SURGE

by Donna Elliott

  “I’ll practice Matthew; that’s the main reason we’re out here. But you’ve got to practice too,” I say, swiveling my head toward him. “You can’t be telling people what I can do. I don’t think it’s safe for any of us. So, practice keeping your mouth shut.”

  “I know, I know,” he says contritely. “Kat already gave me a lecture. I won’t say anything. Now, let’s see what else you can do.”

  My first test is a repeat of this morning’s exercise, followed by a couple of enhancements. Near the hill with the cactus, Eric has placed three items: a Pops cereal puff, a small stuffed animal, and a can of cooking spray.

  Serving as the day’s ringmaster, Eric asks the others to have a seat and enjoy the show. “For your personal enjoyment, Mya, the Sovereign of Surge, will now demonstrate her ‘explosive’ powers!”

  I cringe and shake my head at the awful epithet. “Ick,” I say. “I don’t want to be the Sovereign of Surge, or Generator Girl or Enchantress of Energy. Let’s just stick with plain old ‘Mya’ in the future.”

  “Way to kill the vibe,” grumbles Eric. Turning to the others, he waves his hand in my direction, and begins again with a smile, “Lady and gentlemen, for your personal enjoyment, I bring to you today…plain ole’ Mya.”

  I ignore the jab and walk over to the display. Confident in my ability to deal with the corn puff, I lift my right arm and touch the cereal with my index finger. “Pop!” I say. Instantly, the cereal explodes, and I’m rewarded with exclamations of amazement and laughter.

  I don’t have time to enjoy my accomplishment before I hear an impatient Matthew shout, “Do the dog!”

  “Awe,” I say, looking at the cute, stuffed animal. “I don’t want to blow up a dog. I love dogs.”

  “It isn’t real,” says Matthew deliberately.

  “I’m not an idiot,” I respond defensively. “I know it isn’t real. Don’t we have something more vile that I can blow up? Like a stuffed snake?”

  “Blow up the dog, Mya,” says Raul. “Just pretend it belongs to Matthew.”

  I tilt my head in agreement and turn toward the plush toy. Unsure what command to use, I touch the dog and say, “Pop!”

  Like the cereal, the animal explodes, sending bits of white fluff in all directions. The force is so great that the cotton batting flies more than six feet behind me. The large area of debris coverage has me doubting the wisdom of blowing up a can of cooking oil. “I think I’ll pass on the can, Eric,” I say. “It might be unwise to create a fire bomb right now.”

  Eric seems surprised by the power of the blast and readily agrees to postpone the third test. “Why don’t you try projecting your energy? It would be safer if you could blow up something at least ten feet away.”

  I look around skeptically. We’re surrounded by brush, trees and other flammable objects.

  “I don’t want to accidentally start a fire out here,” I say. “What do you suggest I try to blow up?”

  “How about something simple?” he says. “Let’s just practice with some dirt clumps first.”

  Using a few of the extra planks, Raul and Eric construct a makeshift table ten feet away from the garden. Matthew has scouted the area for dirt specimens and places three large pieces on the table.

  “Wha’dya say, Mya?” Matthew asks. “Do you think you can do it?”

  Sitting on the ground with Kat, I raise my shoulders and twitch my head. “I don’t know Matthew. I’ve never wanted to blow up dirt before.”

  The boys are looking expectantly at me, so I stand up. I’m fully willing to perform for my friends, but I don’t know how to channel the current.

  I look over at Eric and ask, “What do you think I should do?”

  “How do you blow up the other things?”

  “I just touch them.”

  “Ok,” he says. “Try pointing at the clumps.”

  I’m beginning to feel a bit self-conscious now, and my cheeks are getting hot. I wipe my hands on my shorts before extending my right arm and index finger. “Uh…? Blow up!” I command.

  When nothing happens, Matthew urges, “Come on, Mya! Try harder!”

  “I am, Matthew. Forgive me if I’m not performing to your level of satisfaction.”

  To lessen my tension, I shake out my arms and roll my shoulders back a few times. I resume my aiming position, grit my teeth, and mumble, “Blow up.”

