by G. P. Ching
Korwin loads me into one of the cars from the parking lot and switches it to off-grid mode. We accelerate toward CGEF. I come alive in the seat next to him, my neurons unscrambling one by one. I can move a finger, then my arm, then my torso. Soon I sit up and reach for his hand. It’s time to save Korwin’s father. It’s time to finish this.
34
I am not prepared for the chaos that greets us as we enter Crater City. The streets are congested with parked cars. Drivers hang their heads out their windows, staring at the darkened lampposts and cursing.
“Early morning traffic. It’s not the first blackout,” Korwin explains. “They’re usually short. People are hoping the grid comes back on because nobody wants to spend their own units to get where they’re going.”
“How do we get around them?”
“We don’t. We go through on foot.” He stops the car in the middle of the road and exits. I follow, weaving between the people on the street. I can see the mirrored walls and steel frame of CGEF ahead of us. I break into a jog, slamming shoulders with a man who’s moving in the opposite direction.
“Hey! Watch it,” the man yells. He moves to push me but then sees my green uniform and backs off. I’m still dressed like a government employee.
“Sorry,” I call over my shoulder. I veer onto the lawn, following Korwin, who’s gaining in speed. “How much time do we have?” I ask him.
Without slowing he glances at his wrist, then at the lightening horizon. “Ten minutes at the most. They’ll want to televise the execution. Maybe they’ll wait, since the power is out.”
At a full-out run, I cross the lawn, leaping over bushes in pursuit of Korwin. A crowd has gathered in front of CGEF. I can’t see Maxwell, but I’m guessing he’s at the center of the crowd. We slow and shoulder our way through the mass of people. I press myself against Korwin’s back, hoping his taller, broader body will make the better plow. Eventually, we can’t advance any more. Korwin frowns and touches the nearest shoulder. A tiny zap of blue makes the man jump. The sea of people parts, one shocked individual at a time, and then we reach the action. I see what we came to see.
Maxwell Stuart kneels on the pavement in the circle of light thrown by a battery-operated camera. His hands are cuffed behind his back and a gun presses into his temple. The blond woman from television, Alexandra Brighten, stands holding a microphone between Dr. Konrad and Senator Pierce. A half circle of green-uniformed officers guards their flank.
Several things happen at once. Senator Pierce raises his head and catches my eye. There’s a moment of recognition beneath his bushy gray brows and then his hand falls in a sweeping motion. The officer pulls the trigger, and Maxwell Stuart’s body jerks.
He collapses to the concrete, twitches, then stills. Blood pools beneath his head.
Korwin shouts, “No!” Screams break out in the crowd as he rushes to his father’s side, an ominous blue glow radiating from him. The heat alone sends people running.
Oh Korwin! My heart aches. Whatever I felt against Maxwell Stuart flows away like so much blood. How could they do this to him—to us? Anger makes my head throb. The gathering blue swirls, and like a fever, a new truth spreads through me. I believe it as surely as I believe in heaven above and my own being. Pierce and Konrad have to pay for this. I will not go quietly. And I sure as hell won’t let them take Korwin.
“He’s dead,” Korwin whispers to me over the body of his father. “Dead!” The word pounds out of him, the air crackling around us as our collective anger makes us grow brighter. People scatter, shrieking, trampling each other to get away from us. Everyone except Konrad, Pierce, and the small entourage of security officers led by Officer Reynolds.
“It’s the penalty for your treason,” Senator Pierce yells. He looks down his nose at me and runs a finger along the inside of his collar.
One of the officers turns a scrambler on Korwin. I don’t give him a chance to pull the trigger. Instinctively, I throw my power. In my anger, the bolt of electricity that flies from my hand is far more than a pulse. It slices through the officer’s side, creating a black-fringed hole that pours blood. He crumples to the pavement, gripping the wound and screaming. The faintest shadow of guilt ripples through my soul but it passes quickly, chased away by fury over the scene in front of me.
