Ignited

by Lily Cahill

  Henry had spent many of his teenage years as a regular, he and his buddies horsing around, constantly feeding change into the jukebox so they could hear their favorite tunes again and again. It was busier than he expected for a Tuesday evening. Teens lined the counter, a few couples shared the booths, and a group of men sat in the corner, discussing things in low voices. Some were sitting in a booth, hands folded on the table top, and others were hovering around them, standing, pacing. A few men had drawn chairs away from other tables and sat tensely, leaning forward across their knees.

  Not one of them was smiling or laughing. This was not a friendly outing.

  Something about them tripped Henry’s internal alarm, and he took a seat near them. His new angle revealed a few familiar faces: Bo Erikson, a middle-aged patient of his grandfather’s; Jack Williams, whose wife was probably home alone with a colicky baby—again.

  Bill Goodman.

  Henry leaned toward their conversation without trying to be obvious. A waitress appeared to his right, brandishing a menu. Her name tag declared her to be Alice. “What’ll it be, hon?”

  Henry ordered a cola and the first thing on the menu, just to get her to go away. He needed to hear what they were going to say.

  “It ain’t right,” said Bo Erikson, shaking his head. “What them kids can do. It’s dangerous. We ought to call in the feds, or the army, or something. The army helped before, with the fog.”

  “I’m headed out for work after this week,” Jed Gould cut in. He was a traveling salesman who was often on the road going door to door selling vacuums, but he’d spent the summer at home with his family. “Gonna try my luck in Denver, visit my brother. The phones haven’t been right since that fight. They’re off more than they’re on. Why don’t I contact one of the bases there, see if they can send someone up to you folks? You might have to wait, but—”

  In the far corner, Brad Barton slapped his palm against the table. He was Henry’s age, but he carried himself like an old man, grizzled and always frowning. But being a newly-promoted police captain was a hard job, even in a small town like Independence Falls. It was bound to make a man tough.

  “We don’t have time to wait for help! You saw what they did, what they’re capable of. We need to protect our wives and children, and we need to do it now,” Captain Barton spat out. “I know some of you have fallen in with that mad preacher—”

  “He ain’t mad!” Jack Williams cut in, glaring.

  Captain Barton spoke over him. “I still say it was the Soviets. But whoever we think is at fault, I think we all agree we need to round them up until we figure out what to do with them.”

  Henry’s blood ran cold. This man was a cop—he had a place to lock these people, if he really wanted. The police chief and mayor wouldn’t allow such an abuse of power, would they? But when he looked around the table, nearly all the men were nodding, eyes serious. If things got out of hand, they wouldn’t need the cooperation of the mayor and chief to do real harm.

  Worst of all, even Bill looked intrigued. Kind, good-hearted Bill, who had bought his son a terrier puppy for his birthday, who kissed his wife good-bye every time he left the house.

  If someone like Bill was being taken in, what did that say for the rest of the town?

  It was so extreme, so crazy, and Henry couldn’t stop himself. He stood, moving to the outskirts of the cluster. He cleared his throat once, and then again to get everyone’s attention. They fell silent, staring at him, and Henry felt the pressure of their gazes. He took a deep breath. “Hi, sorry, but—you can’t just take people against their will when they’ve done nothing wrong. That’s kidnapping, for one, and—”

  “It ain’t kidnapping if it’s to protect our lives!” Jack Williams insisted.

  “No, it is.” The two men closest, neither of whom Henry recognized, started to look skeptical. Henry felt bolstered. “Captain Barton, you can’t be serious about this. It’s your duty to serve and protect all of Independence Falls’ citizens, not just the ones you agree with.”

  Barton’s gaze was like ice, but Henry thought of Ruth, of her fear, and of how much courage it took for her to escape her father. He couldn’t let her do something so brave only to lead her into a lion’s den. People were going mad with fear, and they needed some clarity.