  When nothing happens for a second time, I drop my arm quickly and slap my leg. “I don’t know how to do it,” I complain. “It’s too far away. I’m not some long-range weapon that just locks on a target and explodes things.”

  “You said ‘pop’ the other times,” says Matthew. “Why don’t you try that?”

  “Because ‘pop’ sounds stupid,” I say. “I don’t want to go around sounding like a movie theater refreshment counter: Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop…Surely, that word can’t work on everything.”

  Putting my theory to the test, I sardonically assume a gunfighter’s stance with legs spread and arms raised. I rest my right hand in the palm of my left and pretend to have a gun. “POP!” I say while pointing across the yard.

  Instantly, all three lumps explode, sending particles of dirt more than fifty feet in all directions. As a small dust storm rains down on everyone, the boys begin cheering, and I hang my head.

  Still singing my praises, Eric walks over and pats me on the back. “That was great, Mya,” he says. “You’re fantastic!”

  He crosses over to where we’d been sitting earlier and picks up the claw hammer. Then placing it on the ground in front of me, he says, “How about something a little different now?”

  Moving my head slightly backward and peering at him through slit eyes, I ask, “Surely, you don’t expect me to blow up a hammer, do you?”

  “No,” he says. “I’d like you to make the metal hot.”

  This isn’t what I expected, and I give him a look of confusion. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “It’s just an exercise,” he says. “I think you can do it. You just need to speed up the atoms that comprise the hammer, and the metal will get hot.”

  My jaw drops, and I look at the others. Everyone is silently staring at Eric. “What the heck?” I snap. “I don’t know anything about moving around atoms. I barely know what atoms are. I have no idea what you want me to do.”

  Eric puffs out his cheeks, exhales slowly, and talks to me as if I were five. “Mya, I think we established earlier this morning that you don’t need to understand the science behind what you do, you simply need to concentrate on the task for it to happen. I merely want to see if you’re capable of making the temperature of the metal rise.”

  Following one swift nod of my head, I focus my gaze on the hammer. “Hot,” I say to myself, “hot, hot, hot.” Thirty seconds pass by, and I’m beginning to feel dumb. “I don’t think it’s working,” I announce. “Do you want me to try touching it?”

  “I think it would be much more beneficial if you didn’t have to touch it to get a reaction,” says Eric, “but you can certainly try. I’m not your boss, Mya. This is your skill, after all.”

  I bend over to pick up the tool, while grumbling under my breath, “heat up, you stupid hammer; get hot.” Just as my fingers connect with the head and claw, I remember a very basic rule that my mother taught me years ago: cold metal and hot metal look the same.

  I jerk my hand away and glance up to see everyone watching. “Yup, it’s hot,” I say. “I think that’s enough practice for today.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  A change in the weather traps everyone inside for the next two days. A steady downpour fills the pool, pounds the roof, and rattles the windows. Conscious of the need to collect as much water as possible, everyone works together to refill the tubs and position the large plastic containers near the drainage areas of the house.

  By the second day, our unified desire to be clean has us escaping outside in small groups with bars of soap and shampoo. Mom, Kat, and I set up a small screened area on th
e back porch and use it for privacy. Although Kat and I washed our hair and sponged off the other day, we’re thrilled to be able to shower and feel completely clean.

  After making sure I’ve gotten soap in every crease and crevice, I bundle myself in a wet towel and run inside to get dressed. Once Mom and Kat have finished, the guys rush out for their showers.

  Without a weather forecast, we have no way of knowing just how long the rain will last. It’s a good soaking, though, and should help the seeds we recently planted.

  To pass time, we have various “play stations” set up in the house. A partially completed puzzle of Mount Rushmore covers the dining room table, wooden blocks from Jenga are stacked on the kitchen counter, and cards, dice, and gambling chips are in the living room. The upstairs is a designated quiet zone for sleeping, reading, and keeping watch outside.

  ◌◌◌

  Once the rain stops, we return to the garden and discuss the need to protect it. Eric wants a double barrier and suggests we use razor wire for the outer perimeter. Luckily, fence posts are fairly easy to install after the recent drenching; and within a couple of hours, the five of us have the stakes firmly in the ground. Eric begins plotting how to arrange the wire, while Matthew and Kat check the traps they set the other day.