Dr. Konrad raises a scrambler and points it at me. “Let’s all relax and get inside where we can talk.”
I step in front of Korwin, blocking his crouched form with my body. My anger crackles around me in a blaze of light that makes Konrad blink and shield his eyes with his hand as if he’s staring into the sun.
“Don’t forget, Lydia, you have a father as well. A fleet of officers are already on their way to the fire station. Oh yes, we’ve known about rebel activity there for months. Our mole didn’t know about your little trick with the blackout, but he was quick to inform us of the two who were left behind.”
I glare at Dr. Konrad with his silver scrambler and hunch low like an animal protecting her mate. Konrad pulls the trigger. Panic spurs my power into action and, as before, it defends me. I don’t even think about it. Heat radiates from my skin, melting the prongs before they can make contact. The weapon drops from his shaking hand and his eyes widen. He turns to run.
I can’t stop it. Lightning flies from my hand, and his body hits the pavement, twitching and writhing. I pant from the heat.
Korwin’s eyebrows raise. “It was an accident!” I say, but his expression isn’t accusing, it’s celebratory.
Senator Pierce backs behind the green uniforms. The officers scatter, even Officer Reynolds, weapons clanking on the concrete. Exposed, Pierce bolts for the door to CGEF, but it won’t open because the power’s still out. Korwin fries him from feet to knees. He slides down the glass, screaming.
What have we done? What am I doing? The power—I desperately try to reel it back in but I can’t. It feeds off Korwin’s energy and the panic that surrounds us. I can’t fight it. Not anymore. I am possessed.
“Lydia, your father,” Korwin says calmly. He is next to me, his eyes completely filled with blue. We are so hot the rain evaporates before it reaches our heads. The steam curls around him, like an archangel, an angel of death, something fierce and holy.
The way to the fire station is congested with parked vehicles. We could weave through them or go around them. “It will be faster if we go through them,” I say. My voice sounds hollow and tinny, like my throat is lined with silver. Is this real? Or some kind of nightmare?
Korwin’s hand skims down my shoulder and his fingers twine into mine. We turn toward the congested grid, toward the people who gawk or run or scream.
“Move out of the way,” I whisper flatly.
Korwin chuckles.
I raise my hand and let out the ribbon. Without holding back or tying it off, I let the power flow forward. Cars erupt from the street, exploding into the sides of the buildings as if thrown by an angry toddler. Metal crumples and bends. The resulting fires light our path and the smell of burning, laced with chemicals, fills my nose.
We stride toward the fire station but it’s hard to remember what we’re going to do there. It’s hard to remember anything besides the buzz of power and the chorus of screams. My mind fades in and out, but my body keeps going, animated by this thing inside me. Some part of me insists I have to hold on. I have to fight for the part of me that’s still me. Is this what it’s like for Korwin too?
I have to find a way to regain control.
35
This isn’t right. I grip the thought like a life raft. Deep within me, I find some human strength, some part of me that isn’t owned by the power. I’m in church on Sunday, singing hymns with Mary. I hear her voice, as clear and innocent as silver bells. I see my father’s work-worn hands, taste freshly baked bread, feel the tops of the wheat as I run to my tree.
“Be in the world but not of the world,” Bishop Kauffman says. His voice is solemn and I long for his hands on my shoulders. This is not me. I have a
soul. I have a conscience. This violent sport is not who I am. I am a woman of God. A powerful force for hearth and home. I will not allow this world to have me any longer.
I direct my resolve at our coupled hands and somehow find the strength to let go of Korwin.
He turns those radioactive blue eyes toward me like I’ve committed a grave offense.
“This isn’t right,” I say, and this time it’s not just in my head. I’ve said it out loud.
“Right?” Korwin repeats. He shakes his head like he doesn’t understand.
“We’ve got to get control,” I rasp, but my voice is still not my own.
Korwin continues down the now abandoned street but his movements are jerky. Mine are too. I think I have it by the tail but it’s so big. I wrap and wrap and wrap the power around the spool at the back of my brain but there is just too much. Oh, the pain! I want to let it out again but I can’t.