  “They have done something. I’ve got one of them already in the jail cell to prove it. All you have to do is go outside to see the damage to the town square.” Barton’s voice was smooth, even as he glared. “That’s destruction of public property, disturbing the peace—”

  “Maybe,” Henry conceded. “But is that why you’re talking about locking them up, or is it because you’re scared?”

  “Scared?” Bo Erikson snorted. “No one is scared. We’re mad.”

  There was a chorus of agreement behind him.

  Henry ignored him. “Isolation and fear-mongering are not going to help things. This town is not a nice place to be right now. Everyone’s tense, everyone’s upset. But these are young men and women you’ve known your entire lives, not monsters. If we talk to them, work with them, maybe we can learn where their abilities come from, and then we can understand what’s happened to them.”

  Bo Erikson was beet red in his corner, from embarrassment or anger it was hard to tell, but he was now part of the minority. The group of faces staring at Henry had turned friendlier. Some were even nodding. Henry felt his spirits lift. The people of Independence Falls were scared, yes, but that did not mean they would be unreasonable. They could figure this out.

  “That was a fine speech,” Barton retorted, deadpan. “Look, fellas, I didn’t go to some fancy school like good ol’ Dr. Porter over there. I can’t throw a bunch of long words at you.” He pronounced this like education was something to be feared and hated, rather than an accomplishment. “But I know what’s right and what’s wrong, and protecting our families is right.”

  Henry let out a huff of exasperation. “What do you plan to protect them from? Outside of Butch Murphy, who you said yourself is in jail at the moment, what have these kids done to any of you? The other people on his side all saw the light, admitted fault, and have been working to help the town recover. He was the only one with any real bad intention.” He rolled his eyes. “And don’t say disturbing the peace. We all know that’s bullshit.”

  No one said a word. Eyes shifted downward to the table tops. Henry knew he might be pressing his luck, but he had to do this. If Ruth could face her own fears so bravely, then he wanted to be part of helping create an environment in which she could be both herself and safe. It was important.

  “What is happening here is clearly not natural,” Jack argued. “Preacher Baker says the fog was the work of God himself, weeding out the unrighteous, showing us the non-believers and the devil worshipers hiding among us.”

  “A few years ago you would have sworn up and down that Preacher Baker was a hack,” Henry spat. “And just a few weeks ago, you were standing next to Bo and Butch when they practically attacked Ivan Sokolov because you suspected it was the Soviets!” He scrubbed at his face, feeling the exasperation seeping into his bones. Was he getting through to any of them? To Bill?

  “I’m the first to admit that not everyone affected is an upstanding citizen,” Henry said, trying to calm his voice. “But for the most part, these are good kids from good families. They’ve never been in trouble, never crossed anyone. There is a scientific explanation for what’s happening to them. But if we keep isolating them we’re going to push them away and never learn it!”

  Jack scoffed. “There’s no science behind this! This is the power of God at work, and we must cast away those who have been infected with sin and save ourselves!”

  He sounded like he was reciting one of Edward Baker’s sermons word for word.

  “Ah, yes. What verse of the Bible is that, again?” Henry looked out over the meeting. Only Captain Barton would meet his eye.

  “Now, not all of us think that,” Barton said. His anger was trapped bene
ath a cool veneer, his lips twisted down in the corners, but the rest of his face was flat and calm. “Some of us are here because we know it was those Commie sons of bitches. But we all have a common goal.”

  Henry sighed. He couldn’t admit defeat, not about this. “Just … think of it this way. What if it was your son or daughter or sister or brother? What if it is them, and they don’t know it yet, or they’re afraid to tell you?”

  The entire diner was silent. Every eye was on Henry. He sighed and got out his wallet, throwing a few bills down on the table. “I think I’m done here.” Henry looked toward the counter. “Cancel my order, will you?”

  Henry was barely out the door when he heard footsteps behind him and Bill’s voice called out, “Henry! Henry, wait!”

