by Jakob Farrar
Chapter One
Come to Me
He didn’t know why it happened. He didn’t know how it happened. All he knew was that it had happened. He stopped, pausing his running to take a breath. He could feel his heart beating in his chest so quickly it felt like it was about to burst. His pulse pounded and his ears rang. He gasped for breath; he had never run that far so quickly before. Now he stood in front of two rocks that jutted high out of the ground as if in an effort to escape their earthen prison. He leaned against one of these rocks, surveying the vast field that surrounded him. A mile or so ahead of him was a city. He could smell gasoline fumes coming from the city even from how far away he was. His breath evening out, he looked behind him at the city from which he had come. He could still see the pillar of smoke rising. The pillar of smoke that he had caused. Or had he? Mark Konners had no idea what he had done, or even if he did anything at all. Whatever it was that had happened, it wasn’t his fault.
Come to me Mark shook his head. There was that voice again. The one that had been tormenting him for the past day, begging him to go somewhere. It frightened him, but it was the least of his worries. Mark lowered his body to the ground, sitting down as he began to reflect on the past day, trying to figure out where everything went wrong, and why.
“Here’s something for my little graduate,” his mother had said, sliding an envelope to him across the table. Mark smiled up at his mother, Amy. She was strange, and still treated him like a child. He could understand why, though. Mark’s father had left her years ago, leaving her to raise Mark and his twin sisters. It had been difficult for her to cope and he was used to her childish tendencies.
The envelope she had given him contained the results of the Placement Test he had taken the previous day. The Placement Test was required for all graduating students of any school in the Nation. The Test would tell Mark which of the Nation’s Sectors he would be sent to live and work in for the rest of his life.
Mark slid the envelope open with his thumb and let the piece of paper empty into his hand. He unfolded it, grazing over the formalities listed on the page telling him about how the Nation appreciated his attendance and dedication to his education. He flipped the page over, where, in big bold letters the words “Sector Two” were spelled.
Mark frowned. He had lived in Sector Two for his entire life, and he grew tired of the agriculture and harvesting that the Sector specialized in. Mark had had his fill of the smell of farms and atmosphere of manual labor. He felt the need to escape this place. Any one of the other seven Sectors would have worked perfectly fine for his preferences, and yet, without special permission from Sector Zero, the reigning body of government in the Nation, he would never be able to leave. He would be trapped here for the rest of his life.
The front door to Mark’s house opened abruptly, and he heard a familiar walk as his best friend, Caleb Watkins, walked into the kitchen and sat down next to him.
“It’s polite to knock, you know,” Mark said.
“That’s good to know,” Caleb retorted. “What did you get?” Mark didn’t say anything; he just gloomily flipped his results paper over to show him.
“Bummer,” Caleb said, holding up his own page, on which “Sector One” was written.
“You?” Mark said. “A cop?” Sector One was the Nation’s primary source of law enforcement training. It specialized in creating a police force that were, at the end of their training periods, assigned to live in other Sectors. Mark was having trouble picturing Caleb, who was short and scrawny, as a member of the police force. On top of his seemingly weak build, Caleb was rather impulsive with his mouth. Mark had had to stick up for Caleb ever since they met as children, as his smart mouth was constantly getting him into trouble. Being able to calmly control a situation didn’t seem to be his best strength.
“Apparently,” Caleb replied.
“What about Nellie?” Mark said, referring to Caleb’s newly gained girlfriend.
“She got Two,” he said, frowning. Mark didn’t know Nellie too well, but he did know that Caleb have put a lot of effort into getting her attention and, eventually, her affection.
“How long until you leave?” Mark asked.
“They’re giving me two weeks to pack up and get ready. Once I’m there I’ll go through my training period, but after that I’m going to try to get assigned to Sector Two. I should be able to come back and live here.” Mark nodded. That was good. At least he wouldn’t be without any close friends forever.
“Do they let you choose where you go?” he asked, curious.
“I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. I might talk to some cops about it if I get the chance.”
“That would probably be a good idea.
“Well, I was on my way to Nellie’s but I figured I’d stop in and see how you did,” Caleb said. “I’d better get going.”
“Alright. I’ll probably be by tomorrow,” Mark said as Caleb walked out of the house. Mark sat there, looking over his results paper more, letting his disappointment sink in. Not only would he be staying where he wanted to leave, he would be without his only good friend. Mark and Caleb had met when they were very young, and had practically grown up together. They had always made a seemingly unlikely pair, with Caleb being small and scrawny, while Mark was bulkier and stronger. Caleb was very headstrong, while Mark preferred to avoid conflict at all costs. Despite their differences in personality, they had always stuck together. But now his life was about to change.
“How are your results?” Mark’s mother asked, walking back into the kitchen. Mark showed her the paper like he had with Caleb.
“I got Two,” he said. He saw a look of relief wash over Amy’s face. He knew that she wanted him to stay in Two. She had already lost her husband, and, while she had been supportive of him on the outside, he knew she was dreading the day of the Placement Test in fear of losing her son as well.
“But you’ll be moving out, right?” she asked. Mark nodded. “Do you know how far?”
