36

Emergency

I dove behind the metal desk and when I peeked out, I was amazed to see that Lars was up and grabbing the guy’s arm, trying to wrestle the gun from his hand. Neither of them saw Brit, who had recovered and was sneaking up behind them with a shovel. With a mighty whack, she hit the Partner and he fell—hitting his head a second time when he struck the concrete floor.

“Brit, he shot my Albert.” I could hardly speak or think; the red spiders scuttled in a cloud around me. They were turning my snowy mind red, and my heart black. I barely noticed that Lars was checking Albert’s pulse, listening for him to breathe. Lars was saying something but I couldn’t hear him.

“What? What did you say?”

The red spiders told me that Albert was dead and the world was total crap.

Lars sounded muffled and far away. I strained to hear him. “He’s alive, Mary.”

“He’s—alive?” I slogged back from the black and crammed my mind with snow.

“He’s got a pulse and he’s breathing.” Poor Lars looked half-crazed himself with his bloodshot eyes and a greenish tinge to his skin. “Mary, we’ve got to finish this if we’re going to save him—if we’re going to save anything at all.” Lars was speaking slowly in his effort to concentrate.

“None of us can think like Albert,” Brit said. “He’s the key—the Commodore said so.”

I was so grateful that Albert still had a chance; that we all still had a chance. “Citizen Lady said we all play a part.” I was trying to remember the exact words. “She said, ‘Albert is the key, but Pearl is compassionate, Equationaut is clever, and Lars is brave. Excellent counterparts if one were to encounter an emergency.’”

“Yeah, I’d call this an emergency,” Brit said.

“She also said Albert needed our support,” Lars pointed out. “Maybe it wasn’t enough to just be here. I mean, the blue light never turned on. Maybe Albert wasn’t meant to do this alone.”

“You’re right.” The soundness of what Lars said gave me hope.

“Albert had the key that opened the channel,” Brit said. “Maybe we can do the rest.”

“Quick, get the electrodes off Albert,” I said. I was walking a fine line of staying cold and calm but a small part of me dared to hope. “We’ll hook ourselves up. Maybe we can bait the charge and do the commercial at the same time.”

Brit and Lars started sticking the components on their heads anywhere they would adhere. I did the same.

“All the switches are on.” I checked the window; it looked like the lasers were flashing. “I hope the tunnel is still open.” We had to lean in toward each other because we were sharing the electrode gizmo. I held Brit’s hand on one side, and Lars’s hand on the other. For some reason I suddenly recalled the happy idea that had consoled me that morning—that maybe good thoughts made reality, too.

“Good thoughts make reality,” I said excitedly, even as I tried to reel in my hope.

The pink light was back on, brighter than before.

“I think our good thoughts make reality,” I said in a passion-filled voice. “Our good thoughts have value, and they’re worth more than diamonds and gold.”

I was speaking on the TV again, still on the big screen above Times Square, still standing in the snow doused in pink light—even though here I was, speaking these words from inside the garage. My eyes found Brit and we shared a What the hay? moment. But I couldn’t revel in the SMHRs’s tricky technology. I had a memo to make.

“Our beautiful thoughts create beauty,” I continued, “and our bad thoughts make things ugly. If we could all pretend for a minute that our good thoughts were golden and sparkly, maybe we could send them into the world and make it a better place. You could try. You could take your best thoughts and fill them up with love and kindness—because the world needs them right now.”

I thought my deepest thoughts of love and concern, and the red spiders stayed away.

“You could call it a prayer or a wish or a dream. You could call it anything you want, but just think your best thoughts and fill them with love.”

I quit holding hands with Brit and Lars and concentrated with all my might. I rolled my fingers into fists and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Try as hard as you can to bring all that love and kindness from your toes up to your heart, and zoom it into your arms.” I raised my arms as high as they would go. “And then open your hands—” I stretched my fingers in the cold garage and I opened my eyes to see Brit and Lars with their arms raised, too. “AND THEN JUST LET IT ALL GO!”

I could imagine the love in my hands exploding like fireworks, filling the garage, racing out the door, and shooting into the frosty sky.

When I checked the TV, everyone in Times Square was doing it. Everyone was raising their arms and sending their own versions of beauty and love into the world. Did they sense the critical moment, or were they just carried along with the crowd, like doing the wave with thousands of fans? It didn’t matter. They all participated and smiled and laughed. They all shared their humanity and their joy.

To my astonishment, when those thousands of people opened their hands and let out their love—I could see it. It was as real as diamonds and gold. I could see the good explode and swirl like galaxies rushing into the atmosphere. And all those people could see it, too. They oohed and ahhed like they were watching fireworks, only the sparks and swirls and glittering lights came from each one of them.

If you could paint a picture of love, it would look like that night. The joyful faces and the eruptions of color and sparks and intertwining comets told a story of all that was good, all that was simple, and all that was kind. The worst of humanity might have been awful, but the very best was this heart-wrenching painting of love.

A blue light caught my eye. I gazed out the window to see the thin blue beam stabbing at the heart of the red mist. It was the amplifier. At last!

There was a sound rising—maybe it was outside, or maybe it was inside my head. It reminded me of a train rumbling, coming from far, far away. By the sound and the feel of the vibration, it was coming closer. And it was big.