We’re close to the fire station. It’s only when I see my father and Jeremiah huddled beneath the lip of the dumpster that I realize it’s still raining. Although it comes down in sheets, none of it touches us. We’re still too hot. What is it they’re doing? My father has his legs hugged to his chest and is yelling at Jeremiah to do the same.
Ack! My power surges and sweat breaks out across my forehead as I fight it back. Wrap. Wrap! I wind it around the spool and tie it off. Why does my father look afraid? I shake with the effort of concentrating. The puddle! Oh my word, he’ll be electrocuted!
“Korwin!” I command. He’s twitching next to me. Every few seconds he reaches for me only to pull his hand back. “You have to fight it!”
This time I can tell I’m more me. Without Korwin to recharge my cells, the power has to fizzle out some time. I bite my lip and wind and wind. Oh! Will it even fit inside of me?
“It hurts!” Korwin yells.
“Fight it!” I cry.
For what seems like an eternity, I struggle to gain control. Korwin moans next to me. When it gets too much, I scream. It seems to help. I lean forward, catching myself on my knees and yell until my voice goes hoarse. I’m sure I have nothing left to give. Containing this monster will kill me.
A drop of rain is my savior.
It’s cool and wet. When it lands on my forearm, it rolls off my skin and drips to the pavement. I jerk my head up. Korwin’s glow has faded as well. His skin steams but his hair is wet.
“It’s going to be okay, Korwin,” I call, but I don’t dare comfort him with my touch. Instead, I hobble past him toward my father and Jeremiah. The closer I get to them, the more I can see the fear in their eyes. They huddle together against the metal of the dumpster.
Can’t they see how weak I am? But then this thing is a mystery even to me. It must be something out of a nightmare to my father and Jeremiah. I need to show them. If I can prove I’m in control, then maybe they’ll trust me again.
I crouch down and gently scoop my father’s hands inside my own.
“Lydia?” He gasps.
“Don’t worry, Daddy, I’m still me.” With the last bit of power I have left, I will energy between his fingers. Exhausted, I release his hands. He opens them and a tiny electric-blue butterfly flutters toward the sky before breaking apart above us. The rain has stopped but something warm and wet drips down my chin. I wipe the back of my hand across my face. Blood.
It’s Jeremiah who catches me when I topple toward the concrete.
“No,” my father says, but when I search his face he’s not looking at me. I follow his line of sight and see a CGEF Humvee driving in our direction. There’s a weapon mounted on top. A huge rocket launcher I only recognize because of David. The officer in control takes aim at Korwin, who is just a few feet in front of us, and triggers the rocket.
I have a second to see Korwin’s blue glow blink and fizzle in the rain.
Boom! A barrage of rubble sprays toward us, and then I’m consumed by total darkness.
36
I am home. On the wall in front of me is the quilt I made, log cabin style from gray and blue scraps. It is definitely mine; I recognize the sloppy stitching in the right corner where I got lazy. I run my hand down my torso. I’m wearing my white nightgown. Reaching above my head, I smile when my fingers slap the familiar carved wood of my headboard.
“Relax, Lydia. We’re home,” Jeremiah says. I turn my face toward his voice. He’s sitting in the chair next to my bed and by his wrecked hair and the dark circles under his eyes, I’m fairly sure he’s been there for quite some time. He stands and approaches the side of the bed. Oh dear Lord! A scabbed red gash runs from the outside corner of his left eye to his jawline.
I gasp. I want to ask him what happened but my voice won’t work. My throat feels dry and constricted.
“Don’t try to speak,” Jeremiah says. He lifts a glass of water from the nightstand and brings it to my lips, scooping one arm under my shoulders to prop me up so I can drink. I try but some of the water trickles out the corners of my mouth. “You’ve been out for four days.”
I widen my eyes at him. It hurts. My skin is too tight and I wonder if I’ve been injured too. I push the sleeve of my nightgown back. My arm is covered in sores.