“No, but I doubt it will be very far,” he answered, standing up and beginning the walk upstairs to his room.
Come to me.
Mark turned around. “Did you say something?” he asked his mother, who shook her head.
“No,” she said hesitantly. “Why?”
“Never mind,” Mark said, turning and continuing to his room.
Mark was sorting through his belongings until the sun went down. He was beginning the process of deciding what to take with him when he moved out to his government-issued home. His mother and sisters had gone to sleep, but not him. When he did try to climb into bed, he was completely restless. He sighed, sitting up in his bed, reaching into a box near him. He grabbed a book and walked downstairs, lighting the fireplace that was in their living room.
The book he had picked up was old. It was something Mark hadn’t read in a very long time, and he doubted anyone else had read it in just as much time. It was one of the oldest books Mark had ever seen. People would have most likely made fun of him for reading it.
The story was about a government falling to pieces, and the girl that tries to keep it from doing so. However, the government encourages discrimination towards the girl. The story ends tragically, with the death of the girl leading to the survival of the government.
In this moment Mark felt contentment. He felt at peace with his circumstances, as chaotic and life changing as they seemed. The night was cold, but the fire’s glow warmed him. It seemingly energized him, but at the same time it calmed him and gave him a sense of control.
But that moment, when everything seemed as it should have been, was also the one where everything changed.
All of a s
udden, a hundred things seemed to happen at once.
Come to me. Mark jumped as he heard the voice again, and the flames in the fireplace jumped as well, sending sparks flying all over the room. But the sparks didn’t go out, as they were supposed to. Instead, they all flew away from the fireplace and then towards Mark. In a split second they congregated in his hand, setting his book on fire. Mark yelled, jumping out of his chair, dropping the book. The flames on the book caught to the carpet on the ground, spreading the fire. Mark would have done something about this, but was instead transfixed by something else.
His hand was on fire, and he wasn’t feeling a thing. In fact, the feeling of energizing control was back, and a hundred times stronger than before. As the flames around Mark spread, he only paid attention to the tongues of fire licking his hand, but not consuming it.
“Mark!” the panicked voice of his mother snapped Mark out of his trance. He turned around, seeing her staring at his, mouth open wide as she laid eyes on Mark’s hand. With tears in his eyes Mark turned away, running out of his home and through the streets of Sector Two.
Mark ran and ran, not stopping for anything. Not when he heard the sounds of sirens coming from emergency vehicles, not when he passed a sign reading Sector Two Border, do not cross.
The fire had long since faded from his hand, and now he stood between two rocks, looking out over what he could only assume was Sector Three. That would make sense; Mark could clearly smell gasoline, and Sector Three was the Nation’s largest producer of gasoline.
Mark was full of confusion. What had happened? How was he able to hold fire and not only feel any pain, but not suffer any injuries? Why did the fire leap into his hand? Where could he go? There was no way he would be safe; he was a criminal now, even if he wasn’t suspected of arson. It was illegal for anyone to travel outside of a Sector without special permission. Sector Zero would be looking for him to arrest him. There was no where he could go.
Come to me.
Mark turned around, hearing the voice come from behind him this time. He jumped backwards in surprise at what he saw.
In front of him had appeared a man. The man was slightly shorter than Mark and looked to be around Mark’s age. He had long, thick brown hair and was wearing dark sunglasses. He wore a long, black trench coat that reached down to just below his knees. A black satchel was slung around his shoulder and hung at his side. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his coat, and his posture was stiff, as if he were concentrating on something.
“You,” Mark said, taking a cautious step towards the man. “You’re the one that’s been talking to me.” The man didn’t seem to acknowledge what he was saying. “What do you want from me?” Mark said, still getting no response from the man. “I just burned my home down!” Mark shouted. “Tell me what is going on!”
Come to me. The man said it without his mouth moving. His hand moved out of his pocket and slowly pointed towards the city in the distance. Mark turned around.
“Sector Three?” Mark said. “Why do I need to go there?” Mark turned around, expecting to see the man there. But somehow he had disappeared. Mark shook his head, turning back towards Sector Three. He must be going crazy. He must have hallucinated the whole thing about burning his house down, or at least part of it. Now he was seeing a man appear and disappear while talking without moving his mouth. Maybe he should just turn himself in. Something was definitely wrong with him.
No, came the voice again. Come to me.
The voice was right, Mark decided. Mark couldn’t just go to jail; he needed to know what was wrong first. Maybe he could work things out better that way. So he decided to do what the voice was telling him to do.
As the sun rose, Mark made his way to Sector Three.
Chapter Two
Ferrokinesis
Mark ran well into the afternoon, until he had just entered Sector Three. He slowed down and, shortly, houses started to appear, more and more with each minute. Mark decided to go around the houses instead of in front of them, trying not to attract much attention, but quickly learned that that wasn't a great idea.
Mark saw a person standing behind a house. As he approached, Mark saw the man in the white uniforms of two police officers. Mark decided to try to sneak around them, sneak around the house, trying to avoid a confrontation. He didn't get far. As he began to walk away, he heard a click and the hum of the officers' gun gathering energy to use as ammunition. "Put your hands in the air!" Mark heard.
