SURGE

by Donna Elliott

  “Be careful,” she says, loosely grasping his arm. “Be smart. Don’t do anything rash.” Then stepping closely, she whispers, “Please come back.”

  Both Raul and Eric get up and run to Mr. Miller. “We want to come with you,” says Eric.

  “I know you do,” says Mr. Miller, “but I need you both here until I find out what’s happening. I’ll check for any news on your parents, and I’ll return as soon as I can. Please stay with Matthew and the women. We have no phones and no radios, so there’s no way for us to communicate unless you stay here.”

  He grips a shoulder of each boy and continues, “I’ll be back by morning. I promise.”

  Chill bumps swell on my arms, and a shiver runs down my spine. I watch in fear as another of our little group disappears.

  It’s dreadfully quiet once Mr. Miller leaves. Mom walks over to the table and begins cleaning up. She’s giving us a little privacy, but no one seems interested in talking.

  I need a reprieve from all the horror of the day, so I cross to my bedding, make room for Charlie, hug Matilda Mouse tightly, and curl into a ball. Moments later, a tearful Kat silently joins me, and we fall asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Blood and death haunt my dreams, causing me to wake several times throughout the night. Charlie is loyal and remains with me until daylight beckons him outside, then he befriends my mother. I’m not ready to face another day, so I roll over and try to sleep a bit longer.

  Across the room, a pillow muffles the sound of someone’s misery. The quiet crying weighs heavily on me. Mr. Miller has yet to return, and with each passing hour, the tension in the barn grows.

  Unable to endure the smothering pressure any longer, I rise and exit through the back door.

  Whatever happened to me in the pool is spreading now. My hands itch, my arms tingle, and my other senses are heightened.

  The gravel under my feet shifts and loudly grinds with each step I take. A breeze whistles around me and lifts my hair. I crouch low and can actually feel the life energy from a parade of ants marching nearby. I close my eyes and try searching for other connections.

  A reddish darkness behind my eyelids flashes. With my eyes still closed, I swivel my head left, then right. Every living form around me is defined in a golden outline. I recognize each thing, from the tiny ants to the large black vultures. The more I concentrate, the farther I can “see.”

  My senses show me that inside the barn, Mom is setting out breakfast items, while Charlie dances beneath her feet in hopes of a stolen morsel. Kat sleeps soundly, Raul is tangled in his blankets, and Matthew is just now getting up. To my surprise, I “see” Eric now standing twenty feet away from me, crossing through the grass, over hundreds of miniscule insects and critters.

  “Hello Eric,” I say, without turning to face him.

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “Lucky guess,” I lie, then open my eyes and slowly rotate.

  A bright glow outlines Eric’s body, and I have to squint to see him clearly. His face is blotchy, and his eyes are red; he looks as tired as I feel. I can’t bring myself to say anything else, so I blink and look at the ground.

  “Could we talk, Mya?”

  “Sure,” I say, and turn to walk toward the big oak. “Shall we sit?”

  Approaching the tree, I stop abruptly. I can still “see” the surrounding life forces, and I never realized how many bugs are all over the place. My senses are just about to overload, when Eric bumps into me. He reaches out and grabs my arms to steady himself, and my sensations instantly calm down.

  I’m so surprised by the marked decrease in my perceptions and awareness that I jump and nearly fall down. “How did you do that?” I ask.

  “Do what? Run into you? Sorry, but you stopped really quickly.”

  I look down and notice that he still has a hold on my arm. When he sees the direction of my attention, he removes his hand. Once again, the sensations surge, and the bugs are back.

  “No, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m still not feeling well.” I place my hand on his forearm and am relieved to feel a decrease in the intensity of my surroundings.

  Somehow, Eric is a dimmer switch for my affliction.

  As we sit, I make sure that my knee stays in contact with his leg. Without having to worry about all the insects, I’m able to focus on Eric.

  “What will Mr. Miller find at the hospital?”

