A chill passes over me as I listen to Thorne’s words. There’s no arguing his point. Still, the idea that he can help ‘channel’ my ability is ridiculous. What does he know about bringing water? I don’t even know how I do it, so how could he?
“I’ve never filled an underground source,” I say stubbornly. I don’t mention the pool in the cave. Besides, that wasn’t an aquifer, so it’s not the same thing at all. “I don’t even know if it can be done.”
“It can be done.”
Something in his tone raises the hairs on my arms. He’s so absolute. How can he be that certain, unless…. My eyes narrow. “How do you know it can be done?”
“Kira, all those times you called water, didn’t you notice that the water goes and stops where you want it? It’s like the earth has a memory of water, but it lacks a mental map. It needs you to give it direction, to guide the water where it should go.”
He’s right. My small ponds and ditches never overflow. They never flood. The water rises, then stops, recognizing some invisible boundary. Do I create that boundary? If he’s right, then the same thing would happen in an underground source. The water would fill in the empty spaces of the pattern I create in my mind, like coloring in the outlines of a picture.
“Besides,” he says softly, grabbing my attention, “your mother did it.”
For a moment, if feels like the room and everything in it is far away. A roaring in my ears drowns out my thoughts. My voice, when I finally speak, is raspy. “My mother did this? She called water?”
“She did.”
“Are there others?” I whisper.
“Not that we know. Apparently, something happened between your grandmother’s generation and your mother’s, but she was the first. She came to me, Kira. It was a hard time. People were suffering. A lot more people would have died if not for her. She struck a lucrative deal with the Council. She brought water, when and where we needed it. And she was generously rewarded.”
I want to disbelieve him. My mother wouldn’t be in a partnership with this man, would she? How could I know? How could I trust the things he was telling me? Then again, who else could supply me with answers?
“Tell me about her.”
“She was smart and determined;” he says softly, “She understood the value of her talent. She wanted to make a difference in the world. She knew that with the Council’s support, she could.” Suddenly, his voice trails off. “And she had a perilous beauty.”
I focus my gaze on Thorne’s face. There’s something new in the tone of his voice.
“What was she to you?” I ask, uncertainly.
Slowly, his eyes regain their focus. His look is assessing, scrutinizing. Restless, I jiggle one leg beneath me. J.D. presses his hip against mine to stop the jiggling.
“She was the first to demonstrate a truly miraculous ability,” he says. “And it is thanks to me that after your uncle died, a place was found for you at the Garner Home for Girls. We’ve discovered that not all offspring continue a parent’s special ability. In some cases, it does continue, usually after the onset of adolescence, which indicates hormonal development might be involved. In some cases, it mutates into something else. And sometimes, it disappears altogether.”
I’m confused. “I thought you said there wasn’t anyone else who could make water.”
“That’s true. You and your mother have been the only ones with that particular gift. But,” he shrugs, “let’s just say there are other children with interesting potential.”
“And you, what? You spy on them?”
“We find them. We place them in special homes. We ensure they receive room and board and a fair education. In return, we ask their caretakers to alert us to any signs of special ability.”
Understanding dawns. “And maybe you embed them with microchips to keep track of them.”
He bursts into laughter. “Very good, Kira. Of course, we didn’t get to you in time, did we? We’ll have to remedy that while you’re here.”
My mind is overflowing with thoughts and images as I try to make sense of this new information. There are others. Who can do, what? Fly or conjure things out of thin air? My imagination runs wild with the possibilities, although I realize he could mean something much more commonplace. Like little Joey’s sense of smell. Maybe there are others who are simply stronger or faster or more resilient in some way.
Glancing at Thorne, I return to the subject of my mother. There are hundreds of things I want to know about the woman who gave birth to me, but I start with the end of the story. “How did she die?”
He doesn’t speak for a long moment. Is he deciding whether to tell the truth or a lie? How will I know which he chooses? Finally, he clears his throat.
