SURGE Read online

  SURGE

  Copyright © 2018 by Donna Elliott

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events exist only in the mind of the author. Any resemblance to actual persons is merely coincidental. All rights reserved, including full or partial reproduction in any form.

  If you wish to use any material from this book, please contact the author at [email protected].

  Elliott, Donna

  Surge/Donna Elliott – 1st ed.

  Summary: In modern day Texas, sixteen-year-old Mya Bernal’s boring high school life is about to undergo a shocking change when an electromagnetic storm from a solar flare catapults toward Earth, sending a surge of energy to ravage her town, while simultaneously coursing through her body.

  ISBN: 9781729269992

  Thank you, Randy ~

  You’re the best!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE 100

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER ONE

  I’m dying. A greyish haze blurs my vision. My breathing slows, and my head begins to sway. Nearby, others cling to life; while a muted, female voice struggles to gain our attention.

  As my body relaxes and my eyelids close completely, gravity pulls my head in a downward dive. The sudden movement jerks me back to reality; and snapping my eyes open, I self-consciously look around the room.

  Ms. Adams is rambling about the Civil War and its societal impact, but it’s way too early for a lecture on dates and a bunch of names I’ll never remember. It’s only first period, and I’m not in the mood for another day of high school.

  All around me sit girls and boys I’ve known most of my life. Rarely does a new student arrive, as Harrow is a small Texas town suffering the ill effects of the oil bust, and most of the new families who moved here a few years ago have packed up and left.

  Secure in the belief that no one has noticed my little semi-siesta; my focus turns to my desktop. Abraham Lincoln, George Washington and other significant faces from the past look up at me from the cover of a thick hardback. Responding to their judgmental gazes, I flip the book open to a random page, stare at the words, and begin to squirm in my seat.

  My desk is in the back of the room, where I sit directly behind one of the most popular guys in school. Built like an action hero, with black hair and deep brown eyes, Raul DeLaPortilla is my friend and neighbor, and I’ve had a serious crush on him for the past two years. He’s smart, plays the guitar, is a fiend on the soccer field, and I love the way his name rolls off my tongue.

  I let him know that my attention to the lesson has faded by covertly poking him in the back with my pencil. He snickers a little, while reaching to thump my shin. I sit up and try to concentrate, but it’s no use. I hate history.

  My best friend, Kat Miller, sits to my left by the window. I prepare to share an eye roll with her, but I’m distracted when I notice a couple of cars speeding into the student drop-off lane. The drivers jump out and start yelling at each other, just as more vehicles begin pouring onto the school lot.

  I close my eyes momentarily to clear my vision, and when I look again, a small group of adults is rushing toward the main entrance. A quick peek shows Ms. Adams isn’t watching, so I tap Kat’s arm and give a silent gesture for to her to look outside.

  She does a speedy window check and turns to me with a questioning squint. “What?” she mouths.

  I prefer to stay under the radar in this class, so I angle my notebook toward her and write, “a lot of parents outside.”

  Only a few seconds have passed since my last glance, but the crowd is growing. I’m not even aware that my hand is in the air until I hear my name called, “Ms. Bernal, did you have a question?”

  Fourteen faces turn in my direction. Some are smiling and happy for the distraction, but most stare with bored interest. There are even a couple of annoyed glares from the super studious clan.

  “Uh…” I hate being the center of any teacher’s attention. I’m not shy, but I rarely speak out. My brown hair and brown eyes, combined with my lightly tanned skin, are such neutral tones that I have a fairly easy time just blending into the background.

  My hand must have a mind of its own, because I’m certain that I did not raise it. I consider asking for the bathroom pass, but I lose control of my mouth too.

  “Um…I think something’s happening outside, Ms. Adams,” I say rather slowly. “Are we on lockdown?”

  It’s amazing how quickly a commotion can break out in a classroom. I’m not even finished with my sentence when five kids are getting up to run to the windows.

  “In your seats!” Ms. Adams barks. With hands on her hips, she walks over to stand by the sill and looks out. I can see her brain processing as her face turns from a raised-eyebrow look of interest to a frown of concern. “Jacob Garza,” she says, “please turn on the television.”

  I’m not feeling quite as self-conscious now, as it appears something out of the norm actually may be happening. Our classroom TV is used only during elections or high-profile news updates. So, Ms. Adams must be wondering about the situation too.

  ◌◌◌

  I recognize the morning news anchor and am surprised to see him still on the air at 9:05 a.m. A large picture of the sun is displayed behind him, and to his right is a captioned video of a huge, red circle, bubbling on its surface, with small lines that look like spun sugar reaching out into space. A white light begins to protrude from one area and forms into a spinning, oval loop.

  Fire shoots up beneath the burst, as well as other nearby areas. It’s a fantastic display that makes me think of an opening to hell. I’m mesmerized by the flickering mass and can’t turn my gaze.

