A Buried Spark

by P. J. Hoover

I cock my head, thinking this through. “She gave me the ax. And Taylor the bow. And she showed me where Cole was.”

  “Which was where?” Taylor says.

  I shudder at the memory of the creatures, and I fill Taylor and Zachary in on what I saw and what happened.

  Zachary runs a hand through his hair. “They sound like destroyers.”

  “Destroyers?” Cole asks.

  “What are destroyers?” Taylor says.

  The wind still whips around us, but with our faces toward each other, we do somewhat of a good job keeping it out.

  “Destroyers are something the ancient gods came up with. Creatures formed from primordial essence. They’re bred for nothing but destruction, like their name implies. They grow, and when their eggs are planted in the ground, they destroy everything. Eventually they burn out and die, but not until they’ve completed their job. Never before they’ve completed their job.”

  I think of the sword, bubbling away in the acid of their blood after slicing through them. A weapon might work to kill one of them, but I’m not sure how to fight an army of them. And what I’d seen was an army, waiting for its moment to attack.

  “What do we do about them?” Cole asks.

  Zachary presses his lips together as he thinks. “Well, for starters, we do not let any more of them out of the storage jars. If they never hatch, they shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “That’s great advice,” I say. “But I wasn’t the one who released the first one. It was alive in there. It shook the jar. Made it fall to the floor. What about that?”

  “Yeah, that’s a problem,” Zachary says.

  “Solved how?” Taylor says. Her eyes are scanning, her mind working through visions of the future. “Because if I can believe what I’m seeing here, eighty percent of the time I see those things crawling all over the earth, leaving death in their trail.”

  “Those aren’t very good odds,” Cole says.

  “Those odds suck,” Taylor says. “Ninety-five percent of Earth is wiped out by destroyers.”

  Earth is already is bad shape. If the destroyers get loose, even if we can bring everyone back from storage, there won’t be anything left to bring them back to. And they won’t be able to fight the destroyers.

  Zachary turns to Cole. “What do you remember about the warehouse?”

  Cole’s face pulls tight. “Not much. I woke up there. I was already tied up at that point. And then . . . well, it’s not like I had much of a chance to look around.”

  The memories of Cole’s screams run through my mind. He’d been tortured in an effort to get the power out of him. I try not to think about it, or about how well I would have done under the same circumstances.

  “So you don’t know how to get there?” Zachary says.

  Cole shakes his head.

  “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” I say.

  “We’ll have to,” Zachary says. “Because if we don’t, none of us will care who gets to Main Control Room Alpha first. All we’ll care about is—”

  A giant explosions stops his words. In the distance, through the dust, a giant fireball fills the air. It sends smoke and dust everywhere. The impact knocks me over.

  “We need to get out of here,” I say, trying to keep all three of my friends in sight.

  Nobody disagrees. We link hands and make our way across the dusty land. The wind and heat push against us, almost like they want to hold us there in the middle of the desert we’re crossing. But we can’t stay there. Whatever this zone holds is ahead.

  Another explosion rocks the world behind us.

  We run, stumbling but trying to keep a straight line. Bits of shrapnel fall from above, remnants of the explosion. We have to get out of here.

  “Someone is hunting us,” I manage to stay to Cole. With one hand I’m holding onto him, with the other, Zachary. Taylor leads the way, keeping what I hope is a good hold on Zachary’s other hand.

  “Who?” Cole shouts amid the whipping wind.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But they’ve been here since the start. They’re trying to kill us.”

  Cole actually smiles. “So everything is like normal then?”

  A small grin slips onto my face. “I guess so.”

  Another explosion, closer this time. But the only consolation is that the air is clearing, filling with mist instead of dust. The ground gets softer, too. I look down to see moist soil instead of the hard-packed dirt. One foot slips, and I slow to a walk. Cole’s having a harder time of it with the crutch. With each step, it sinks a good three inches into the soft soil.

  “Do you guys hear that?” Zachary asks.

  Far in the distance, the wind still whips around, but it’s all behind us. Ahead of us is a different sound. A fresh, welcome sound.

  “Water,” Taylor says. She spits on the ground. Her saliva is filled with dust from the area we’ve just crossed.

  I edge forward, carefully placing each step. Fog is thick in the air, but it’s also rising, exposing a pond ahead of us. It’s fed by a small creek that bubbles over rocks. Immediately my sensors go on high alert. It reminds me too much of the babbling brook in the garden we’d crossed so long ago.

  “Don’t go near it,” I say to the others.

  Zachary is the closest to it. He turns to look at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “Are you kidding? My mouth is filled with dust,” he says.

  I hold up a finger. “Just wait. It could be poisoned.”

  But Zachary only shakes his head. “It’s not poisoned. Look.” He points to fish that swim around in the water. They’re bright orange, koi, unless I’m mistaken.

  There must be at least ten fish, and they swim and float like they don’t have a care in the world. They’re mesmerizing, and I can’t pull my eyes away from them. Taylor bends down and dips a hand in the water. The fish slowly move away. She scoops out the water and lifts it to her mouth. I open my mouth to tell her I’m not sure if that’s a good idea, but then my vision swims.