“She drowned, sadly. For all that she could fill a lake, your mother never learned to swim. She was terrified of water, in fact. She drowned when you were very small.”
I can’t resist a shiver. I try to take it in, my mind suffused with the image of her and how it must have been: the sinking, the losing of air and memory as the water fills every small part of you. She could fill a lake, but she couldn’t empty it. I imagine the helplessness of being surrounded by something of your own creation and then being done in by it. I believe Thorne. I believe he’s told me the truth. I realize I don’t know anyone who can swim. After all, where would someone learn? Every lake or swimming hole is either dried up or toxic.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I’ll help you. I’ll try to make water in the Opawinge. I’ll give it my best shot, at least. Then J.D. and I can leave. Right?”
“There is the matter of the chip, Kira. We need to be able to locate you, if the need arises. Your talent is vital to the well being of the Territory. But once you’ve both had microchips embedded, I see no reason why you can’t leave.”
The idea of having a tracking device embedded beneath my skin turns my stomach. But if it means J.D. and I can leave this place, it will be worth it.
I glance at J.D., but his eyes are noncommittal. Evidently, he’s decided this is my decision. Okay then. I nod my head. “I’ll need a backpack,” I say. “I had one, but I lost it. I want some things.”
“Give your list to Michael. He’ll take care of it.”
After that, things happen quickly. Thorne leaves to prepare for our departure. But as soon as the sun is down, he returns to the room.
“Kira, are you ready?”
“I guess.”
J.D. and I both rise, but Thorne shakes his head. “Only you, Kira. There’s not space on the chopper. We’re going a long way, and we need to keep the craft as light as possible.”
J.D.’s gaze is searching on mine. This is unexpected. I can tell he doesn’t like it.
“It’s okay” I reassure him. “I’ll be back in no time.”
I’m not sure I believe my own words, but I try not to show it. If necessary, would I try to escape from Thorne if it meant leaving J.D. behind here in Slag? Not likely. I’ve grown accustomed to his presence. And he didn’t leave me behind when I was captured. Maybe Thorne is relying on that, on our loyalty to each other, to keep me obedient. Besides, I’m doing a good thing, I think, in trying to fill the Opawinge. This man, Thorne, knew my mother. She made water for him. I hold onto that thought to give me strength.
I give J.D. a small smile, then follow Thorne out of the room. In a downstairs garage, the armored rover is waiting. From the rover to the chopper takes less than an hour, and then we’re darting through the night sky, enveloped in blackness.
I’m finding it hard to breathe. This is my first time ever in the air. And already, I miss J.D.; I’m not used to being without him. What if Thorne doesn’t bring me back? I push down an edge of panic. I don’t need this now. A small flutter like moth wings begins to beat beneath my left eyelid. I press my hand against my eye to stop the tic, then sigh when the fluttering moves to my other eye.
The Opawinge—what am I thinking? I don’t care what Thorne says. If I couldn’t fill the lake, then an und
erground reservoir is way out of my league. Then again, to be able to do it, to do something that would save lives, would be amazing. And what if I can’t fill it? What will Thorne do?
After a moment, I realize he’s staring at me.
“What?”
“Even if you had filled the lake,” he says thoughtfully, “did it occur to you that the whole area is toxic?”
“I know the area’s toxic. I figured the water would help. It cleans things.”
“Sometimes. However, most toxic contaminants are persistent. It’s essential that each aquatic ecosystem be restored in an orderly and systematic fashion.”
I stare at him blankly.
“Where are the fish in your lake?” he continues.
“Well…” I’m puzzled by his question. Its very obviousness is annoying. “…someone would have to put them in.”
“Let’s say, for the moment, that it’s a possibility. That we have fish in an aquarium somewhere that only need a new home to be happy and begin making happy fish babies, so we deposit them in your lake. What would they eat?”
I don’t want to answer his questions. I glance out the window, gazing blindly at the distant twinkling of stars. “That’s not my problem.”
