wall, distant and statuesque. The revelation that his father expects me to join the Liberty Party seems to eat at him.

  Jeremiah locks eyes with me; their intensity speaks volumes.

  “Mr. Stuart,” I say, “I can appreciate your cause, but Jeremiah and I have to return to the preservation. We never intended to get involved.”

  Maxwell braces his long fingers on the table in front of me, two brown spider-hands that flex against his weight. He lowers his face to be level with mine. The action is quiet but somehow threatening. “Sorry, kid, but it’s too late. You’re as involved as a person can be, and unfortunately, there’s no going back.” He pushes off the table and taps the canvas painting on the wall.

  Alexandra Brighten’s face smiles at me. A sign above her head reads WJDC News. This just in. Progress in the CGEF terrorism case we reported yesterday. Authorities believe sympathizers of the terrorists are hiding in Willow’s Province after a sting operation uncovered their plan to bomb the energy facility.

  A photo of fifty-four Lakehurst Drive plasters the screen. Hannah’s, Caleb’s, and Jeremiah’s faces pop up in the corner. Whoa! Jeremiah really is involved. “How did they get your picture?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” Jeremiah pales, eyes fixated on the screen.

  I rest my forehead against my coupled hands, consumed with guilt. Maxwell is right. Jeremiah is involved because of me.

  Troops will occupy Willow’s Province until these criminals are found. The investigation continues into the histories of the two terrorists still on the run.

  As a clip of Korwin blasting the CGEF officers repeats in the background, close-ups of all five of our faces display under the action.

  CGEF would like to remind everyone that a ten thousand-unit reward is available to anyone providing information that leads to the arrest of these fugitives. Call the number on your screen to report any information about these two or their three accomplices.”

  The screen goes black. I continue to stare at it. This can’t be happening. I exchange glances with Jeremiah. “I’m so sorry.”

  He says nothing. I think he’s in shock.

  “Ten thousand units. That’s a fortune,” Korwin says softly. “Now everyone on the continent will be looking for us. Green Republic sympathizers will want to report us for the reward. We can’t get you home because Willow’s Province will be crawling with troops and bounty hunters.”

  A tide of panic rises within me. “My father!” I say. “How do I keep him safe? He’s in a hospital, here in the English world.”

  I see Jeremiah’s eye twitch and then he seems to come back from somewhere far away. “No one knows you’re related. He has fake identification, remember?”

  After a beat when I realize he’s right, I take a different angle. “But he must be terrified for me. If he’s seeing this on television or reading it in the paper, he’s probably beside himself.”

  Maxwell leans across the table and places his hand on top of mine. “I can help you, Lydia. If you do what we need you to do, if you train and get stronger, you can help us overtake the Greens, and then I can get you home. No strings attached.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and sit back in my chair. Maxwell shifts his gaze to Korwin’s closed expression, and then to Jeremiah, who looks more confused than ever.

  “Jeremiah, you’re part of this too,” Maxwell says. “We need to test your blood to see if you have the same condition as Lydia.”

  “What condition is that?” Jeremiah narrows his eyes and curls his lip. He doesn’t know the truth. He still thinks this is all some kind of horrible mistake—which it is, but not in the way he assumes.

  “Show him,” Maxwell says.

  I face Jeremiah, who looks nothing but concerned for me. Suddenly, I’m ashamed to be what I am, as if I’m about to show him a rotting, leprosy-laden limb. Opening my hand, I concentrate on the glow that sleeps somewhere inside, that tiny tickle at the back of my brain. I manage to cause electric blue ribbons to flash beneath the skin of my palm. It’s enough to make Jeremiah scoot away from me, his chair legs scraping the wood floor. The way he looks at me... it’s like I’m a demon, the devil himself. He’s repulsed.

  “I’m a Spark, Jeremiah.” My voice cracks and my eyes sting. “They call it ele
ctrokinesis. We think I developed it from the radiation from the Outlands, which means you might have it too.”

  He shivers and bites his lip. As long as I’ve known Jeremiah, he’s always had a smile for me, even if it was only in his eyes. Not now. I’ve never seen him look this way, like every ounce of sunshine has been squeezed from his soul.

  “We need both of you,” Maxwell says. “Will you agree to help us in exchange for our help getting you home?”

  I fold my hands in my lap and wait for Jeremiah to say something. Will he completely reject me because I’m a Spark? Demand to leave immediately and not take me with him?

