I took next week off to figure out control. I’d gotten somewhat used to the constant hum of everything electric and the strange wobbliness of a lot of the metal things in the world, but part of how I did so was avoidance. Or, more specifically, routines. And, for the most part, it works. Because, while there is always the deep thrums and the faint buzzings, it’s always the same thrums and buzzings. So I started to not notice that I was hearing them. Hence the problem. I’m getting a promotion. They’re moving me to the home office, over in a much more dense city than my old one. And I doubt that it’s going to be easy to find a route through a real city that doesn’t have loud thrums and buzzes.
But even that isn’t really why I’m here. I mean, I might have done something, sure, but come out here to this campsite? Not likely. I’m here because of a slightly problematic incident a couple days ago. I was tired, it was a few days after I learned the rent for my apartment was going to be increasing if I renewed my lease, and I was working overtime to have enough money saved up to pay for a security deposit. I was on the bus, heading back home from a late shift. Thank goodness it didn’t happen at work. I started to doze off, when I heard a faint shouting. There were people in masks outside. I tried to listen to what was happening. And, as I focused on hearing the quieted shouts from outside, the phones in the bus, and several things on the masked people outside the bus, spontaneously exploded. The explosions startled the attackers and brought the cops over from a few blocks down. Fortunately, since the bus was being attacked by masked strangers with bizarre looking equipment, the three other people on the bus reported our attackers as behind whatever magnetic pulse hit their electronics. But I knew better. And if one brief faltering of my focus could cause that, I needed to gain better control. Else something worse could happen. Imagine if instead of on a bus stopped next to an abandoned concrete bowling alley, I was on a moving train. Or next to some kind of important computer server building. So I took a week off, officially to figure out my living situation in the new city, and came out here, to a quiet campsite, away from electric wires and with minimal metal, so long as I stay away from the parking lot.
There were three other areas booked. A family of four, whom I’ve avoided like the plague. Nothing against them personally, I haven’t actually met any of them. They’re just here for a recreational vacation time, their lot is the closest to the parking area, and they seem less interested in avoiding the trappings of the electronic world. Best avoid them until I have a handle on things. There’s a young man, who’s here to live out some woodsman fantasy. He’s run into me once, when I was setting up my tent, but seems to be in his own world. And there’s the couple, who seem to lack any sort of chemistry. They look nice enough, if a bit cold.
Then there’s me, sitting at the creek meditating in front of a tent spike. The spike is disorderly, letting out that deep thrum that messes with my equilibrium. I put it in order and it stands up. I can move it side to side, back and forth, by simply reorienting its direction, and that of its surroundings. That small trick takes me half a day to figure out. This is going to be a long week. I make my way back to my campsite. The metal stakes for my tent also thrum. Instead of ignoring them, I keep them in mind as I tear open one of the MREs I got specifically for this trip. Sure, they’re probably not going to taste good, but it is a full meal without very much metal at all. The only thing in it that makes noise is the heating packets, and even that is subtle. I prepare my meal and start to eat.
As I’m eating, a buzz starts to approach. I look up, and see the younger kid of the family. Couldn’t be older than ten. “Hey, are you okay?” she asks when she’s actually crossed over into my plot. “Sorry, that might be rude. We’re just saying hello to everyone else here, and you spent the morning sitting still by a river, seemed kinda weird to me.”
I take a subtle breath, and swallow exaggeratedly. “Sorry,” I say with a sigh, “I’m just focusing on myself.”
“No biggie,” she replies, “I’m Hillary.”
There’s a sigh from the next plot over. Loudly, the young man says, “Some people might not wanna chat out here.”
“Ignore him, Hillary,” I say, “I’m Danielle. Friends call me Dani.”
“Okay, but if you’re not okay, you can tell me,” she says, then she looks back. “Mom just finished up lunch, bye.” And she runs off back towards the cars.
“Give the kid a break,” I tell my neighbor.
He chuckles. Walking over to face me, but remaining by his own tent, he replies, “She was just so hyper, it gave me a headache.”
“So, you know my name, what’s yours?” I ask.
“Suppose that’s only polite. Lawrence,” he answers, “My parents loved the old movie.” And, before I could ask any more questions, he returns to his tent. Leaving me alone once more.
I finish off my meals and return to the river, this time bringing both the spare stake and a small iron nail. This time, I check around to make sure no one is watching. Then, after aligning the stake, I start to move it. It makes a buzzing noise, similar to electricity, though not quite the same. Moving the stake around is a much faster trick to pick up than simply changing the internal alignment of the stake. But that is just a party trick. Next, I move on to the more important thing. I lay the stake flat on the ground, and place beside it the nail. They both thrum at different tones and volumes, but with similar effects on my equilibrium. I align them, and, as magnets are wont to do, they stick together. Less than ideal. I begin toying with the alignment within, trying to find a point where it doesn’t have that disorienting deep dissonance, but also doesn’t become magnetized.
