SURGE

by Donna Elliott

  Matthew’s face clouds over momentarily. Believing that he’s finally realized his error, I turn my gaze to Kat. After a small shrug, she closes her eyes. The lids crinkle into tiny folds when her brother’s voice sounds again, and I return my focus to him.

  “Dad says the guys are dead, Mya. Did you kill them like those other two?”

  In the beat of silence that follows, I imagine all sorts of ways to torture young Matthew. Sweat has collected on my forehead and under my nose, so I reach up and wipe my face with both hands.

  Still glaring at Matthew and now biting the inside of my cheek, I don’t notice Kat rising to her feet. She walks into my tunneled vision and stands beside her brother. In slow motion, I watch her hand settle upon his shoulder and clamp tightly. She bends at the waist and puts her face directly in front of Matthew’s. “That’s enough. You aren’t helping anyone right now. Go upstairs and visit with Raul, or I have a feeling that you’re gonna get zapped!”

  His face crumples, and he looks as if he may cry. “But… but they asked.”

  Her eyes never leave his face. Her arm extends toward the stairs, her index finger points, and with quiet calm, she says, “Now.”

  ◌◌◌

  Once our gathering has shrunk to only four, I look at Mom. Her hand is no longer cupping her mouth, but her eyes are still big and round.

  I’ve always heard that “ignorance is bliss.” Evidently, that’s wrong.

  I was truly under the impression that not telling my mother about all the changes happening to me was a kindness to her. With the world going to hell and people killing each other, I thought one more disclosed calamity might not be a good idea.

  “Mom,” I begin.

  Before I can get out another word, she leans forward and reaches her arms toward me. “You killed a dog?” she asks.

  Wow. Out of all of Matthew’s rambling, the statement that I blew up a dog is the most concerning to her.

  “No, Mom,” I say. “I didn’t kill any dog.”

  Her head swivels toward the stairs, and I know that her mind is replaying Matthew’s spiel.

  “No?” she looks at me and squeaks. Then in an even higher pitch, “Did you kill two people?”

  I drop my head and take a couple of cleansing breaths. It’s the end of May, and with the downstairs windows closed and locked for protection, the stagnant air in the dining room feels very stuffy.

  Everyone is waiting for me to respond. I don’t want to lie to my mother, but I would like to find the proper phrasing to limit the number of follow-up questions. I tilt my neck backward and look toward the ceiling for inspiration.

  Very succinctly, I outline the events of the past month and a half. Just like I explained everything to my friends, I tell Mr. Miller and Mom about the new sensations and abilities I have since the flare and the pool. I describe how we tested my new skills with the cereal and stuffed animal, and how I learned of my ability to conduct electricity when I was attacked at the hospital.

  “So, in answer to your question, yes, I believe that I have killed two people. But they were trying to kill me,” I say quickly. “I’m not some rogue murderer. I didn’t kill those two girls in town, and I didn’t kill those two men who attacked us today. That was someone else.”

  I stop talking and lick my lips. When no one says anything, I look across the table. “Mom? What are you thinking?”

  She blinks a couple of times and turns toward Mr. Miller. A silent communication passes between the two, with raised eyebrows and a slightly downward tilt of Mom’s mouth, followed by a shrug and minor head movement from him.

  After a moment’s hesitation Mom turns to me, “I want to see what you can do.”

  I look between the two of them, “So you believe me?”

  “I guess so.” Then pointing to my hand, she says, “Let me see this spark.”

  ◌◌◌

  Even though school classes have been canceled indefinitely, the “show and tell” portion still exists, and I am the reigning queen. The four of us relocate to the kitchen, and I begin a demonstration of my newly-acquired skills.

  Someone finished off the box of Corn Pops, so I make do with another cereal. Kix are small and airy, so I place a few in the sink and blast them into a fine dust. Next, I pour a small amount of water into a coffee mug and bring it to a boil.

  Mr. Miller’s face converts into a huge smile, and he pats me on the back. “That’s one of the best things I’ve seen in a while,” he says. “Can you add a little more, so that I can have a cup of coffee?”