  “We’ll do it. We’ll join the resistance,” Jeremiah says slowly, out of the blue.

  What? We’ll do it? I jerk backward. Where did that come from? My guilt at dragging him into this mess transforms into anger at his presumptuousness. How dare he answer for me after reacting like I’m some sort of freak?

  Jeremiah pins me with a paternalistic glare and like a trained animal I find myself unable to speak. But I don’t look away as I should. Instead, I meet his gaze with fiery aplomb. Surprised, he turns away first.

  “And then we’ll go home,” Jeremiah says. “In return, you promise to get us there.”

  The sigh Maxwell releases sounds like a cheer.

  Of course, Jeremiah is right. We don’t have any other choice. My anger ebbs. He’s just taking care of me, like always. I blink in Jeremiah’s direction and answer without looking at Maxwell. “I agree with Jeremiah. We’ll stay. We’ll help. Then we’ll go.”

  Maxwell claps his hands together. “Alleluia!” he says. “It’s a deal. We’ll start training today.”

  Behind me, Korwin punches the wall and knocks into a chair in his haste to leave the room. He’s gone before I have time to say a word.

  17

  “I need to speak with you privately,” Jeremiah says. He hooks his index finger into my pinkie.

  “Later.” I yank my hand away. “Let’s get this over with first.” I’ve never talked to him like that before. How this world has changed me.

  He scowls. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “You shouldn’t have decided without checking with me first. You committed both of us.”

  Jeremiah looks totally confused. “What choice did I have?”

  “We,” I whisper. “What choice did we have? It was our decision, not yours.”

  He frowns at me like I’m not making any sense.

  Maxwell leads us to the basement. I search the hall for Korwin but he’s disappeared; I assume he’s somewhere recuperating from the revelations of this morning. I don’t blame him. I wish I could go to bed and sleep for a week.

  “I want both of you to know, you’re safe here. The mansion is a bunker,” Maxwell says. “From the outside, the house looks like a typical Tudor, but inside, everything is reinforced. The glass is bulletproof. Steel shutters slide into place at the touch of a button. In the case of an emergency, the basement entryway to the compound can be sealed and appear as a solid wall. If we ever need to evacuate, there are multiple routes out of the mansion through the sewer.”

  “Why didn’t Korwin bring me in that way when we escaped CGEF?” I ask.

  “There is a Bio-Tech membrane that only goes one way. You can leave the mansion through the sewer but to get back in, you need a biological key. Even Korwin doesn’t have it.”

  I don’t understand what a biological key is, but it seems strange Maxwell wouldn’t give it to his own son. “Why doesn’t Korwin have a key to his own house?”

  “He used to, but when he was captured by the Greens it was too dangerous. We had to change the locks. Protocol.”

  “Why is all this necessary, anyway?” Jeremiah asks.

  Maxwell smiles. “Most directly because of the data. Stuart Manor is the intelligence hub of the Liberty Party. Not to mention Korwin. Seventeen years of unique research on the only electrokinetic human ever studied is here. It can’t ever fall into enemy hands.”

  Maxwell’s words nag at me like a splinter in my skin. “Until now. I will add to that data.”

  “Yes. We will find out how alike or different you are to Korwin. And your results will become part of history.”

  And just like that, I understand why the way Maxwell talks about Korwin affects me. He talks about both of us as if we are prized animals. Trick ponies. Maxwell talks about his own son like some kind of secret weapon. Not as a human being. Not as a child of God.

  “We’ll test you first, Lydia, and then I’ll take Jeremiah’s blood.”

  I nod. I will do what he wants, but I don’t fully trust Maxwell. Who could trust someone who talks about their son in terms of years of data?

  He ushers me into a large open room with padded gray walls labeled Test Room A. Maxwell and Jeremiah appear a moment later on the other side of a thick observation panel. I’m surprised when Korwin enters the room behind me.

  Our eyes meet. “You’re back.”

  “I need to show you what to do.” He doesn’t explain where he’s been or why, but he gives me a reassuring smile that relieves some of my mounting anxiety.

  Jeremiah’s face twists into a grimace behind the window. I’m not sure why he’s so upset. I think he’s worried for me and probably still trying to digest the news that I’m a Spark and he could be too.

  On the table in front of us are metal bins. One is filled with lightbulbs, the other blocks of fresh cut wood.

  “Shall we start with the LEDs?” Korwin asks the window.