  It’s okay, Edie, Raven says in my mind. She’s there, filling the space on my heads-up display. You can drink the water.

  “But . . . ,” I start. There must be a good reason to not drink the water.

  Raven shakes her head, her long dark hair slowly moving side to side. It’s fine. The water won’t hurt you.

  I blink, trying to get her out of my heads-up display, but she stays there.

  Edie, would I lie to you? Raven says.

  This comment is enough to stir me from the vision. Raven would definitely lie to me. She admitted that Chaos is forcing her to help him.

  “You would,” I say aloud.

  Raven softly smiles. True. But you have to drink the water. It’s the only way to get through this zone.

  That right there may be the only truth that’s come out of her mouth. I nod slowly.

  Taylor drank it and she’s still standing. Maybe Raven talked to her, too.

  I step forward and squat down. Cole is next to me.

  “Don’t leave me, okay?” I say.

  He brushes some hair off my cheek, pushing it behind my ear. “Don’t leave me. Ever.”

  From off to my left, Zachary clears his throat. “I think we have to drink it,” he says.

  I nod. Then instead of dipping my hand into the water, I press my face down to it and drink deeply.

  I let the water wash the dirt and grime from my face. I hold back my hair even though I’d love nothing so much as to take a shower and get clean. I’m sure I have dust deep in my ear canals.

  The water is vibrant blue, and the bubbles from where the creek feeds into it drift across the surface. Each time they pop, a musical note fills the air, like someone tapping on a xylophone. There’s a hint of sweetness in the water. It reminds me of sucking on a honeysuckle. Just a drop and yet the perfect amount.
>
  From off to the side, a noise brings me back to the present. Someone is walking away. I can’t tell who it is because I can’t see their face. I stand and wipe the water from where it drips off my chin.

  “Hey, who’s there?” I call. I’m the only one still standing in the clearing. Not five minutes ago, there were more of us. I try to remember who, but the names escape me. But I’m sure I should be with them.

  I look back to the water. One more small sip won’t hurt. I dip my hand in and hold it to my mouth, letting the water trickle into my mouth. Having the dirt and dust off me is a little slice of heaven. Why was I so dirty anyway?

  On the other side of the pond is a row of bushes. They have bright pink flowers, and bees buzz around them, collecting the nectar. A path leads through the bushes but it’s pretty well overgrown. Still, I’d seen someone going that way. If I follow the path, I can find them.

  I push through the bushes. “Hello?” I say. The row of bushes is thick, and soon I’m immersed in them. I look back, but I can’t see the way I came from yet. Then something stings me on the right forearm.

  I swat at the bee, watching it fall to the ground. My arm immediately swells up red, and I scratch it in case there’s a stinger inside. Then I push forward. The row of bushes finally ends. I hold them apart and step through, letting them fall closed behind me. Ahead of me are dozens of people wandering around, cloaked in gray, like all color has been removed from the world.

  I turn to look behind me, but the colorful bushes are gray also. No sign of pink flowers. No sign of bees. Just shades of gray.

  I step forward and walk to the closest person I see.

  “Hey,” I say, tapping on his arm. It’s a guy, maybe my age. He’s got cropped blond hair and a thin build, like a runner.

  His eyes meet mine and light up in slight recognition. “Hey, it’s you,” he says. “I have something for you.”

  “For me?” I don’t know him. I can’t imagine why he would know me.

  “Well, yeah,” he says. “The girl with the curly brown hair and the gray eyes. That sure sounds like you.”

  I can’t see myself to know if he’s right.

  “I know it sounds crazy, but this giant snake told me I’m supposed to give something to you,” he says.

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know. Something I stole earlier. Not sure what it’s for. But I guess I stole it for you.”

  He doesn’t reach out and hand me anything. Instead words flash across the front of my eyes, briefly. They’re gone before I can read them.

  “Thanks,” I say, unsure what just happened. Whatever it was, it’s done now.

  “Yeah, no problem.”

  I leave him there and continue forward. But each step I take, I can’t remember what I’m doing here. There is some reason—there must be—but I can’t place it.

  XXVI

  I watch people walk around. Nobody seems to care where they’re going. They wander along, stopping and staring, as if they’re trying to think of something but can’t quite remember what. I don’t know why they care. I’m not sure why it matters.

  Someone bumps into me from behind. It stirs me from my thoughts.

  “Sorry,” they say.

  I turn to see a guy looking at me. He’s tall, well over six feet, and he has spikey blond hair. He’s pretty well built, and when I finally turn around, he smiles.

  “I wasn’t watching,” he says. “I didn’t mean to run into you.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay.”

  “No, really, I’m sorry.”

  It’s not a big deal, but I guess he wants to talk or something.

  “Okay, this is a really weird question,” he says. “But do you know your name?”

  I laugh out loud. It’s the silliest question I’ve ever heard. “Sure. It’s . . .” But the second I try to actually pull my name into my mind, it slips away. Weird symbols seem to float over my vision, but I ignore them.