  “Are you sure you want to talk about this, Eric? I told you that I didn’t see your parents. They may have gotten out. Maybe we should just wait until he comes back.”

  “I want to know everything you saw,” he says. “I need to know. Please?”

  For a moment, I sit quietly and let images from yesterday’s horror fill my thoughts. The morning air is tinged with a slight burning smell, and I’m reminded of the charred bodies in town and the two electrocuted bodies I left in the hospital.

  A small shiver runs down my arms and back. Then, focusing on the blades of grass by my right hand, I begin a more detailed explanation than the one I gave last night.

  “Emily and I were collecting bedsheets and towels. She asked me to close the blinds, and as I did, I saw a bunch of people run into the hospital.”

  Tears begin to stream down my face, but I continue. Omitting only the electrical surges that I experienced, I reveal all that I remember.

  I tell him about the gunshots and getting taken upstairs, Patrick and his friends, the cafeteria filled with bodies and blood, and the greasy attacker who fired the bullet into Emily’s chest.

  “I’m sorry, Eric. I don’t know if I could’ve done anything differently. I feel terrible. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

  I look up, and Eric is crying. Gently, I reach over, lay my head on his chest, and wrap my arms around his waist. His hands settle on my back, and his chin rests on the top of my head.

  Instantly, I’m shielded from my overwhelming senses and sink into the dark and quiet that floods my mind.

  My tears still flow, but they’re silent and mollifying, like a hard rain that washes away dead leaves and other debris. Eric’s strong embrace is a cocoon of insulation that quiets almost all of the energy impulses around me and removes all the flashing lights and shapes behind my closed eyelids.

  So relaxed am I, that I don’t notice Raul standing in the distance and frowning at the picture Eric and I present.

  ◌◌◌

  The sound of an approaching vehicle brings everyone outside. Mr. Miller’s face is a picture of tragedy as he looks from Eric to Raul, shaking his head back and forth. Turning to his own children, he pulls them close and whispers their mother’s death.

  Guilt floods my conscience as I look at my mom. I don’t know why I was spared any loss, but I’m grateful.

  Like little ducklings, we enter the barn behind Mr. Miller and cluster around him on a blanket. Snuggling his distraught children, he provides an update on the hospital situation.

  “By the time I arrived last night, the chief, several deputies, and a number of people from town had already stormed the hospital. I shared the information Mya gave me and stuck around to help with the arrangements of the injured and the identification of the dead. I’ve been told that several of the thugs escaped. We rounded up some more this morning. Four, including Patrick and Miguel, are sitting in a cell, and another five or so are waiting to be buried. Reverend Hastings tried to argue for Patrick’s release, but right now, he’s staying put behind bars.”

  Turning to Raul, he takes a deep breath and continues, “Your parents and my wife were inside one of the patient care rooms on the first floor. The room showed signs of a struggle, and I think Pedro put up quite a fight. I think he did his best to protect the women.”

  Matthew bows his head and leans into his father, just as Kat releases a wail of agony. Crying in earnest, she buries her face in Mr. Miller’s chest and extends her hand toward her brother.

  Scooting closer to Raul, I lean in and reach for him. His arms hang limply
by his sides, and he stares wordlessly. His focus shifts to the floor before he turns to me, pulls me into a tight hug, and then slowly pushes me away. “Excuse me,” he says very softly. “I need some air.”

  Mr. Miller clears his throat, “Eric, I’m sorry, but your mom and dad were located in the cafeteria. I believe they didn’t suffer, and that death was quick. I was unable to locate your sister. There are still a lot of bodies to be processed, but I wanted to get back here and give you all an update.”

  The room is quiet. So many are dead.

  “Tom?” says Mom, “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Elsa. I think we need to focus on our own survival right now. Food and water will start running low soon. Tempers are already flaring, and it’s not safe in town.”