“No, it’s mine. Restoration is a holistic process, Kira, not achieved through the isolated manipulation of individual elements. Merely recreating a form without the functions does not constitute restoration. There has to be life, fish and native plants to keep the water oxygenated. There has to be a chemical adjustment of the soil and the water and the area toxins.”
“I just bring the water,” I say stubbornly, annoyed.
“Of course you do, dear. Quite right.”
I hate his smug tone and his big words and how on earth am I supposed to know about “aquatic ecosystems” anyway? I’m relieved when he pulls out a computer and begins to work. I curl in my seat and close my eyes. If a person knows how to do something and do it well, then it would be wrong not to do that thing, right? I mean, if it’s a good thing, if it causes no harm. I make water. It’s what I do. The fish and all that other stuff, someone else can be responsible for it. The fish can’t come until the water’s there anyway.
When I wake up, the sun is rising. Light leaks in between cracks in the chopper’s sun filters, and I shield my eyes from the glare, reaching into my pack to retrieve new eyeshades.
“We’re here,” Thorne says softly.
In minutes, we’re landing, kicking up a swirl of dust in an area that appears completely desolate. There’s nothing as far as the eye can see except sand and grit and sheer white air. We unload our bags then roar off in another rover. I turn to Thorne. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“What did I say?”
“All that stuff about toxins being in the lake. In school, I was taught that the Opawinge was ruined. So why fill it if the water’s going to be unfit?”
“You’re thinking, Kira. That’s good. It is possible to clean aquifers of volatile organic compounds. However, it’s costly and time-consuming. Naturally, toxins need to be eliminated before we try to turn any site into a functioning water source for human consumption.”
“Then, it would be possible to clean the Dead Lakes area, too,” I ask.
“Theoretically.”
I digest this information. If Thorne really can help me channel this ability, then eventually I could still fill the lake. And it could be cleaned and someone could plant the seeds of green things and put fish in the water. I slide a gaze to the man beside me. “In other words, the aquifer’s clean?”
“The Opawinge receives regular maintenance. During the years right after your mother filled it, we removed trichloroethene and 1,1-dichloroethene, as well as volatile and semivolatile hydrocarbons using in situ ground water remediation technology.”
I yawn dramatically, ignoring a sudden bark of laughter from Thorne.
The rover takes us through miles of desert. Invisible until we’re right upon it, a hole opens up in the ground and soon we’re heading downhill into a subterranean passage. The darkness is a relief from the harsh sun and I remove my shades, letting my eyes adjust, taking in the cavernous walls of the tunnel.
When we stop, we’re poised on a stone platform. Stepping out of the rover, I’m immediately assaulted by the scent of water. Even though I know I’m directly below the desert sand, here there is moistness. It seeps from the walls and forms a small pool below the platform, then snakes behind walls of rock and I can’t tell how far it goes or how deep.
I look up at Thorne. “What now?”
“I want you right by the water, Kira. Touch it. Sink your hands into the pool.”
I’ve only ever filled areas that were dry on their surface, with no residual moisture that I could detect. This feels odd, to be making water while surrounded by evidence of it.
“Close your eyes.”
I do what he asks. I slip my hands into the water, and it’s cold and slick. I give an involuntary shiver, then take a deep breath and release it, closing my eyes.
“You’ve studied the diagrams of the aquifer that I gave to you, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Picture what lies beyond these walls of rock and sand, Kira. The water underground is not like a river or a lake. Sometimes it’s a layer, in between the hardness above and below it. Sometimes, the water is a trickle snaking along a labyrinth of tiny passages in permeable rock, worn through by ten million years of constant seeping. And sometimes it’s a saturated layer of gravel and sand and clay.
“Right now, you’re standing at the brink of a quarter million square miles of aquifer. This space used to contain not just millions of gallons but millions of billions of gallons of water. Picture all of it. Picture it empty, missing the water that was there before. And you can take away the emptiness. Take it away, Kira. Bring the water level up. Fill the pools and the passages. Open your mind and let your thoughts flow. The water will flow with them.”