  “You can’t remember, right?”

  I place my hands on my hips and draw for my name again. “It’s . . .” But it seems like the harder I try to remember it, the more it slips away.

  He smiles again. A really great smile that instantly makes me like him. “Me either. I can’t remember it. It’s so weird, right?”

  “Really weird,” I say. I blink a few times, still trying to grab my name, because what kind of person forgets their own name?

  “Glad I’m not the only one,” the guy says.

  It is a small amount of consolation. And a voice seems to whisper across the colorless expanse of people. Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

  The voice must be right. It’s better off this way.

  “Do I know you?” the guy says.

  I tilt my head and study him. A memory nags at the back of my mind. It pushes against his smile, like it wants to be heard. There is something about him. Something familiar. Something . . .

  “I think so,” I say.

  He blows out a long breath of relief. “Good, I feel the same way. But I can’t remember. But you know, if we both don’t remember then maybe that’s a good thing.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say. “Where were you before this?”

  I ask not so much because I’m curious, but because I’m hoping it will answer my own questions. I’m here now. But before now . . . I don’t know.

  Something moves off to the left. Something huge that is hidden by the crowd. I turn, but whatever it was, it’s gone. Kids like me walk about, looking as confused by all this as I am.

  “Before now?” he says. His eyes light up, and his mouth opens the smallest amount. He remembers, and he’s going to tell me.

  “Yeah. Before you got here,” I say.

  But then he shakes his head. “I was . . . somewhere. But you know what? I don’t think it matters. I think maybe this place is all that matters.”

  I nod, processing his words. I don’t know who I am or why I’m here, but little bits of logic ping at my mind. I must be here for some reason. And there must also be some reason why neither of us can remember.

  A girl walks by. I tap her on the shoulder to stop her. She has dark skin and short bleached braids. She’s also got a couple scars on either of her cheeks, in a row, almost like they were put there intentionally. She scowls at me the second she sees me.

  “What do you want?”

  I open my mouth, ready to ask her name. What she’s doing here. But she glares at me like she hates me, so instead I shake my head and say, “Never mind.”

  “Yeah, okay,” she says, and walks off.

  “You want to look around?” the guy says.

  It’s so impersonal, and something nags at me. Connections. I need connections to figure out what’s going on.

  “What can I call you?” I ask. I don’t want to think of him as ‘the blond guy.’

  He shrugs. “John? Andy? Thomas? I don’t care.”

  Thomas. Something about the name sends a flash of worry directly to my brain. I know someone named Thomas. Someone in trouble? Maybe? Maybe that’s why I’m here. I could need to find this Thomas person.

  “How about Andy?” I say.

  “Good enough,” the guy I’m now referring to as Andy says. “How about you? You look like an Emily.”

  Emily. Again the name causes worry to form in my mind. I shake my head. “Call me Samantha.” It’s the first name that comes to mind. It’s good enough.

  “Samantha it is,” Andy says. “Let’s look around.”

  He takes the lead, making me feel like he’s trying to prove he’s in control. It’s a little off-putting, even if he has a nice smile. But maybe he knows more than he’s letting on to. We push through the people. It’s not hard since most of them aren’t talking and don’t seem to have much of a purpose.

 
Purpose. I need a purpose. IF-THEN-ELSE. The three words form in my mind. If I’m here in this place and I don’t remember why, then there must be some reason. I need to find out that reason, else I could be . . . lost here forever.

  Lost here forever. The last words seem to form on their own. That’s what is at stake.

  “We need to find a way out of this place,” I say, pulling on his arm to stop him.

  “How do you know?”

  “Why else are we here?” I say. “No one here is doing anything. There’s no reason to be here. Right?”

  He considers my words then nods. “Yeah, true. So we look for this way out.”

  I relax the tiniest amount. It’s good to be on the same page.

  The world around us is shades of gray and brown. Sepia except nothing is standing out. But maybe if we find something different—something that doesn’t belong—that could be a clue as to how to get out.

  “But where’s the way out?” He twists up his mouth, like he’s trying to figure it out.

  “Logic,” I say. “This place has to be logical. Like we came in from somewhere. So there must be a way to leave.”

  “Where did we come from?”

  Small memories slip into my mind. Drinking from a pond. Moving through some bushes. The color disappearing.

  “Wherever the color is,” I say.

  I turn slowly in a circle, trying to take it all in. There are the kids, like me, like Andy. The dark-skinned girl with the bleached braids. The guy with the spikey blond hair I talked to earlier. Again I see something move through the crowd, slithering and staying out of sight. Then it’s gone. There’s another guy, off to my left, standing on one leg with a crutch under his arm because he’s missing the other leg from the knee down. He has dark hair that hangs almost to his shoulders, but he’s not looking our way. Almost like he knows I’m watching him, he turns and my eyes meet his.

  Half his face is covered with a giant scar that runs from his eye down to his chin. But instead of detracting from the way he looks, seeing it instantly fills me with relief. I know this guy. I’m certain of it.

  “Let’s ask him,” I say, pointing to the guy.