  Needing a break from all the activity, I decide to wander and stretch my legs. I remember all the bugs living in the nearby hill and walk in the opposite direction. Joining me, after a quick discussion with Eric, Raul brings over a bottle of water and offers me a swig. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m good,” I say, smiling as I accept the drink.

  “I’ve noticed you haven’t been using your new ability lately,” he says. “Does it drain you when you create the charge?”

  “It’s not like exercising,” I say. “Maybe if I tried to use it for a long time, I might get tired, but I haven’t felt any different.”

  I take a sip of the water and continue, “I don’t know why the current doesn’t kill me, but I guess until it does, I should keep practicing and see what else I can do.”

  Raul reaches out his right hand, and with the tips of his fingers, runs a gentle caress down my left arm. “Just be careful,” he says. His fingers slip down to my hand and loosely intertwine with mine.

  It’s a warm day, with very little air flowing, and my own temperature is now rising. A gentle pull on my arm directs me to walk with him beyond a couple of thickets, to the far side of a nearby tree. Once we are beyond sight of the others, he stops and turns to me.

  My lips part when he tugs me close, and I tilt my head back to see his face. A slight blush colors my cheeks, and my pulse begins to race. Leaning forward, Raul places his forehead lightly against mine.

  His left hand cups my cheek, and he lowers his head further. Soft lips caress my ear and kiss the sensitive skin of my neck. His quiet exhale tickles, and I drop the water bottle when I hear him tease, “I don’t want anything to happen to my Enchantress of Energy.”

  ◌◌◌

  A scream breaks the spell, and I push away from Raul. “That’s Kat!”

  In my haste, I fail to notice a protruding branch, and I trip. A briar from a neighboring mesquite tree drives into the flesh of my left cheek, and the skin splits when Raul hastily pulls me to my feet. A lone tear of blood courses down my face, as I rush toward my friends.

  My short legs don’t run very fast, and the dust that’s kicked up by Raul’s steady stride gets in my eyes and clouds my vision. I enter the garden area and see two scary-looking men scuffling on the ground with Eric and Kat. One is covered in ink, and the other is pudgy with a shaved head.

  Charging in like an angry bull, Raul snatches an extra fence plank from the ground and swings it toward the skinhead. With a loud “thwap,” the man rolls onto his side, leaving a stunned Kat lying in the dirt. Reversing direction and swiftly dropping the board, Raul pounces on the man, and his fists fly.

  I rush forward and grab my friend under her arms. “It’s me,” I say, and begin lifting her. She lets out another cry of fear, but stops quickly and allows me to help her stand.

  Kat’s shirt is torn at the neck and four red lines cut across her collarbone, where fingernails clawed. Dirt clings to her face, and her dark eyes are filled with tears.

  “Mya!” she whimpers. “Who are they? Why are they attacking us?”

  I shake my head while dragging her toward the fence. “I don’t know, Kat. There are a lot of bad people around these days.” We stop, and she looks at me. “You need to get help,” I say, and push her toward the house. “Go get your dad.”

  Kat’s nose is running, and she’s crying in earnest now. “Come with me.”

  “I’m going to try to help the boys,” I say, grabbing the coil of razor wire. “There are things that I can do. I’m staying here.”

  She gives me a timid nod, tells me to be careful, and scurries down the path. I watch until she disappears around the corner, then run back into the fray.

  Eric’s attacker is a thin, pale-skinned man wearing jeans and a black muscle shirt. Flame tattoos completely cover both of his arms, traveling up his neck and stopping at his chin. Little skulls decorate his jaw, and shiny gold crowns cover his front teeth.

  Having regained their footing, Eric and “Tattoo Guy” are now breathing heavily while circling each other. I stand by helplessly as a flaming hand reaches into a back pocket and pulls out a wicked, steel butterfly knife. The handles are expertly flipped, and the inner coffin-shaped blade suddenly appears.