  At first, kids are making jokes, cutting up, and laughing.

  It’s uncommon for anything of high interest to occur in our town. Located nearly two hours south of San Antonio with a population of less than 2,000, Harrow doesn’t host a lot of excitement. Our biggest news story this past year focused on a family of javelinas parading down Main Street. The pig-like creatures were given the headline spot of the Gazette’s online news for two days.

  Once kids start noticing that the sun is making national news, most of the laughing subsides. Only a couple of boys continue to mess around.

  “I can’t hear it,” whines someone in the front of the room, “turn it up Jacob!”

  “…Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration believes this may be the largest solar flare on record. The statement just released reveals that in addition to the current flare, there are several other sun spots on the brink of activity
, and the NOAA is warning that the aftermath of such an occurrence may be disastrous to the entire planet.”

  Right now, I’m wishing I’d paid a little more attention in my Earth Science class last year. If I knew the effects of a solar flare, I could determine more accurately if I really should be concerned. I’ve never heard of the NOAA, but I’m guessing that one of their jobs is to monitor the sun.

  The reporter continues, “The agency explains that an X-class flare of this magnitude can create large electromagnetic pulses throughout the Earth’s atmosphere that are capable of wiping out all electronic functioning.

  …Ah, it appears we have a connection with a representative from NASA’s Spaceflight Center, a Mikael Niva. Dr. Niva can you share your assessment, please?”

  Before anyone gets to hear Dr. Niva’s thoughts, questions start flying around the room.

  “What does that mean, Ms. Adams?”

  “I don’t understand, Ms. Adams. Is something from the sun going to hit the Earth?”

  “He said ‘the entire planet,’ so is the world going to burn up?”

  All this is followed by the one main question that everyone is silently thinking: “Are we gonna die?”

  Although I’m staring at the TV and hearing the words, somewhere in my mind, I’m wondering if it is possible that I’m asleep. Surely, I must be dreaming. This can’t be happening. I’m only sixteen years old. The world can’t be ending; I don’t even have my driver’s license yet.

  I refocus and catch the conclusion of Dr. Niva’s interview, “…with a surge causing a complete shutdown of all electronic equipment within the next twelve to fifteen hours. I’m afraid today may be the last news broadcast for a long time. I hate to cause a panic, but the public needs to be prepared. Stock up on water and food. If my predictions are right, we’re about to lose many of the conveniences of the past century.”

  I look around the room at my classmates. Most are still staring at the TV in shock. The drama queens are hugging each other and crying. Kat’s eyes are wide with fear, and when she looks at me, I notice her deep ebony face seems several shades lighter.

  To my right, Eric Eisenbeis is looking at his phone and cursing. “Damn! I just paid 600 dollars for this thing, and in twelve hours it’s going to be trash.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  Light hazel eyes, inside a scowling face, slowly turn toward me. “Aren’t you listening?”

  Now, I’m not stupid, but I don’t get it. I return his scowl with a sarcastic quip, “Yeah, the world is ending. What’s that got to do with your phone?”

  Eric is the top student in the junior class. His dark, wavy hair is always a mess, and it flops over to the side when he tilts his head to look at me.

  “Well,” he says in what I perceive to be a condescending tone, “the ‘impending cloud of magnetized whatever’ that’s coming toward us will destroy all the satellites in space before it starts attacking all of the electronic equipment down here. No satellite, means no internet. No electricity, means no signals. No signals; no phone.”

  I blink once as I process this. “Right.” Again, my hand acts on its own and shoots into the air. “Ms. Adams, I’d like to go home now.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Apparently, there are rules for leaving school during a natural catastrophe because Ms. Adams says that no one is going anywhere until Principal Salas makes an announcement. I suppose there’s a fat, protocol book that describes the step-by-step procedure for all emergency closures. However, while I’m fairly certain there are scenarios involving a bomb threat or a shooter; I sincerely doubt there are any dealing with Armageddon.

  Even though we’re not allowed to leave the school yet, we are allowed to use our phones. I text my mom.

  “See the news?”

  “No texting during school Mya. They’ll take your phone away.”

  “Ma turn on tv bad stuff”

  Typically, my mom is the living definition of the word ‘calm.’ It takes a great deal to get her alarmed, but once she reaches that peak, she stays there for a while. I can tell she’s watching the news report, and that her stress level is rising because her texting language is changing from complete punctuated sentences, to short punctuated clauses.

  “Oh Mya. Come home.”

  “cant”

  “What? Why?”

  “school rules no buses yet come get me”

  “OMW”

  Gone are all her punctuation marks. My mother is using acronyms while texting and has just indicated that she is “on her way.” That’s it then; the world is definitely ending. I am now beginning to feel very uneasy. On the good side though, I get to leave as soon as she gets here.