  Pulling his children to their feet, Mr. Miller stands and begins to walk across the room to where his bedding lies. He pauses for a moment and looks over his shoulder to my mom. “This disaster is a long way from being over. We need to stay alert. This won’t be our last trial. Who knows how people will react when their families begin dying from illness and starvation.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  We hold a group meeting the following morning and decide to move everyone to the shelter and comfort provided at the DeLaPortilla’s main house. The home is large and has plenty of sleeping spaces. It’s been a couple of weeks since the flare, so Mr. Miller and Eric think any further threat from an electrical fire should be minor.

  Transferring the majority of the food and supplies takes a full day. For safety, we decide to stay off the main road, and everyone makes multiple trips across the dirt path. Once the food is stashed, and the weapons are secure, we split off into small groups for some much-needed privacy.

  The following few days pass in a blur of anger, frustration, and tears. Everyone’s temper is short, and Raul and Eric often seclude themselves.

  Mr. Miller has been in contact with the police chief, who says that in addition to the chaos from the hospital massacre, he’s looking into the murder of the two young girls. The investigations are hampered by the lack of both man power and electrical power, and everyone in Harrow is beginning to show signs of stress from worry, limited food, and fear.

  Townspeople who were once neighborly and caring are now suspicious and withdrawn. Those previously in favor of the commune are now skeptical about its safety, and many townspeople have decided to commandeer abandoned houses, rather than move in with people they don’t know.

  Along with Kat, Mom and I visit our house and find it untouched by the fire or any unwelcome visitors. We pile every edible morsel and seasoning into the trunk of our car and fill the back seat with clothes and other odds and ends. Deciding it’s in our best interest to remove some of the grime from our bodies, we use a portion of our collected water to sponge bathe, then change into fresh, clean clothes.

  We return to Raul’s place, and after several more awkward days, a sort of numbness encompasses our little group. Focusing mainly on survival, a daily routine regarding food, work, and sleep begins to develop. Mr. Miller walks into town every day, while my mom cleans, plans the menus, and assigns household duties. The rest of us have free time between chores.

  Today, the five of us are asked to dig a garden plot. Mom wants to get the beans and summer vegetables planted before our food supply gets any lower. Mr. Miller, Eric, and Raul were able to prime the pump yesterday, so we should be able to keep the plants watered.

  With two shovels, a hoe, and a rake, we set out for an open area nearby. It’s a beautiful sunny day, and a soft breeze is flowing. A bird sings in the distance, and red and orange lantana color the ground.

  “My mom always liked the bright flowers,” says Matthew wistfully. “I wish she could see them now.”

  Raul is in a foul mood, and his words are filled with spite. “Well, at least you have a pa who can see it,” he gripes. “Eric and I don’t have a ma or a pa anymore.”

  Matthew shifts his eyes toward the ground and drops his shoulders as he continues walking. “I didn’t mean anything against you Raul. I just miss my mom and wish she could see the flowers that she always liked.”

  “Yeah, well, she can’t now, can she?” Raul spits out. “None of us has a mom anymore…except for Mya.”

  The negative energy level around me is steadily building, and I’m beginning to be uncomfortable with the tone of this discussion, so I try to deflect Raul’s anger by changing the subject. “How much farther is it, Raul?”

  He gives a short grunt before responding. “It’s about twenty feet around the next curve, Mya…but what I’d like to know is, why are we all taking orders from your mom? Who put her in charge?”

  “She isn’t in charge,” I say calmly. “She’s just doing her best to help keep us all safe and fed.”

  Raul stops walking and spins toward me. His eyes are small slits, and angry words spew from his mouth, “Females! They’re all the same…Well, she isn’t my mother, and this isn’t her land. It’s my land…my house.”

  Kat has been walking quietly beside me, but the moment she feels that I’m being attacked, she enters the conversation. “Raul, no one’s trying to take your land, and no one’s trying to replace your mother. We’re all hurting. Can’t we just work together to help each other feel better?”

