CHAOS: a story about gods and afternoon recess (#ONC2023)

Chapter Twelve

Dripping rain water from the tips of my fingers and the end of my nose, I duck inside the tiny, crowded room. The children are uncharacteristically silent and solemn as they watch their school burn.

Jenny sniffs and wipes her nose. "I brought Molly Dolly for show and tell. She's still in there." Emilia wraps an arm around her and the girl lays her head against the teacher's hip.

"Where's Pattinson?" she asks.

"Most of his class was in the concession stand." I point toward the eastern end of the field. "He took off that way."

She nods. Her next question is whispered so softly it's nearly lost beneath the din of rain, drumming on the thin plywood roof. "What are we going to do?"

There are twenty-three children with us. They all stare at me now.

My legs are trembling with the strain of the search and escape. Well, no. That's not entirely true. My body is trembling with the effort to maintain its physical form.

"Zatyafan can save us."

I glance around for the source of this extraordinary statement.

Matthew is gazing up at me with pleading eyes. His light hair is plastered to his head and his clothes are stuck to his body, making him look especially small and fragile. "Zatyafan is God. He can do anything."

Emilia shoots me a glance that holds something like amusement. Or maybe annoyance. Possibly both. "He's not God, Matthew."

Matthew stomps his foot. "He is a wittlegee god."

"Matthew." My voice is weak and raspy. "My power is devastated. There is nothing left."

Jenny pipes up from the far corner where she's pressed her back against the wall, hiding herself in shadows. The whites of her eyes are like specters in the dark. "No! You're God. Fix it."

"Fix it!" Bentley demands.

Unable to bear the weight of their earnest prayers, I gaze upon the burning building. Black smoke broils out from the center of the building now. I hold on to the thin window ledge to keep from falling.

Masen starts a chant and in moments, the rest of the children join in. "Fix it! Fix it! Fix it!"

"I can't," I say, but they can't hear me over their own racket. "I can't!" I shout the words, using a large reserve of my remaining strength to do so.

They fall silent.

"I am weak. I have no power." I won't look away from the fire. If I see Emilia and there is pity in her eyes, it will be the end of me, quite literally.

For second that feel like centuries, we are all silent. Only the storm speaks, barking and growling like a wild dog. Then...

Something is pressed into my palm.

I look down. Jenny has given me a small rock. Bits of quartz sparkle in the gray stone. "I found it at the bus stop this morning."

Like the spark that ignited the school building, something flickers to life deep in my core.

"Everybody, Zatyafan can fix this if he's strong. He needs offerings."

Emilia sighs. "Jenny, that's very—"

Bentley produces a toy car from his pocket and tosses it to me. When I catch it, my hand is quick and steady.

A girl whose name I do not know takes off her necklace. It is a string with a pink plastic heart pendant. "I hope you can help us," she says as she hands it to me.

One little boy hands me a broken pencil. Another offers me a sincere hug.

Lightning cracks and the power in me surges as if in answer to the storm's bluster.

Matthew reaches into his pocket and produces a single wrapped candy in a crinkly wrapper. It's sticky from the warm pressure of his hand, clutching it. He holds his palm open, lifting the offering toward me. "You can have it. I'm sorry I took your power away."

I'm trembling again as I take it, not with weakness, but with the struggle to contain my strength. I take a moment to study Emilia's beautiful blue eyes. "Emilia, I told you at the beginning, I am Zatyafan, god of chaos. It is true. You will see."

"Zatyafan—" She reaches for me.

I step away from her and open the door. Rain gusts in. I emerge into the storm and survey the land. A bridge would be ideal, of course, but while I can almost effortlessly duplicate something as small as a plastic credit card, a sturdy bridge is a different matter altogether. However, I realize I do not need to manifest the structure on my own. I slip the offerings into my pockets and hold my hands out to the school, searching for what I require. And I find it. In the kitchen, a pipe pumps natural gas to the ovens. Another fuels the boiler. I focus on those pressurized pipes with all my strength, cracking them, bending them, rupturing the welded seams that hold them together.

A rumble starts low in the earth. For several seconds, the ground trembles as if the tectonic plates are grinding against one another. Then the pressure lets go, and a fireball erupts from the roof of the cafeteria, rolling upward into the storm-darks sky like molten lava over Vesuvius. The bleachers shudder and rattle as the force of the explosion moves along the gas pipe. Focusing on the path of the fire, I squeeze my fist. The metal constricts, splits open, the fire follows the path of least resistance and a dozen towering pines fall forward, forming a perfectly sound bridge across the water.

Cheers rise up around me and I realize the children have joined me outside in the rain.

Emilia's magnificent bosom rises and falls with deep, shuddering breaths.

"Zat-ya-fan, Zat-ya-fan, Zat-ya-fan!" My followers sing my name.

Lightning flashes, striking the tallest tree in the forest. Thunder tears across the sky. Buoyed on the faith of my followers, I point at the storm clouds and bellow. It is a deep primal sound I have not loosed since the days of ape-men with stone tools. The storm clouds condense in a swirling black mass over the forest and pour out water upon the burning tree, dousing the fire.

Grunting with the effort, I drag the storm to the school and extinguish the flames there as well, wringing the rain from the sky as if it were a wet sponge.

When I am done, there is nothing left of nature's fury. The remaining wisps of gray clouds blend into the foul smoke.

Mad with power, adrenaline coursing through my fleshly body, I turn and see Emilia gazing upon me with wide eyes. Her beautiful lips are parted. Water has pasted her clothes to her lovely body. I sweep her into my arms and claim her with a passionate kiss. Her arms wrap around my shoulders. Her breasts press against my chest.

A chorus of groans and exclamations of "Gross!" rise up around us.

We split apart and look down at the children. Among them stands Matthew, grinning. "Get 'it, guy!"

I turn back to Emilia, and I get it.