“Your power protected you and us.” He taps the gash on his face lightly. “I was on the edge of your range but this is the worst of it. Your father wasn’t hurt at all. You, on the other hand... Electroscurvy, if I remember correctly from Maxwell’s briefing, although I would really rather forget.”
I swallow hard and try to speak again. A muffled croak is the only sound I can produce. He raises the glass to my lips again.
“We escaped when the Liberty Party attacked. I’ve heard they failed, but we didn’t stick around to find out the details. We used the distraction of the war to come home. No one followed us. In fact, Jacob ventured outside the wall and checked with Bradford Adams. The Green Republic thinks you died in the explosion, or at least that’s what they are reporting on Channel 12 News. Your father and I are hoping Operation Source Code is on permanent hiatus. No one else knows about you, by the way. Everyone in Hemlock Hollow thinks your injuries are from the explosion.”
I swallow again. My throat is beginning to loosen and I have to ask the question gnawing at me, although I’m afraid of the answer. “Korwin?”
Jeremiah rolls his eyes. He never used to do that and the cynicism in his expression throws me. “Yeah. He’s alive. Actually his shield took the direct hit. We just got the fallout when the spilled fuel ignited. The street was running with it from the damaged vehicles.”
I grab his wrist and shake. He knows what I want and frowns down at me.
“He’s on a cot in the main room. He hasn’t woken up yet.”
Using his arm for leverage, I pull myself up. My head spins and my muscles ache.
Jeremiah shakes his head. “No, Lydia. You’ve got to stay in bed. Your father will have my hide if you hurt yourself on my watch.”
I fix him with my most determined stare. “Help me.”
Groaning, he pulls the quilt back and sweeps my legs over the side. I grin. He’s never been able to say no to me, not since we were children. He wraps my arm around his shoulders and heaves me to a standing position. If not for his arm around my waist, I’d be on the floor. My legs are uncooperative, but he carries me into the main room, where I see Korwin.
The only time he’s looked worse is when I first rescued him from CGEF. His color is barely darker than the sheet beneath him, and he has more raw, oozing sores than healthy skin. I reach for him but have to wait for Jeremiah to help me. Eventually, he sits me down on the side of the cot.
Placing my hand over Korwin’s heart, I feel the familiar tug as my energy flows into him, but I have very little to give. I have to lie down across his chest I’m so weak. But face to face, I see his eyelids flutter. And a tiny spark flows back into me. It’s starting. The engine that is us begins a slow churn.
I press my lips onto his and feel the give and take of the energy strengthen. Korwin�
�s eyes open and his hand lifts to my cheek. Our connection is strong. The voltage flip-flops, trickling down my throat through our connection. I’m not sure how long this continues, I lose myself to it. But finally, the faintest blue glow ignites under his skin. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, I notice the sores on his face change. The blue glow strengthens and his flesh knits together. Amazingly my muscles loosen and contract. My skin warms.
His lips part, and in the tangle of sparks that is our connection, I nestle in, absorbing what he gives me as I give it right back. I thread my fingers into his hair. When I smell smoke, I use my newfound strength to pull back. Lip from lip. Hand from chest. Fingers from hair. We’ve singed the sheets. I perch next to him on the cot, fully healed.
“If we’d known you could do that, we would have put you two together sooner.” Jeremiah touches the red gash on his face. “I don’t suppose it will work on me?”
I shake my head. “I wish it did, but no.”
“Perfect.” He runs his hand through his rumpled hair and walks toward the door.
“Jeremiah?”
“I gotta go, Lydia,” he says, placing a hand on the doorknob and tipping his head to the side. He glances between Korwin and me. “I’m certain you’ll be fine. Clearly, you don’t need my help anymore.”
I try to respond but he’s out the door before I have a chance. I turn back toward Korwin who looks around the room in confusion.
“Welcome to Hemlock Hollow,” I say.
In response, he gives me a face-splitting grin. “I feel at home already.”