Thorne’s words are softly spoken. His even tone sends me into an altered state where I feel invisible to myself. If I’m tangible at all, it’s as a slight damp thing, a rag being twisted to wring from it every last molecule of moisture.
Condensation on the platform has seeped into my clothes. I’m cold and trembling when I open my eyes and look up at him.
He places his hand gently on my shoulder. “Wish for the water, Kira. Wish for it now.”
I gaze up at this man, who suddenly seems like a comfort in this dark place. He knew my mother. And maybe he understands what I want to do, who I want to be. I hear him mumbling softly, his own water wish perhaps? “Speak ye unto the rock and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink…” He closes his eyes, but keeps his hand on my shoulder.
“I wish for water,” I whisper, my teeth chattering on the words. “I wish for water to fill up this place.”
“J.D! We’re back!” I bound up the stairs, my pack forgotten on the landing below. J.D. hears me coming and steps out of the room in time for me to knock him over in a move that’s part tackle, part hug. “We’re back!”
I can’t believe how happy I feel. When was the last time I felt like this? Have I ever? Surprised, J.D. catches the tackle and manages to stumble backwards without falling over and hurting either one of us. “How’d it go?”
I release him and bounce over to the bed. “It was good. It was really good. Different than anything I’ve ever done before.”
“Tell me.”
“We went underground in the desert, and there was some water, of course, but you could tell that this huge cavernous place used to be just full of it. I could feel the presence of the water, J.D. It wasn’t just that there was moisture on the walls and that damp smell and all of that. I mean, I could feel it in my bones, the moisture, the memory of it, in that place. That’s never happened to me before. And Thorne helped.”
“He what?” The look on his face is comical.
“Oh, he couldn’t physically he
lp, of course. But he seems to get it, you know. What it takes, how it feels. He talked me through the whole thing.”
He looks suspicious. “And it worked? You were able to make the water?”
“Sure. I mean,” I falter, “I guess so.”
“You guess so?”
“Well, I didn’t actually see that it had worked,” I say slowly. “The Opawinge’s not like something you can just see fill up, like a pond. But Thorne took a few readings the next day and said we could leave. So, I assumed … .”
“But he didn’t actually confirm that you’d filled the aquifer?”
“Geez, J.D. What’s your problem?” I march to the window then turn to glare at him. He’s spoiling my mood. It’s been so long since I felt happy. I want to hold onto it. “Don’t you think we’d have stayed there longer if I hadn’t done it? I thought you’d be glad for me—for us. Now that I filled the Opawinge, we can go. I can try the lake again. I’m sure I can do it this time. ”
“Great. Fine. Fantastic. When can we leave?”
“Soon, I think,” I tell him, my mind going to the procedure that must be performed first. “Once the chips are in, you know, so Thorne can find us if he needs us.”
He frowns at me, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Wow. What happened to Kira? I think Thorne left with one person and brought back another. You’ve sure changed your tune.”
I’m not going to let him needle me. I’m not. I’ll count. That’s it. I’ll count to ten before I respond. One, two, three…. “I think it’s important that I be available, J.D. Thorne needs to be able to locate me when the territory needs water is all.” I take a deep breath. I’m sure once J.D. understands, it’ll be fine. “It’s not like just anybody can do this, you know. And the Territory’s need for water—it’s not going to go away. The chip means freedom. We can travel wherever we want, but if the Territory needs me, then…. Besides, the chip insertion is just a tiny prick. Thorne says it won’t hurt a bit.”
“Thorne, Thorne, Thorne.”
I press my hands together, resisting the urge to ball them into fists and sock him. “I don’t know why you’ve got this bug up your butt, J.D. It’s not like you’ve been suffering here. You get three meals a day, a bed to sleep in each night. And Thorne’s trying to make a difference. He’s trying to help me. He thinks what I can do is important.”
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