  Happy that he’s not treating me like a freak or criminal, I grab the opened water bottle and add more. I quickly reheat it and reach for a second mug. “Want one too, Mom?”

  She’s still processing everything, but I know my mom likes hot coffee, so I heat some more water and pass a Folger’s singles wrap to her. While they brew their drinks, I return to the pantry.

  “There are some barbecue Vienna sausages in here that look good,” I say to Kat. “Wha’ do you think? Heat up a can?” She’s seen all this before, so she’s just smiling and enjoying the show.

  “I’m sure there are other things that I can do,” I say while placing a bowl of the meat into the microwave and transferring my energy, “but I’m still learning. If there’s something you’d like me to try, I’m open to suggestions.”

  Mr. Miller stirs a small amount of sugar into his drink, takes a sip, and grins. “Fantastic,” he says and briefly closes his eyes.

  “So, electricity just flows from you into the appliance?” asks Mom.

  “I guess. I’m not exactly sure how it works. Eric seems to understand it better than any of us.”

  “And only you kids know about this?”

  I purse my lips and turn to Kat. “There may be others who know,” she says. “Mya thinks the men who broke in here were from the hospital. Matthew ran off at the mouth, and now we’re pretty sure that those two guys know she killed their friend.”

  Mr. Miller takes another sip of his coffee before asking, “How was this person killed?”

  “I was just pushing him off of me,” I say. “It all happened so fast. One minute, I had my hands on his chest, and the next, he was lying on the ground with burn marks in the shape of my hands. I didn’t stick around to see if he would wake up. Those people were killing nearly everyone they saw.”

  Mom is silently nodding her head. She too sips her drink, and everyone is quiet for a moment. Then crinkling her eyes in question, she asks, “So this thing happened to only you? No one else?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I don’t understand it, but no one else sparks.”

  “Eric…,” interrupts Kat.

  “Oh, you’re right.”

  I look at the adults and add, “Something different happened to Eric. He doesn’t spark; he’s like the opposite, or something. He’s like a light switch that turns the electricity off.”

  I can see that Mom and Mr. Miller don’t fully follow my description, so I try to explain a little more.

  “If I’m using the electrical charge, and I touch Eric, the power stops. He turns it off.”

  A new voice in the room startles me, and I jump. “Mya’s special,” says Raul. “Now that you two know, you have to help us protect her.”

  I look up into his face and smile when he walks behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. “We’re lucky those men today are dead,” he says. “They knew what Mya can do. They would’ve told others.”

  Mom is not happy that Raul is no longer resting. “Should you be up?” she asks.

  “I’m fine. I want to make sure that nothing happens to Mya.”

  I place my hand on his wrist to get his attention. “That reminds me,” I say. “I wanted to tell you that I think I saw Patrick Hastings after we got back to the house. He was speeding down the road and heading out of town. I couldn’t see very clearly though.”

  Mr. Miller sets his empty mug on the counter and takes a step forward. “When did you see him, Mya? You didn’
t leave the house on your own, did you? Even if you do have some special abilities, you shouldn’t go off alone. It’s still dangerous. There’s a serial murderer somewhere out there.”

  “I didn’t leave. I just looked around. It’s something else I can do after the flare. I can see things far away. I think maybe it’s like seeing something’s ‘life energy.’ ”

  “And you saw Patrick Hastings?” Mr. Miller asks. “Right after we came back to the house with Raul?”

  “I believe I did,” I say nodding. “He wasn’t on the property. He was on the road, but it looked like he was in a really big hurry.”

  I turn to Raul, “Did he attack you? Did you see his face?”

  “I don’t know, Mya. I told you. I don’t remember.”

  “Maybe I should go over to the commune and have a chat with young Mr. Hastings and his father,” says Kat’s dad.

  Mom walks over and touches Mr. Miller’s arm, “We’ll both go.”

  “I want to go too,” asserts Raul. “Eric needs more rest, so Matthew and Charlie can stay with him. I want to talk to Patrick, and I’m sure that Mya and Kat also would like to hear what he has to say.”