  Fear shows on Eric’s face, and he jumps backward as the tip swings near, yet misses. The flamed hand strikes out again; and this time, it slices through Eric’s shirt, leaving a thin, red line across his upper body. He cries out in surprise and grabs his chest, while a slimy red tongue glides across gold teeth, releasing an ugly laugh of satisfaction.

  As I glance around trying to form a plan of attack, my attention is drawn to the weapon. It’s metal, just like the hammer.

  A fast peek to my right shows Raul has taken down the other attacker, so I focus my energy in the opposite direction. I look at the knife and concentrate until my vision narrows. The tingling in my arms begins and white flashes distort my view. “Hot, hot, hot,” I mouth silently to myself, “hot knife, burning hot.”

  Like the performance of a scripted scene, I watch surprise and pain register on the painted man’s face, just as gold teeth open wide and a piercing scream reaches my ears. The butterfly knife seems to sprout wings as it leaves the man’s hand and launches into the air.

  Pleased with my defensive strike, I smirk while watching the man look down at his rising blisters. My enjoyment is short-lived; however, for when I look at Eric, his shirt is now stained with blood, and his face looks drained. He makes eye contact with me, gives me a thumbs-up, and collapses to his knees.

  “No!” I scream. “NO!”

  I rush in front of Eric and shriek at the tattooed man. “Get away from him! Get away from us, or I’ll KILL you!”

  Even though his hand is burned, and his knife is gone, the man advances. “Kill me?” he asks with a sneer. “You stupid bitch, you dead already. I’m just playin’ wit’ you.”

  I really don’t like that word, and my hackles rise as soon as the insult registers. With my chin slightly lowered, I squint at the man, drop the coil of wire, and flex my fingers. As my back muscles tense, I hunch my shoulders and curve my spine. My upper lip twitches, and my energy sensations escalate.

  “Well then,” I growl, “let’s play.”

  ◌◌◌

  Just as I’m preparing to focus an energy blast, Matthew runs into the clearing.

  “Everybody stop!” he yells, while pointing a gun toward my nemesis. “Drop to the ground, and put your hands behind your head.”

  The sudden command startles me, and when I turn at the sound, the tattooed man grabs my arm and pulls me to his chest.

  Still pointing the gun in our direction, Matthew frantically screams, “Let her go!”
<
br />   “Nah,” says the creep. “Think I’ll keep this one. She got some spunk in her.”

  Tired of the banter, I lift my right hand and loosely wrap my fingers around his confining arm. “I think you should’ve done what he asked,” I whisper. “Now, it’s too late.”

  Before he can respond, I gather my energy and let it surge down my arms. I calmly place my left hand on his thigh and release the charge.

  Behind me, I can feel the effects of my touch. My attacker’s body spasms, and his hold on me relaxes. I maintain my grasp, and the force of electricity keeps his body upright behind me.

  I turn my head to the left and lock eyes with my stunned victim. “I told you that I would kill you,” I breathe out in hushed tones.

  I’m preparing to up the intensity of my shock when the guy suddenly collapses behind me. Matthew and Raul race over, flip the man onto his back, and drag his body to where his unconscious partner lays.

  Raul claps the younger boy on the shoulder and praises, “Very brave of you, Matthew. It was a bit rash, but much appreciated. Thanks.”

  “I saw where you keep the gun, so I just grabbed it and ran back.”

  “That was good,” says Raul. “Help me tie these guys up with some of that snare rope. Then we’ll figure out what to do with them.”

  Angered by the turn of events, I stay motionless and silently gaze at the surrounding brush. I chew the inside of my lower lip and blink once to clear the flashes from my vision. I breathe in deeply and release the air, while I calm down.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” I bite out.

  “I couldn’t let you, Mya. You’d regret it.”

  Bending my neck so I can look down at Eric, I see his outstretched hand still wrapped around my ankle.

  “He wanted to kill you, Eric,” I whisper forcefully. “I don’t understand you. He would have killed us all, and you turned off my charge. You saved him.”

  The heat and exertion from the day has colored Eric’s cheeks a dark red. They puff out a bit when he releases a loud huff. “You’re right, Mya. He’s a bad man, but I didn’t want you to suffer from knowing you killed another person. I didn’t save him, Mya. I was trying to save you.”