She growled at herself. Simple rule. People who don’t want to get hit shouldn’t go looking for trouble.
The Dust left after the Great Disaster was everywhere, including in food, water, and air and the people who ate, drank, and breathed it. They didn’t know what it was, but other Sparks used it as a catalyst to help spark, or flame, or charge objects. She had played with the Dust every day as a child, during those long hours spent alone, locked away for her own safety. The Dust was alive, and it liked the attention she gave it. It would pretty much do whatever she wanted, including keeping her escape route safe.
She wiggled forward, urging her body down the slope. As soon as her feet cleared the opening behind her, the Dust resealed the floor. They’d see that the bed had been moved, but the floor would be nothing more than what you’d expect to see in a former gas station: worn, ancient, and coated with Dust.
She slid down the smooth tube for about fifteen sloped feet. When she reached the bottom, she pulled herself up onto her elbows, placing her hands flat against the walls.
“Glow,” she breathed, visualizing the dim light she wanted the Dust to make for her.
The tube lit up around her. Running footsteps thumped across the floors behind her. Voices shouted about men down. The bed groaned as it was pulled to the middle of the room.
She didn’t wait for them to start pounding on the floor. The Dust would keep the floor knit together for a long time, and when forced, would collapse the head of the tunnel behind her. Still, she scooted, elbow crawling through the tube as fast as she could.
Her tunnel ran two hundred and fifty feet diagonally away from the house to end in a hidden exit on the side of a dried streambed. She couldn’t hear anything from behind her now; her own breath rasping in and out of her throat eclipsed every other sound. She had no idea how far she’d come, or how far she still had to go.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
The silent chant did little good. The memory of her father’s warning echoed in her head.
She had been five on her first day of Testing Year. Her father had come into the room as her mother finished braiding her hair. He’d squatted in front of her, somber, voice soft but emphatic. As a girl, she’d mistaken his fear for anger.
He’d placed his wide hands on either side of her round, freckled face, the girlish mirror of his own, and told her, “You must remember, Magdalena. Remind yourself every day, every moment that you must not do well. The Council has been watching for a girl like you. You must fail, or they will take you away from us and we will never, ever see you again.”
She’d looked at her mother, who leaned against the closed bedroom door to keep out her brother and sister. No one was allowed to know she was different, not even them.
Her father had gently tugged one braid to pull her attention back to him. “We love you, Magdalena. Please remember.”
She’d nodded, terrified.
She was terrified again. She’d gotten so used to being authentically herself here in the desert that she’d forgotten how to hide, just as she had only days after starting her Testing Year. She’d wanted to win. Now, as then, she had to disappear.
Her elbow hit solid wall—the end of her tunnel. She slapped her shaking hand against the hatch, and it fell away into its component Dust and whispered down to the dry, orange earth of the stream bed three feet below. Lena clawed at the edge, pulling her way out.
Sudden sunlight blinded her. She tumbled face-first to the ground. Her head shrieked at her to stop, listen, and watch for agents. She didn’t. She ran as soon as she gathered her feet under her.
The Pueblo of Santo Domingo offered shelter only four miles away. The arroyo she’d chosen as her escape route cut shallow through the red earth by the seasonal rains. The edge wasn’t above her head, but scrubby juniper and mesquite trees were thick around the edges. She hoped it would be enough to protect her from any eyes searching her out.
Less than two days after she had staked her claim on the gas station, the Kewa had appeared. They’d known she was a Spark, of course, just as they’d known she had moved into the abandoned station. Natives could spot the energy bloom practicing Sparks gave off like a heat signature. They were happy to barter in exchange for charges that didn’t come from a Council Spark. Over time, they’d come to trust each other. Now, they would be her safe haven.