  To my surprise, no one objects. However, since it’s already evening, Mom suggests we wait to finalize our plans until the following day. “Let’s check on Eric in the morning and decide what everyone will do afterward. I want to know what’s going on, but I don’t want to risk Eric’s health.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  A pounding headache keeps Raul bedridden for the next forty-eight hours, so our visit to the compound is delayed. Since I have plenty of time to kill, I practice with the appliances and become the house generator. With Mr. Miller standing watch for any nosy neighbors, I run the vacuum. Kat keeps me company and dusts the rooms, as I clean the carpets.

  Testing my patience, along with my electric skills, I run the washing machine and dryer for five hours. Mr. Miller loads the water and soap, Mom folds and puts away the clothes, Kat and Matthew feed me and keep me company, and I maintain contact with the machines. Although running the laundry machines is a mind-numbing task, I am the first to admit that having clean clothes is worth it.

  Today marks day three after the attack, and both Raul and Eric are cranky and tired of being cooped inside. Eric’s wound is healing nicely, and Raul’s swelling is beginning to decrease. He still has a huge, purple ring around his eye, but it should begin to lighten within a few more days.

  Mr. Miller and Mom decide we’ll head out to the compound this morning.

  Before leaving, Kat and I check all the window and door locks, while Mr. Miller gives Eric a speedy, yet detailed, gun lesson. Mom organizes food, water, and medicine on the living room coffee table, and Eric transfers his bedding to the couch. Matthew and Charlie remain with Eric, and no one is to be allowed into the house until our return.

  Raul and Kat wait beside the front door as I say goodbye to Eric. “Behave,” I say. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

  ◌◌◌

  The compound is on the southeast side of town, so the trip by car takes only a few minutes. It’s still morning when we arrive, and quite a few people are up and about.

  As we exit the vehicle, Reverend Hastings approaches with hands wide and high in the air.

  “Hello friends! Welcome, so glad you found your way here.”

  I look around and am surprised to see how clean and organized this little group appears. I remember what Emily told me about communal living, and the layout of the area supports her description.

  The compound is designed in a simple square with an open courtyard in the middle. Various buildings surround a central gazebo that’s been converted into an outdoor kitchen. To the left of the entrance is a house of worship, complete with pews and stained-glass windows, and the building to the right appears to be a common area with a cafeteria and lounge.

  “Thank you, reverend, but we haven’t come to join you at this time. My name’s Tom Miller, and these people are my family and friends. I’m an officer with our local police department, and I’ve got a few questions that I’d like to ask you and your son, Patrick.”

  With his smile still in place, our host gestures toward the building to our right. “Certainly, but let’s retire inside and break bread first.”

  Screened windows that are open on both sides of the cafeteria provide a cool cross-breeze inside. The temperature is quite comfortable, and the room is very inviting.

  Nearly one-third of the back-room area is allocated to a gaming section. An air hockey table sits covered with puzzles and board games, and a dozen boys and girls cluster around it. I recognize a few faces from school and offer a small wave.

  Two girls jump to their feet and race over. “Kat! Mya! Raul! Omigosh, it’s so good to see you.” Hugs are distributed all around, before they start talking again. “We’ve been wondering how other people are. We heard it isn’t safe in town anymore. Are you guys moving in?”

  “We’re just visiting,” says Kat. “But now that we know you guys are here, we’ll try to visit more often.”

  “Sorry we can’t really talk right now,” interrupts Raul. “Kat’s dad is here to see the reverend, and I’d like to hear what’s said. We’ll try to come back after Mr. Miller finishes up.”

  With more hugs and waves, we cross to the opposite end of the room and sit down at the front table.

  A conversation between the three adults is already underway, and I lean in to hear.

  “…isn’t a bad kid. He’s always been a bit impulsive and easily swayed, but he’d never hurt anyone. Lately, he leaves after lunch and races off in either his mother’s old Ford Focus or my Cadillac. Never says where he’s going or where he’s been. Doesn’t really talk much to anyone these days. I try to reach out to him. I think he just needs a little space.”