It takes me a while to find. It takes me even longer to internalize. But by nightfall, when I return to my tent with nail and stake in tow, neither is making a dissonant noise. Just soft, deep harmonies. It’s almost soothing. As I slide into my tent, I do the same to all the stakes and small fasteners inside. And, for the first time in a while, I have a good night’s sleep.
The family was only there for the weekend, from Friday morning through Sunday evening. I’d gotten here Saturday. Sunday, I spent drilling down on the harmonizing without much thought. I walked around the campsite, I chatted with the family of four and changed the metals from dissonant to that subtle, improper harmony. I avoided reaching towards anything that hummed, but the soft, harmonic thrum almost made the buzzing of all the electricity more bearable. I brought plenty of electrical stuff in my car, and figuring out a way to deal with the buzzing without turning off everything around me is going to be the practice for the coming days. By Sunday evening, after I said goodbye to the young family, it was at the point where, without thinking, metal untouched by electricity was subconsciously reordered as I approached. I also found that naturally the disorder did return in time without my interference, but that would no longer matter. Once again, I went to sleep.
Gunshots. Loud buzzes. Something is happening. I slip out from my tent. The couple that didn’t seem very couple-like is dressed in advanced military-esque gear and wearing masks. Like the ones that attacked me on the bus. Are these masked people after me? Lawrence is nowhere to be seen. Is he one of them? No, he’s running. They aren’t approaching me, but heading into the woods. They aren’t after me. They’re following his tracks. Why? I take a deep breath. Lawrence might be a bit raw, but he doesn’t deserve to get shot. I focus on the buzzing that I know will be coming from them. There were a lot. I begin toying with the buzzing, rather than stopping them. Spinning them does little I can notice in the first moments. They move deeper into the woods. “That way,” one says. But if I can quiet them, perhaps I can also make them louder. That must be what I did before, subconsciously. I was trying to hear things. I follow behind them quietly, and focus on the buzzing. Trying to hear the details of the buzzing. Making them loud enough to understand. For a moment, I can almost hear some beeps in one, and a voice in another, but only for a moment. Because, after a moment, they begin to explode.
“Under attack,” the woman says. “Advise?”
Evidently there was no response, because after a moment, the man says, “Fuck, adversary is here, we need to find a way to call for backup.”
“Why is the adversary interested in this one, he’s barely a C-rank?”
I stick to the shadows as they look around. “Maybe they need him for a specific reason?” the guy replies, “The hell should I know?” He holds out his hand towards the woman.
“Fine,” she says, clearly upset by whatever is happening. She grasps his forearm with her hand, and he returns the grasp. The pair vanish in a strange puff of almost dust-like particulate.
“The heck did you do?” a voice says from above me.
I look up. Lawrence is up in the canopy, hidden from view. He didn’t have a problem hiding from them. “Not that,” I answer.
He drops to the ground. “Naw, they did that. Mix of determination and fear. Though I don’t think the woman liked whatever it was. I’m talking about when you focused and made explosions.”
“Wait, why are you asking me questions, I should be asking you. Why are these masked commandos after you?” I turn the tables on him.
He shrugs. “I don’t know for sure. But I suspect it’s because I can kinda read people’s feelings. Like I can feel your confusion at the disappearance, and the fact that you didn’t like me asking about the explosions. And the rush of success when I first answered your question instead of pressing my own. And the current concern rushing over you. Maybe I read the wrong person?”
He’s right. But not about that last thing. What if the commandos back at the bus had been after me. “I don’t think it’s that you read anyone in particular,” I reply as I move the harmonic disorder of his whittling knife into perfect order and have it float up in the air between us. “I think it might just be because you can. They went after me a few days ago.”
“Shit, you can make shit float and explode with your mind? That’s so much cooler than feeling thoughts.”
“Not really?” I say, “Around metal and electricity, there’s this constant, irritating background noise. The whole reason I came out here in the first place was to figure out how to deal with it without, you know, making things explode.”
“I can see how that could be irritating in a city,” he replies, “I can feel the emotions of everyone within about ten yards of me. It was bad enough in an apartment building, but I’m heading to college next year. A dorm is going to be a nightmare if I can’t figure out how to tune things out. That’s why I went away from the masses. Less feelings, I might be able to focus on quieting them.”
“Seems like your plan is fucked,” I tell him outright. He looks at me confused. I explain, “Well, if they did that to themselves, that means they’re not dead. That means they’re actually getting that backup they want. So they’re coming back with more people.”
“That means you’re screwed too, if they figure out who you are. We need new plans.” After a pause, he asks, “How do you feel about pancakes? I know a great place…”
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