  “Please proceed.” Maxwell’s voice comes from a speaker above me, even though he’s standing in front of me. It has a muffled quality like he’s talking through a wall.

  Korwin picks up one of the bulbs, flips it in the air, and catches the base in one hand. He raises an eyebrow at me and without breaking eye contact, the bulb slowly glows to life. The corner of his mouth turns up, and it’s as if it’s me he’s lighting up. A swell of joy rises from deep within me. I can’t help myself. I giggle and glance away.

  “Now you try,” he says, handing me the bulb.

  I wrap my fingers around the base and repeat what I’ve done before. I concentrate on a tickle deep within my head and move it down my arm to my hand. The best comparison I can make is to say it’s like stretching a piece of elastic or taffy from my head to my fingertips. I stretch the power into the waiting bulb. The clear bubble of glass glows ever brighter. After a moment of pride, my push turns into a pull. It’s easier than I expected to let the elastic out. It feels good, almost a relief. But I know it’s too much. I try to retract the energy, grunting with the effort, but it doesn’t help. I can’t control it.

  The bulb shatters, spraying glass across the room. Korwin turns his back to shield his face.

  “Are you both okay?” Maxwell’s muffled voice calls over the speaker.

  Korwin scans me from head to toe while he brushes his hands over his hair, his T-shirt. “You get cut?”

  “I’m okay.” I glance down my body. Incredibly, the bits of glass missed me.

  Jeremiah’s worried expression appears behind the thick pane of glass. I can see his lips moving but can’t hear what he’s saying to Maxwell. A moment later, the little door at the back of the room opens. Without even looking at Korwin, Jeremiah hands me a pair of protective glasses. He hugs me and whispers in my ear, “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I don’t mind,” I say. “I’m okay. I want to know what I can do.”

  “She’s a Spark. When she uses her power, it produces an electromagnetic field that protects her. The glass can’t hurt her,” Korwin states smugly. I give him a harsh look and he makes himself busy straightening the equipment.

  “Thank you,” I say to Jeremiah, holding up the glasses.

  Jeremiah backs out of the door and returns to his spot behind Maxwell, who is writing feverishly. I place the goggles over my eyes. Curious, I pick up another lightbulb without being asked. This time I barely stretch the elastic to my fingers when th
e pull threatens to take control. This time, instead of attempting to reel it back inside, I simply picture a knot forming at my wrist. I mentally tie off my power. The bulb glows, gently pulsing while I adjust the flow from that place in my brain. Eventually, I smile at the constant light. I’ve done it! I ignore the drip of sweat that starts at my temple and works toward my chin.

  “That’s awesome, Lydia! Great control. It took me weeks to learn to hold back like that,” Korwin says.

  “It’s harder to keep it inside than to let it loose,” I whimper. I drop the bulb onto the table and let out a huge puff of air.

  Korwin scoops me up in a hug that takes my breath away. He twirls me around in a circle, laughing, before placing me gently back on my feet.

  “Good job, Lydia.” Behind the window Maxwell scratches some notes on his pad, smiling like a child with a new toy. “Let’s try something else.”

  Rolling my shoulders, I stretch my neck and back. My muscles ache with fatigue. My skin is too tight, and I scratch the backs of my arms until the itch goes away.

  In the bin next to the lightbulbs, fat wooden logs like we use in our fireplace back home are stacked in a pyramid shape. The green ring under the bark tells me they’re freshly cut.

  “What do I do with the wood?” I ask.

  Korwin answers. “The wood is to test if you can throw the juice. Observe.” He pulls a log from the stack and places it on an unused section of the steel table. “You may want to stand back.”

  I recede a few steps from the table.

  He takes a deep breath and blows it out. Circling his arm, he flicks his fingers like he’s tossing a ball and a blast of electricity leaves his hand and plows into the log. A cloud of steam rises up. When it clears, the log looks dried out, ready to burn.

  “Take a new one. This one will start on fire,” Korwin says, as he removes the used log.

  I do as he says, setting a new green log in the same place as Korwin did.

  “Blast it, Lydia. Let it out fast and then pull it back in, but don’t actually touch the log.”

  “I’ll try.” Taking a deep breath, I stretch the elastic tingle to my hands again, but it’s a much different thing to move the power from my fingers to the wood without physically touching it. I try a few times to let it out, but fail. It feels like I’m forcing the cord into something thick and dense. The stretch stops before I can reach the log. I mop my forehead with the back of my hand.