  “Well, I’d really like to talk with him,” says Mr. Miller. “It’s possible he saw someone leaving the ranch, and I’d like to know who attacked our kids and killed those two men.”

  “Who’s been killed?” asks a new occupant of the room. I look behind me and discover my old biology teacher carrying a tray of food.

  “Hello Mr. Willows,” I smile and say.

  “Jack,” says Mom. “How’ve you been?”

  “Making do,” he says. “I’ve brought over a few snacks.” Turning to the Reverend, he asks, “Is everything ok, Jonah? Someone’s dead? Is there anything you need me to do?”

  Mr. Willows is briefed on our recent attack and asked to fetch Patrick from his bunk. While we wait, we eat crackers loaded with packaged cheese and sausage. The meat is delicious, and I’m excited to have such a rare treat.

  I look behind us and notice that a similar tray of snacks has been delivered to the kids across the room. I suppose that once the meat and cheese is opened, the entire package needs to be consumed quickly or it’ll go bad.

  I wonder if they eat this way every day, or if today is special because we’re visiting.

  I turn back to the table and see that the food is dwindling away. I reach in for another stack and bump hands with Raul. “Mine,” I say playfully and swat at his hand.

  “Of course,” he says, and picks up a different cracker.

  The plate is nearly empty when Patrick arrives. I’m still angry with him for his actions at the hospital, but I don’t want to create a scene, so I stay silent.

  Patrick looks over our little gathering and smirks. Reaching across the table, he snags the final two crackers, then plops down beside his father.

  “Willows here says you want a word,” he says, gesturing with his food. “Didn’t know we were having a party. Where’s the wine?”

  Patrick has the ability to sour a room as soon as he enters. His father takes a calming breath and speaks, “This police officer would like to know your whereabouts lately. These kids were attacked and say that you were seen in the area.”

  Patrick turns to me and narrows his eyes. “Are you talking about that day out on the highway
? I didn’t touch you, Mya Bernal. What the hell are you complaining about?”

  I start to react, but Mr. Miller jumps in, “We’re talking about three days ago. The kids were working on our garden plot, and a couple of men attacked them. Afterward, someone else came upon the scene and attacked Raul.”

  Patrick switches his attention further down the table. “Someone took you down a peg, huh Raul? Yep, and you’ve got yourself a nice little shiner to prove it.”

  Shoving the last of his snack into his mouth, Patrick sneers and looks at his dad. “I don’t know what they’re talking about. I didn’t go near their stupid garden, and I’d never try to take on Raul. I may not be this year’s valedictorian, but I’m not a complete numbskull.”

  “That’s debatable,” I mutter under my breath.

  Turning to me, Patrick snips, “Did you have something to add to the conversation, Mya? Please share your insight with the rest of the class.”

  “Now’s not the time Patrick,” I offer with a forced smile. “Perhaps later.”

  “Yeah, I thought so. Wouldn’t want your mom to see the real you.”

  Reverend Hastings tries to redirect the conversation. “What were you doing out that way, son?

  “I was just out for a little joyride,” he says and stands. “I didn’t go to Raul’s house, and I didn’t see anyone out on the road.” With those words, he walks away from the table and out the door.

  Giving a slight frown and a sniff of frustration, Reverend Hastings watches his son exit the room. “Well. Perhaps, before you leave, you’d enjoy a tour of our home.” He signals to Mr. Willows, and the men stand. “Jack, why don’t you show Tom and Raul the men’s area, and I’ll show the ladies around.”

  I feel Raul tense beside me, but no one voices any concerns, so we split up.

  ◌◌◌

  Exiting the cafeteria, Reverend Hastings points out various people and directs us to a nearby door. “Even before the flare, we lived simply,” he says. “We don’t have a lot of material extras, but a happy life isn’t contingent upon fancy jewelry, clothes, and money. Rather, we encourage homesteading, education, socialization, and of course, fresh air.”