  ◌◌◌

  While I wait for Mom to arrive, I do an internet search on the terms “solar flare” and “electromagnetic storm.” It looks like flares are nothing new. There was a big flare 150 years ago that crippled the telegraph communications, but it didn’t destroy the world. I have to be missing something because, once again, I don’t get it. I bite my lower lip as I look over at Eric and consider asking for a dumbed-down explanation of what’s happening.

  Like almost everyone else in the room, Eric’s eyes are focused on his phone, and his fingers are moving at unbelievable speeds. He must feel my gaze, because he suddenly stops texting and looks me in the eyes.

  “You’re awfully calm, Mya. Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

  “Of course I’m concerned,” I say. “I called my mom, and she’s coming to get me, but my mom always says that panicking only makes a bad situation worse. So, I don’t know; I don’t have a clue what I should be doing.”

  I’ve always thought that Eric was a pompous bore. I’ve known him most of my life, and yet, I don’t think of him as a “friend.”

  When we were in the fourth grade, I melted hundreds of red, orange, and yellow crayons to create the lava for my Paper Mache volcano project. I thought the idea was unique and showed creativity. Eric laughed at my display and cruelly teased me by declaring to all that I played with coloring crayons.

  In eighth grade, I created a poster presentation for To Kill a Mockingbird. I carried everything to the front of the class, and as I began to explain the significance of the main character’s ham costume, I heard a loud snort from the back of the room. Then the arrogant, little cretin said, “We can see you’re still playing with crayons, Mya. Isn’t it about time you graduated up to colored pencils?”

  So, even though he’s been a colossal jerk in the past, I forge ahead and decide to continue our conversation. After all, if the world is going to end in twelve hours, how much additional harm to my ego can he really achieve?

  “You seem to be very busy on your new, expensive phone,” I say. “Trying to get the most for your money?” I continue in my best educated-sounding voice, “Six hundred dollars divided by twelve hours means you have paid fifty dollars for each future hour of fun. That’s quite a significant investment, but who cares about money when the world’s about to end, right?”

  The left corner of his mouth lifts upward, and he laughs. “You’re always so funny, Mya. I don’t know how you do it. It’s a laugh a minute with you,” he says with a genuine smile.

  I’m speechless at the compliment, and I just stare, like the idiot I am.

  Eric doesn’t notice my fluster, and my eyes get even wider when he picks up his desk and slides it close to mine. I bend my neck forward, as he whispers, “Actually, I care a lot about money right now. I’m making a list of supplies that I think would be beneficial if I survive past tomorrow. The man on the news said we should stock up on water and food, but I’m thinking it would be good to have a few extra things.”

  I lean in closer when he looks down at his phone and says, “We should be able to leave here soon. I’m recommending a trip to the bank first, then straight to the grocery store and the hardware store.”

  When he stops speaking and looks expectantly at me, I raise my eyebrows and ask, “Why a
re we whispering?”

  “Because,” he says on a hushed exhale, “I don’t want everyone knowing my plan. There’s sure to be a run on the bank, and water and supplies will be the next thing to go. I expect the grocery store owners won’t accept credit cards anymore. I know I wouldn’t.”

  This surprises me, and I tilt my head slightly as I look at him. “They won’t accept credit cards? But the machines should work for another twelve hours, right?”

  “Yes,” he says candidly, then explains further. “But Mya, the terminals usually process payments over night. Any credit cards ran today won’t pay off tomorrow. The store owners might as well just open their doors and give everything away.”

  I’m concentrating so hard on everything that Eric is saying that I’m slightly startled when Kat pulls her desk beside me and asks, “What are you doing, Mya? Planning a little lovers’ rendezvous before we all die?”

  I know that Eric’s being really nice right now, but the thought of any tongue-on-tongue action with him is disgusting, and I give Kat the cringe look. “No,” I warn, “don’t go there.”

  A mischievous smile crosses her face, and her brows twitch upward a couple of times. “Then what are you doing? Because it looks very hush, hush.”

  I start to tell her that we’re making plans for after the apocalypse, but I stop when Eric knocks his knee into mine.

  “What?” I turn toward him and ask. “She’s my friend.”

  With his eyebrows scrunched together, Eric shakes his head in little back and forth movements and mumbles something like, “Nuh uh.” We’re having a major stare-down session when I finally say, “If I have twelve hours left to live, I am not going to use that time to screw over my best friend.”

  I can see the frustration all over his face. “If we let everyone know our plans, we screw over ourselves.”

  I lean back in my seat and cross my arms, while I stare at him for a few seconds before responding. In the past couple of years, I’ve watched news reports of Category 5 hurricanes, 7.1 magnitude earthquakes, raging wild fires, and other catastrophic events.