  He didn’t want to wait. He didn’t want to talk to Bill, to listen to the other man’s reasons. Henry couldn’t recall being angry with Bill since they were small children, fighting over a toy, but he was angry now. So angry he felt blinded by it. He wanted to punch someone.

  “Henry, please, just—”

  Stopping in his tracks, Henry whirled around. “What the hell are you doing there, with them?”

  Bill’s face was red with the exertion of running, and it clashed terribly with his hair. He panted to catch his breath, his brows drawing together. “I told you last time we went out for a beer. I’m concerned, and I want to know all the facts before I—”

  “The men in there are not giving you facts, they’re giving you fearful opinions!” Henry shouted, drawing the eye of everyone on the street. He suddenly realized that he and Bill were still near the town square, where everyone could see them. The ruined statue of Mamie Watkins, still missing an arm, watched their argument.

  The anger drained from him abruptly, and he slumped forward, waving at Bill to follow him. They walked side by side out of the square, heading toward the road that led to Aspenwood.

  It was a few minutes before Henry felt calm enough to speak again. “You’re too smart a man to be taken in by this, Bill. Those people fear anything that’s different—”

  “These powers are a little more than just ‘different.’ They can hurt people. The have. A girl nearly drowned in that fight, Henry. And don’t forget Betty Carroll—we don’t know how she died, but we know now she had a power.” He sighed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “I don’t want to lock anyone up, and I don’t think they’re demons, but something strange is happening in this town that has the potential to hurt everyone, and I, for one, would like to know all my options to protect me and mine.”

  It was so hard to argue with Bill’s reasonable tone, with his level-headed explanation. Henry thought of Ruth, of the kind of reaction she would receive when she admitted to her differences. He’d encouraged her to run away from her father for her own safety, but now he wasn’t positive she would be any better protected. The town was nearly as crazy as her old man.

  “Locking people up who have done nothing wrong isn’t an option, it’s a crime.”

  “You can see for yourself, they have done something wrong.” Bill motioned toward the town square, where the pitted ground was still being filled in. The fountain was surrounded by barriers to keep people from going near it. “Who knows how much more they would have destroyed if Butch wasn’t stopped?”

  Henry gave Bill a hard look. “You know those men in there don’t want to lock them up simply for property destruction. What I’m afraid they’ll do to them ….”

  For the first time, Bill looked abashed. He frowned, directing his eyes toward the ground as they walked in sync. “You’re not wrong.”

  “I know.”

  At that, Bill knocked him with an elbow. It was an apology, of sorts, but Henry didn’t return the gestures. He wasn’t wrong here, and he wasn’t sorry.

  “It’s easy for you to say all this,” Bill said. His voice was soft, treading delicately on the conversation. “The only family you have to care about is your grandfather, and no one would ever hurt him. Maybe if you had a girl, you’d understand. I have to protect my wife, Henry. I have to protect Kenny. They are my priorities.”

  Henry had priorities, too. Ruth was his priority. Keeping her safe from everything, even from people like Bill.

  “I do have a girl.” Henry kept his voice quiet and his eyes straight ahead, even as Bill whipped around to stare at him, wide-eyed. “This is me trying to keep her safe.”

  The realization washed over Bill, his mouth going slack. Henry watched the progression out of the corner of his eye. They walked in silence to the fork in the road. Bill stopped him and held out his hand to shake.

  “I’ll think about what you’ve said,” he told Henry. “All of it.”

  “That’s all I can ask,” Henry replied.

  They split up, going home in opposite directions.

  Henry arrived home with a half-hour to spare before Ruth arrived. His house was neat because it was always neat, everything in pristine condition, all of it barely used. Still, it didn’t feel as welcoming as he would have liked. The diner had ruined his appetite for a time, but it was starting to rear its head again. What if Ruth was unable to eat before she came over? What if she was hungry?

  He rifled through his Frigidaire, trying to find anything he could make. He had some lettuce that had a day or two before it wilted, and some random celery he couldn’t remember buying. Some cream cheese was hiding in the back corner of the fridge. There was some bologna and pimento cheese, which would make a quick sandwich. Not the most filling dinner, but it was at least something. He put everything on the counter and washed his hands.