  As if he hates Kat, Raul sneers at her. “Help each other feel better,” he parrots. “What’s she got to feel bad about?” he asks, pointing at me with his shovel. Then he turns and begins stomping down the path. “So sorry you’re hurting, Mya,” he snidely shouts, “what can we possibly do to help you?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he makes brief eye contact with Kat, before turning back around. “Why do we need to make her feel better?” he asks. “Her life’s great. She’s even got somebody’s dog to keep her company.”

  We round the curve and walk into a flat, open area, just as I reach my breaking point. “Yeah, Raul,” I reply sarcastically. “My life’s just great. I’ve had the great privilege of seeing a bunch of bullet-riddled people, of smelling the great odor of their blood all over the place. I’ve had the great fortune of watching two people get murdered right before my eyes…”

  “You haven’t lost anything!” he cuts me off and yells. “Your life is exactly the same as it was two weeks ago! You don’t have any idea how any of us feel!”

  Raul is angry with the entire world right now, and he’s lashing out at me to make himself feel better. His taunting is a verbal challenge, and I rise to the bait.

  “You know nothing,” I heatedly reply. “I know change…as much as any of you.”

  I stop walking and can feel Raul’s rage, combined with anxiety from the others. The energy force surging around me is powerful, and my vision is beginning to cloud with streaks of yellow and white.

  “Yea, poor little Mya,” Raul mocks. “Can’t talk on her phone right now or drink an icy soda…such a horrible change to have to suffer through.”

  Heat pools in my stomach and stings my back. Like water slowly running across my body, the sensation spreads, and my irritation grows.

  “Enough,” I say, pointing the rake handle toward him.

  My legs tremble and my nose flares, but Raul continues to force the issue. His upper lip curls, and he tilts his head slightly downward.

  “No, Mya. This is my land. I decide when enough is enough.”

  My anger builds, and my heart rate climbs. My breathing quickens, and a red hue covers all I see.

  “ENOUGH!” I scream. The fever spreads to my chest and face. Hot energy courses down my arms, and my hands begin to shake. Sparks flutter along the tips of my fingers, and as I scream once more, I slam the rake tines down.

  Electric current pummels the ground and churns the soil. Energy swirls around all of us and knocks the others to the ground. The force of the blast whips at my clothes and hair, but I hold strong to the tool and remain upright.

  For a full minute after my outburst, all is quiet.
Startled faces look up at me.

  I tighten my lips, and with hooded eyes, I slowly look from Kat, to Matthew, to Eric, and finally, to Raul.

  I intensify my gaze, and with a voice now devoid of all emotion, I speak.

  “You lost your parents, and for that, I’m sorry and sad for you, but open your eyes, Raul. Look around. Nothing is as it was. No one is unchanged.”

  Stepping toward him, I release the rake. I splay my hands in front of me, so he can see my still sparkling palms.

  “Loss isn’t measured only in the number of family members who have died, Raul. I have lost also. I have lost myself.

  ◌◌◌

  I’m drained from the outburst and join the others on the ground. With eyes wide and mouth open, Matthew sprawls to my left and stares at me. The anger in Raul’s face is now gone, replaced by a look of amazement. Eric’s lips are pursed, and I can tell he’s analyzing what just happened. Even Kat seems unsettled.

  No one speaks or moves. I inhale the cool, spring air a few times and look at my hands. Dirt particles have gathered under a couple of my nails, and I begin to pick at the tips in an effort to clean them.

  “Mya,” squeaks Matthew’s now changing voice. “What was that? What just happened?”

  Not taking my eyes off of my fingers, I reply, “That…was Raul making me angry, I suppose.”

  Raul makes a gruff sound from his throat and peevishly asks, “You glow and blow things up when you’re mad?”

  My nostrils spread, and I glare at him with raised eyebrows. “Trying to annoy me some more?”

  Clumps of disturbed soil lie all around us; quietly, Eric bends over and crushes a glob in his palm. He licks his lips, bobs his head once, and using the hoe as a cane, he stands.

  We all watch as Eric surveys the damage to the immediate area. Then a small grin forms on his face, and he says, “So, I think this looks like a pretty good place for the garden.”