He turned around. The police had their guns trained on Mark. "Now!" Mark took a step forward, and another. Mark rushed forward, coming at one of the men. Mark ducked to the ground as one of the police let out a bolt of energy from his gun. Mark slid on the ground, knocking the man over and onto his back. The officer fell to the ground with a thud, his gun falling out of his hand. Mark rolled as the other officer shot at him. Mark jumped to his feet, barely missing a beat, surprising himself. Where had he learned to fight like this? Sure, he had been in a few scuffles back in Sector Two but nothing like this.
He leapt up, connecting his fist with the standing officer's chin. The man grunted and stepped back, stunned. Behind him the other officer was beginning to stand up. Mark turned around and kicked him in the face, knocking him back to the ground. Mark bent over, picking up the gun the officer had dropped and pointing it towards the one that was standing. "Drop the gun!" Mark yelled. "Now!" The other officer did as he was told, lowering the pistol to the ground and raising his hands towards the air.
Suddenly a gust of air hit Mark in the side of the face and a whirring sound went over his head. He looked up, seeing a huge object silhouette over the sky, blocking his view of the sun. What was that?
Mark felt a sharp sting in his shoulder, and all of a sudden everything was black.
She rubbed her wrist, wincing in pain. She hated him so much. Her father was evil. The purple bruise that encircled her wrist was evidence of that. And all of the other bruises all over her body.
She didn't understand why he did it, either. She didn't know why she deserved his abuse. She didn't think she had done anything wrong.
This was her chance, though. She could do it. Her bags were packed. She could easily run from this hell that was her home. All she had to do was run to a different Sector where she could create a new identity for herself. Start her life over. It would be the only way she could possibly leave Sector Three now that her Results Test had told her she was to stay there for the rest of her life. But Phoebe knew she couldn't. That would be incredibly difficult. She would just have to hope that she was transferred far away from her parents. That she wouldn't have to deal with her abusive father or her drug-addicted mother anymore.
Come to me.
That voice again. Phoebe hadn't been able to get it out of her head all night. It was intrusive, always popping into her mind when she least expected it. She had been doing her best to ignore it all night, but had failed incredibly. It had almost kept her from sleeping at all. When she had fallen asleep she had had strange dreams about a man dressed all in black calling out to her.
Suddenly, Phoebe heard an ear-splitting roar come from behind her home. She jumped, looking outside the window. All she could see was some sort of machine. She ran to the back door, barely stopping to open the door. When she stepped outside she gasped. A helicopter had landed behind her home. Two men stepped out, dressed in all black. They looked just like the man she had seen in her dreams last night.
A police officer was standing next to the helicopter, pointing at someone lying on the ground. The men picked the person up, pulling him into the helicopter. The officer helped another officer up off the ground, and they both boarded the helicopter as well. The helicopter began to take off, and as it did, Phoebe felt something very strange. She felt herself being pulled towards it, but at the same time felt a small degree of control. She had the strangest feeling in her gut, as if she was being forced towards the helicopter. As if in reaction to her feeling the helicopter dipped a small
bit, so much so that Phoebe never would have noticed had she not felt so strange.
What was going on?
Phoebe heard a door open and slam shut. She turned around and, with a feeling of dread, realized that her father had returned home.
Instead of cowering, however, she ran towards him. "There's a helicopter out there," she said urgently.
"A what?" was her tired father's only response.
"A helicopter just landed in our backyard," she said. She grabbed ahold of his wrist, something she should have learned not to do. But the helicopter was in the sky, getting ready to fly away. Her father's reaction was almost immediate. She yanked his hand away, bringing it up to hit her in the face, sending her stumbling back. Phoebe cried out in pain.
"Don't touch me," he snapped. "I don't care what's out there." Phoebe gritted her teeth, struggling with the tears that were about to burst from her face. She ignored him, though, pushing past him and bursting through their front door.
"Get back here!" she heard her father yell, but she ignored him as she watched the helicopter fly higher into the sky and move away from her home. As she stood there, frustrated that she would never know what had just happened, she heard her father walk up behind her. Suddenly she felt something. She could almost sense him raising his hand, she could feel his voice rising in anger towards her. But in that moment she didn't feel cowardice or fear. She felt strong. She felt angry. She felt the urge to fight back. She felt that feeling again; from when she had watched the helicopter begin to lift off. She felt her gut wrench as she began to feel connected to what seemed like everything around her. She felt like there were several extensions of her body everywhere. She felt as if she was a part of the door, or a tool lying on the ground, or a pipe buried deep underground.
Her father raised his hand, and she ducked instinctively. At the same time she felt herself fighting back. She heard a loud snap, and felt like she was moving herself forward at incredible speeds. She looked up and saw a light pole moving their way. She saw it fly over her head and crash into her father, knocking him back, pinning him to the wall of their home. Phoebe stood, mouth agape. What had just happened? Her father groaned, moving the pole off of him. He was bleeding. He looked up at her, a look of murderous rage filling his eyes. It was then that Phoebe ran.