  By the time he reached for a knife, Henry’s hands were practically shaking. Had he done the right thing, encouraging Ruth to get away from her father? Was he delivering her directly into the hands of the townspeople, who were drunk on Preacher Baker’s words and the suspicion of a Soviet attack? Not that she had to tell anyone about her abilities, but he doubted her father would hesitate to publicly shame her.

  Or maybe the preacher would keep his mouth shut out of embarrassment. All of his big talk of “demons,” and he couldn’t even keep his own daughter safe.

  Henry rolled up his sleeves, slicing the celery. He slathered it with the cream cheese and put it on a plate.

  That was the best Ruth could hope for, and even in that instance, she would need to have something to say when people questioned why she had finally decided to get away from Edward, and why she was living on her own now.

  The knife clattered to the counter, celery still half-intact.

  Where would Ruth live?

  They hadn’t discussed it at all, which now seemed like such a grievous oversight. She had no other family in town, and he doubted she had any sort of savings, either. Her father had hardly let her out to volunteer, let alone hold a job and earn her own money. Her only real friend that he knew of was June, whose mother was notoriously ridiculous. The Powells could probably not afford another mouth to feed. Besides, Henry had overhead Patrice gossiping with Mrs. McClure about June moving in with Ivan. It would have been a town scandal if they weren’t all so preoccupied with the powers.

  She could stay with you, a little voice in his head whispered, thinking of June and Ivan.

  Henry leaned against the counter, and reached for the bologna and pimento cheese. He had some bread in a cabinet, and he picked out a few slices.

  Ruth and him, living together. That sounded … nice. It sounded more than nice, if he were being honest. Ruth would be here in the morning before work, and in the evening when he got home. Or maybe she wouldn’t be—maybe she’d go out, volunteer, pursue her interests. She could do whatever she wanted, as long as it made her happy. He wouldn’t stop her.

  It was too soon, and more than that, it was a crazy idea. They weren’t married. They weren’t even engaged! Yet he was sure of how he felt about her. Ruth had a piece of his heart now, and he would never feel whole without her again. Though that was all he was sure of.

  But—
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  It didn’t hurt to bring it up. He could let her know it was an option, and if it wasn’t what she wanted, then he would let it go. Maybe Mrs. McClure would have an idea—an elderly widow in town who wouldn’t mind some companionship, a family who might exchange a room for some extra help around the house. Ruth could decide what was best for her.

  His stomach clenched as he thought of her. He hoped she thought he was best for her.

  Henry finished the sandwiches, putting everything out on the table. He set the table quickly, trying not to think about how just a few days ago, she had writhed on top of his lap in one of these very chairs.

  She would be here soon, and they would eat together, and then they would go see Officer Harris. It wouldn’t be easy … but it’d at least be easier once she was no longer in danger from her father.

  When the clock chimed seven, Henry went to wait by the door. Ten minutes later, he had thought of a hundred excuses for her tardiness: she was taking a different route than usual; she was finishing up dinner with her father; she had gotten caught up in some chore.

  By half past seven, Henry was worried.

  By eight o’clock, he was terrified.

  Keep calm, he told himself. Wait for her. But time slipped by. The sun sank down below the mountains, and still Ruth didn’t arrive. She was nearly two hours late, and Henry sank into his panic. Something was wrong. He was sure of it, for no reason he could name. There was a feeling in the pit of his stomach, radiating through his bones—Ruth was in trouble. Ruth was in danger.

  He didn’t question it. He threw on some shoes. Going up to the front door was out of the question, but maybe if he went to her window and tapped quietly. At least he’d be able to hear her voice, know for sure she was okay. He flung open his front door, ready to go barreling outside—

  And Ruth came running up the drive, barefoot and wild. She vaulted up the porch and into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably.