SURGE

by Donna Elliott

  “You’re welcome, Emily,” he says shyly and looks down at his feet. “I’m happy to be able to help.”

  Not wanting to interfere, I stand just inside the entry door, in the shadow of a bottled water dispenser. Still smiling at Patrick and tightly gripping Eric’s arm, Emily’s eyes pan across to me.

  “Mya?” she says and begins dragging her brother across the room toward me. “Mya, you’re alive.”

  “And you’re alive,” I say with a smile.

  “Somebody, pinch me,” says Emily. “I must be dreaming.”

  The atmosphere in the room is so joyous that I can’t help but laugh. “How ‘bout we all just hug you, instead?”

  After a few more minutes of hugs and tears, we slip into an exam room for a bit of privacy.

  Eric jumps right in with the most important questions. “How are you? Are you ok?”

  Scooting closely to her brother, she takes his hand and leads him over to a couple of chairs. “Let’s get comfortable, and we can fill each other in.” Following their lead, Patrick and I use the exam table as a bench, hanging our legs over the side.

  Once everyone is settled, Eric asks again, “Are you ok? Mya said you were shot. She thought you were dead.”

  Emily looks over to me and smiles. “I was shot, and I was pretty sure that I was going to die, but Mya and Patrick saved me.”

  My face turns red and guilt clogs my throat. “I’m so sorry, Emily. I didn’t save you; Patrick did. Those men dragged me away. I barely saved myself.”

  After squeezing her brother’s hand, Emily stands, walks across the room, and stops directly in front of me.

  “I don’t remember everything from when we were at the hospital,” she says. “I know that you and I were in the hallway, and two men approached. I also know that one of those men shot me.”

  As she talks, she reaches down to the bottom of her cotton tank top and grabs ahold. Raising the left side of the shirt to expose her waist and lower ribs, she continues her narration. “I remember you reaching over and looking at me. I remember your hands pressing against me, and I remember feeling a spasm.”

  Emily turns her body so that I can see just below the left side of her rib cage. A small gasp escapes my mouth, and I look up at her face. She smiles and takes a step closer. Instead of the mark from a bullet shot at close range, Emily reveals a different scar. Red burn marks, in the shape of two crossed hands, mar the pearly white skin below her ribs.

  “The doctor said that the burns cauterized the bullet wound and stopped all bleeding almost immediately. I didn’t lose that much blood, but I guess the blood wasn’t circulating properly. He said that my state of shock was more damaging than the bullet.”

  I begin to reach toward Emily and suddenly stop. “You think I did this?”

  “I know you did this,” she says. “I remember the jolt passing through me. I remember looking at you. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t talk, but I remember, Mya. I don’t know how you did it, but you definitely saved my life.”

  Pulling her shirt back down, Emily walks over to her chair and resumes her seat. With her right arm directed at Patrick, she continues her account of that night.

  “Patrick came running down the hall very shortly after you got taken away; he nearly tripped over my legs. I was in a lot of pain, but I remember how he scooped me up and ran out of the building.”

  Turning her head to look at him, she smiles and says, “I remember you were talking and talking, but who knows what you were saying.”

  “I don’t remember,” he says with a lift of his shoulders, “probably something like, ‘don’t die…don’t die.’ ”

  Everyone is beginning to relax, and we’re laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation, when Patrick casually turns to me and asks, “Can you show us your electricity thing? I think both Emily and I would like another look.”

  Emily’s eyes narrow in confusion. “What?” she asks. “What electricity thing?”

  “The thing she did to save you,” says Patrick. “She says she can make an electrical charge.”

  Leaning back in her chair, Emily’s eyes are now wide with interest. “Really?”

  I know they’re curious. I would be too, but I’m beginning to wonder if being a “performing monkey” is what my future holds. I look at my right hand and then lift my eyes to the others. “Before I begin, I want you all to understand that I don’t like being able to do this.”

  The pad of my thumb swirls around the tips of my first three fingers. “I don’t know how it works, and I don’t know why it happened.” A small yellow glow develops in my hand, and I glance up at Emily. “I think it started the night of the flare, when we went to the pool.”

  “Were the others affected?” she asks.

  With my left hand, I motion to her brother. “Eric.”

  Pointing at the glimmer, Emily asks him, “You can do this too?”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t start the spark, I stop it.”

  “What about Raul or Kat or her brother?” she asks. “What can they do?”

  “Nothing, so far,” I say. “They haven’t shown any signs of being able to do anything different. I thought for sure that Kat would, since she and I were both trapped at the bottom of the pool. But she tried and nothing happened.”

  “The pool?” interjects Patrick. “What pool?”

  “At Raul’s house,” I say. “We were all swimming the night of the flare.”

  “Who all was there?” he asks.

  “Just the six of us.” I say over my shoulder, and then return my attention to Emily and Eric.

  Patrick slowly nods and then looks off toward a far corner of the room. While he ponders on this unexplainable phenomenon, I continue describing my new abilities and showing Emily how the energy can build and travel through the air. I tell how I can sense surrounding life forces, and Eric shows how his touch instantly extinguishes my spark.

  Stressing the importance of not telling others about what we can do, we describe the events of last week, and how we were attacked. Eric shows Emily his knife wound and describes the two men who we know assaulted us.

  Suddenly interrupting the conversation, Patrick leans forward and asks, “What about you, Emily? Can you do anything?”

  “Me?”

  “You were there, right? Why not you too?”

  A deep red tinge begins to color Emily’s cheeks, and she swallows. Her tongue moves along her bottom lip, and she lowers her eyes to the floor.

  Eric gently touches her arm, “Em?”

  “I just started feeling better a few days ago,” she says a bit hastily.

  “But, has something happened? Can you make a spark?”

  “No, no spark,” she says. “But there may be something.”

  No one says anything while we wait for her to elaborate. I can see her deliberating as her eyes dart from one of us to the next. Finally settling on Eric, she pulls her shoulders back and sits up straight.

  “There’re quite a few people staying here,” she begins. “There are only a few beds, so most sleep on the floor, giving the beds to the ones who are really bad off. When I started feeling better, I wanted to visit with the patients.”

  She looks at me. “You know, kinda like we did at the hospital. I’m used to that, so I just wanted to see if I could help that way.”

  I nod my head in encouragement, but don’t interrupt.

  “Well, this one little girl and her mom were burned really badly. The mom was in so much pain and having trouble breathing, and she was worried about what would happen to her daughter when she died. The doctor here is running low on meds and pain killers, so I just sat with her and held her hand.”

  She reaches up and begins twisting a strand of her hair. “Dr. Emmerson really thought she would pass in the night, and I didn’t want her to be alone.” Looking over at Patrick, she says, “This was just the last time that you visited. You remember my telling you about Susie and her mom?”

  �
�Sure,” he says. “What happened?”

  “Well, I kept telling her that everything would be alright, and that she was going to get better. I held her hand for several hours, and then I noticed that her breathing wasn’t as ragged. I thought maybe she was dying, so I ran and got the doctor.”

  Emily pauses for a moment and looks as if she’s trying to decide what to say. When she doesn’t continue, Eric quietly asks, “And?”

  Coming out of her thoughts, she takes a deep breath and continues. “And Susie’s mom was on her way to a full recovery. There were scars from the burns, but the wounds were all healed.”

  “I don’t understand,” says Patrick. “What are you telling us?”

  Again, she pauses and looks around the room before speaking. “I think, perhaps, I helped heal her.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “You healed her?” asks Eric. “The way Mya healed you?”

  “No. I think this is different.”

  “What happened to her?” I ask. “What did you do?”

  She shrugs and says, “I just held her hand, and she got better. The areas where her burns were less serious are discolored, but they’re healed. And the most severe areas are now just deep scars.”

  Beside me, Patrick gives a hushed snort and turns his head away from us. I understand his disbelief, but I know better than anyone that what was just said may very well be true.

  “Have you been able to do it more than just once?” I ask.

  A slight bobble of her head and raised eyebrows is my answer.

  Our conversation is interrupted by a soft, yet urgent, knock at the door. “Emily,” a voice calls. “Dr. Emmerson is hoping you might be able to assist him. We’ve had a new arrival.”

  “I’ll be right there,” she calls out.

  Jumping up from her seat, Emily turns to her brother and suggests that we all accompany her. We follow her down a short hallway and past several rooms, occupied with people who call out greetings to her as we pass.

  Inside another exam room, a large man lies upon a table writhing in pain. Emily hurries over to the doctor, and the three of us take a position out of the way. I watch as Emily places her left palm on the injured man’s head, and he instantly stills.

  Very precisely, Dr. Emmerson describes the compound fracture in the patient’s arm. One of the bones is protruding from the skin, and the limb is bent at an unusual angle. As the doctor struggles to set the broken bones into their proper place, he explains the method needed to repair the fracture.

  Emily asks a few questions about the surrounding blood vessels and then reaches her right arm toward the damaged limb. Dr. Emmerson sterilizes the area several times, motions for Emily to look at a couple of additional areas, and whispers encouraging words.

  The entire procedure takes nearly an hour and a half. When Emily steps away from the table to wash her hands, I notice that the man’s arm no longer has an open wound. The skin is sealed together by a thin pink scar that’s surrounded by an orange antiseptic stain.

  The patient still sleeps as Dr. Emmerson gently wraps the arm with a layer of soft cotton. “Emily,” he calls out, “thank you for your help. Could you ask the nurse to come assist me with the plaster application, please?”

  Holding the door open and motioning for us to exit the room, Emily smiles at the doctor and thanks him for letting her assist. “I’m always grateful for your tutelage, sir. I’ll send one of the nurses in right away.”

  After pausing at the front desk, Emily leads us back into the first exam room and closes the door. “I thought it might be easier to show you what I can do, rather than try to describe it.”

  “That was amazing,” says Eric. “Does everyone here know what you can do?”

  “No, just the doctor and the head nurse,” she says. “But I think a couple of the others are beginning to wonder.”

  “What a wonderful skill,” I say. “I wish I could do that. You’re so lucky.”

  She walks over to me and places a hand on my shoulder. “But Mya, your new ability is just as wonderful. I’m lucky that you were beside me at the hospital, so that you could cauterize my bullet wound. Without your skills, I would’ve bled to death.”

  Turning to Eric, she says, “You mentioned that you were attacked. May I see where the man cut you?”

  I can’t help smiling when Eric turns away from me and lifts his shirt for Emily. Eric must not remember that I changed his bandages and have already seen him shirtless. I watch Emily reach out and place her hand on top of Eric’s wound. Although the area is now scabbed, it isn’t completely healed.

  “Hmm,” says Emily. “That’s odd.”

  “What’s odd?” Both Eric and I ask.

  “I don’t feel anything,” she says. “Usually, I can feel the healing and direct where it goes. I wonder if I’m drained from the last patient.”

  “Maybe it just doesn’t work on him,” says Patrick. “Mya said that Eric switches off her energy. Maybe he switches off yours too.”

  Everyone turns to look at Eric. A crease has formed between his eyebrows, and his mouth is turned down. “Great,” he unhappily murmurs, “I’m the special skills police.”

  “More importantly,” I say, “we can’t heal you, so you need to be careful. Stay the smart guy that you’ve always been and don’t take risks.”

  “Yes,” says Emily. “What she said.”

  ◌◌◌

  It’s getting late, and Patrick wants to try to get the car back to the compound before his dad notices that it’s missing. We’re clustered around a small candle in the waiting area, and Eric asks Emily to accompany us to Raul’s house.

  “I’m helpful here,” she says, hesitant to leave the clinic. “With everything that’s happening out there, I think maybe I should stay.”

  “I’ll bring you back tomorrow,” counters Eric. “I know the others want to see you. Everyone was so happy when I told them that you’re actually alive. You can just eat some breakfast, chat with everyone, and then I’ll bring you back. Please?”

  “Oh, speaking of breakfast,” says Patrick, as he turns to Emily. “I’ve brought you some more food. Let me run out to the car, and I’ll be right back.”

  When he leaves, I realize that I may have judged Patrick a bit harshly. I mean, there’s no doubt that he’s been a total jerk in the past, but maybe there were extenuating circumstances, or maybe the flare and that mess at the hospital changed him. After all, he did save Emily by bringing her here, and apparently, he’s been stealing food from the compound for her.

  I still don’t know who attacked Raul, but in all honesty, I don’t really believe it was Patrick. I guess Eric’s right, and I shouldn’t be so mean. It’s just really hard to change my attitude, when every time I look at him, my first instinct is to roll my eyes.

  The backpack that Patrick brings inside is filled with more than just potatoes. It also carries eggs, beans, and rice. From the bottom of the bag, he pulls out several handfuls of ketchup, relish, and mustard packs. There are also a large number of saltine cracker bundles.

  “I tried to get more protein,” he says, “but the reverend is monitoring the food pantry very closely these days. I was hoping to bring you a chicken or two, but that gang broke in and took some, and now all the animals are under tighter scrutiny. Willows says all those guys are harassing another town now…but he’s still keeping watch.”

  Emily bounces over to Patrick and gives him a long hug, after calling over a couple of people to take away the food. “You’re the greatest!” she says. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  The compliment seems to rattle Patrick a bit, and even though there is very little light, I notice a blush creep up his neck. “We’d better go,” he says. “Are you coming with us?”

  “We’ve planted a garden at Raul’s house,” says Eric. “Since the plants should begin producing soon, I’ll ask if we have any spare pantry items, and you can bring them back tomorrow.”

  Smiling at her brother, Emi
ly begins walking backward, down the hallway. “Give me a minute to talk to Dr. Emmerson, and then I’ll go with you.”

  ◌◌◌

  The return trip to Harrow is fast and filled with conversation. Emily sits in the front with the boys and tells us a little about the people she’s met at the clinic. Eric and I provide an update on our little group and everything that we know from town, and although Patrick interjects occasionally, he’s mostly quiet.

  Before I know it, we’re turning into the drive to Raul’s house. It’s nearly 3:00 a.m., but someone must still be awake, for I see a small light shining from the living room window.

  Familiar with the evening rules of the compound, Eric leans forward to get Patrick’s attention. “You won’t be able to get inside, will you? Didn’t Mr. Willows say the gates are all locked at 10:00 p.m.?”

  Patrick shrugs as he puts the car into park. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll just sleep in the car.”

  “No, you won’t,” says Emily. “Come inside with us.”

  “This is Raul’s house,” he says. “Raul and I don’t get on. I’ll be fine in the car.”

  Feeling a little bad for the way I’ve treated Patrick, I offer to speak with Raul. “I’m sure he’ll let you sleep on the couch,” I say. “It’s too late for you to be driving around town all by yourself. That gang is out there somewhere, and they know who you are.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to you,” says Emily. “Won’t you please come inside with us?”

  After opening his door, Eric puts one foot out of the car and turns to Patrick, “They won’t stop, you know. You might as well just agree and come inside. There’s no point in staying out here; you’re just going to end up doing what they want anyway.”

  Patrick gives a small chuckle and closes his eyes. “Alright,” he says, while reaching for the door handle, “but if I get any flak from Raul, I’m heading out.” Before Emily can say anything, Patrick raises his hand and adds, “If it comes to that, I’ll sleep right here in the car, and I’ll head back home in the morning. You won’t need to worry.”