37

Back to the source

The rumble seemed to vibrate in my skull and was followed by a blast of energy that shook the forest. The sound shifted from a very low octave to an even lower-down bass—though I wasn’t sure if it was a sound or a feeling—and then everything around us grew deadly quiet and still.

On the TV, I was saying bring all the love and kindness . . .

“And be super bold,” I cut in. I smiled at Brit and Lars. What else could we do but hope and believe?

“The bait is working,” Brit said. “I don’t feel the red spiders at all.”

“It’s not over yet,” Lars said cautiously. “Enough positive energy has to get into the half-constant to balance it out. Keep sending your best.”

At this moment, I totally believed in the good. The belief gave me courage, and the courage gave me hope, and both those feelings gave me this sense of resolve, like it was set in cement—that somehow this world would be restored and I’d get my brother back. In my head I said, Albie, if you are listening, Pearl will save you.

We all held hands again. Lars kept his eyes on Brit, looking out for her like he always did. My eyes found my brother, and I thought about the monumental strength of loyalty.

“You guys are awesome.” I said it like it was a casual thing, but only because I couldn’t explain how big that feeling was.

In Times Square I was saying, “Think your best thoughts and fill them with love…”

The white lasers flashed and the blue beam burned, and the awful column of red mist that had been blasting into the sky made a total reversal. The woods trembled as the negative energy rolled in waves, faster and faster, like water circling a drain. It was a whirlpool of bad thoughts getting flushed through the channel that Albert had opened. It was all roaring back.

I cringed as a corner of the roof blew off in a quaking gust of red snow. Tree branches shook and cracked, and debris went flying as the thunderous, deafening train of bad thoughts rushed wildly back to the source. The garage rattled and convulsed and the glass in the window shattered. The forest quivered and leaned into the rip. I watched red mist fly off the Partner. It flew off of us, too. I felt thrilled with the triumph and could only imagine that sense of boundless joy being amplified exponentially. What power!

A bright light alerted us to the SMHR craft hovering low overhead, glowing like the sun. It was caught in the whirlpool and was getting sucked down. The craft tipped lower and lower, burning branches and cracking tree trunks, but the blue beam that amplified our thoughts kept shining—and then the whole craft disappeared, vanishing like poor Mr. Shinn at his last, crazy stand.

The idea came to me that this might have been intentional, that maybe the triad was so intrigued by the data they hoped to gain, they’d driven into the whirlpool on purpose. Either that, or they sacrificed themselves for our world—which filled me with an admiration that ached.

One last wave followed, but this one was bubbly and light. It was the same effervescence we’d felt on Mars, only now it had a purpose, a direction. Maybe it was the leftover good chasing the bad; maybe that’s what Albert called good order. The brilliant wave bubbled and foamed like a stormy sea, pushing the red spiders back through the channel.

And then all was quiet.

Just quiet.

We were still holding hands, white-knuckled, gaping at each other when Albert raised his head, and blinked.

“Albert! Are you okay?”

A big bump was forming on his temple. It was a perfectly round welt that was bleeding. He groped around the desk and found something . . . he held out his hand and showed me the last electrode. It was a mess, with a bullet-size dimple in the center. I ran over and hugged him, and he let me.

“Albert, did it work?” I asked. “Did we close the rip?”