by Jackson Ford
“Where you been?” he says. “We have problems with the radio. Did you find the boy? Where is the boss man? He still chasing?”
“Medical tent,” I say, through gritted teeth.
“Paul is at the medical tent? I don’t—”
“Us, Africa. Take us. Now.”
Somehow, we make it to the right tent. Somehow, Africa gets us through the soldiers manning the doors. Reggie’s just inside the entrance, sprawled out on a hospital bed, covered with a ratty blanket. She looks very small, even frail, but she perks up the minute she sees us. “Oh, thank the Lord. What happened?”
I try to tell her, try to open my mouth and explain. I can’t get a single word out. Not one.
A frown creases Reggie’s brow. “Teagan, what’s wrong?” She gives Annie a closer look, takes in the grey face, the slumped, shaking shoulders.
“Where’s Paul?” she says very softly.
We don’t even have to answer. Reggie’s face collapses, just folds in on itself, and then Annie is on the ground, howling, and Africa has his enormous arms around her and I close my eyes and maybe if I don’t open them ever again, that wouldn’t be so bad.
THIRTY-THREE
Amber
“Matthew!”
Amber plunges across the scrubland, blood pounding in her ears. She can’t see her son. She can’t see her son.
And it’s worse this time, because other people have seen what he can do. And this isn’t like the cop from before. It’s not like the earthquakes. There were witnesses. And now for the first time, Matthew isn’t with her. He’s on his own, and if she can’t get to him, he might do it again. She’s the only one who can stop it. She’s the only one who can control him.
And so she runs.
The landscape is hilly scrubland, with sparse patches of trees, like an urban forest that someone gave up on long ago. The light from Dodger Stadium is nothing more than a glimmer on the horizon behind her.
In desperation, Amber heads for another stand of trees, just below the crest of a hill, forcing aside low-hanging branches. One whips back, striking her across the face, cutting a stinging line across one cheek. The rain’s actually gotten worse, the drizzle turning to fat droplets. They run down Amber’s forehead, blurring her vision. Her jeans are covered in wet dirt from ankle to thigh. Somewhere, she lost her denim jacket – she has no idea when that happened.
A road. There’s a road. From her vantage point at the top of the hill, Amber can see right down to it. It’s cracked and torn, like all the others, but if she can get to it—
Her foot snags on something in the dirt – a rock, a root. Thrown up by her son, maybe, when he caused the quake. She goes down hard, wrists snapping back as she makes contact with the shredded earth, rolling, ripping the skin off her elbows.
Amber comes to a halt against the trunk of an uprooted tree. She lies for a moment, ears ringing, chest heaving. A picture flits across her mind of the man Matthew buried, his body vanishing into the dirt, that one outstretched hand—
“Matthew!” This time, her shout is so loud she feels something tear in her throat: a burning sensation, like she’s swallowed acid. She coughs, yells his name even louder.
A helicopter rumbles overhead, a black shadow against the sky, blowback buffeting the trees. Swaying, Amber gets to her feet. She’s lost track of the road – was it on her left? No – there’s nothing there but more dark scrub. Why was she trying to reach the road anyway? What made it likely that Matthew would be there?
Her eyes land on the glow of the stadium on the horizon, and it triggers a memory. The glow of light as she cracked the front door of her rooms in the School, late one night, wondering who the hell could be knocking at 3 a.m. Ajay hardly ever visited her in the rooms she shared with Matthew – when they made love, it was always in his quarters, overlooking the back of the School.
His normally neat hair was a mess. The skin around his eyes was puffy, as if he’d been weeping. He’d pushed inside the dark living room, elbowing her out of the way and closing the door behind him.
“Ajay, what—?”
“Quiet.” He had a black eye – one he hadn’t had the day before, when she’d last seen him. It wasn’t much of a shiner – a little bruising on his cheekbone, a purpling of the skin. But it had been like a drop of ice water, trickling down her spine.
He’d seen her looking. “The Director wouldn’t listen. None of them would fucking listen.”
“Ajay, please, you’re going to wake—”
He’d laughed at that, a harsh bark of a laugh with zero humour in it. “It’ll be a goddamn miracle if they aren’t arrested. Same for me.”
“Arrested?”
“Wake your boy up. I’ll look after him while you pack.”
“Why am I…? Ajay, talk to me, what’s going on?”
“Just do it. I’ll explain while you get your stuff.”
Something in his tone made her move. She’d woken her son up – Matthew was groggy, irritated, so much so that she was worried he was going to lash out. But he’d never attacked Ajay, not once, and he let the doctor lead him into the living room. He’d sat on the couch, blinking with sleep, frowning as Amber darted around the apartment, trying to figure out what they’d need, what they dared take with them. Her toothbrush, Matthew’s iPad, the few books she’d been reading, her clothes and tampons and sneakers…
Ajay strode to the window. He’d peeked through one of the blinds, and for a moment, Amber was overcome with just how ridiculous he looked. Like they were in a spy movie.
“Where are we going?” Matthew had asked.
“Just be ready to leave, honey.” Even to her, her voice sounded unsure.
“I don’t wanna go.” He’d folded his arms, fully awake now. “Dr Martinez said she was going to get me some more books. And we were supposed to go to the Carlsbad Caverns soon.”
“I know, honey, but Ajay says—”
“I don’t care what he says!” Her son’s anger was building, threatening to boil out of him. That had brought Ajay away from the window – he’d seen Matthew get angry, knew what could happen. He’d sat down next to him on the couch, put a hand on his shoulder. When he spoke, however, it was to Amber. Diamond, then, of course – a name she was about to lose, although she didn’t know it yet.
“The government found out about the School.”
“What? How?”
“We don’t know. The Director isn’t sure.”
“Well, can’t she do anything? There must be a way—”
“No. They’re coming, and they’re going to shut this place down.”
“But why?”
He’d ignored the question. “You can’t stay here, Di. There’s a car waiting for you – a friend owed me a favour.” He’d dug in his pocket, passed her what appeared to be a driving licence, and a health insurance card. “New IDs. They’re not perfect – they won’t pass a close look. But they’ll help you get as far away as you can.”
She had stared down at the cards. Her photo, a fake date of birth, a fake name. Schenke. She had a sudden urge to ask him how to pronounce it right.
“No.” Matthew – still known as Lucas – had sprung off the couch, his little fists clenched. “I don’t wanna go!”
“I’m sorry, Lucas, but you have to.”
“I don’t care if the government know about us. I’m not leaving.”
It was very rare for Amber to take strength from her son, but this time, she did. She’d stepped behind him, putting down the small duffel bag she’d been shoving their clothes into, wrapped an arm around him. “He’s right. We’ll talk to them, work something out.”
His eyes, when they found hers, were pleading. “They’re going to separate you.”
The ice water trickling down her spine had become a flood. “You can’t know that.”
Another humourless laugh. “They will. I know how these people work.”
“I won’t let them,” her son had said. “I’ll… I’ll stop them.”
<
br /> Ajay had reached out for him. “If you try, they’ll just hurt you back. Maybe even kill you.”
“I’ll kill them!”
“And that’ll make it worse for you later.” He’d always been like this with Matthew: cool, unemotional, never afraid to tell him the truth. It was the only thing Matthew seemed to respond to, and it was the one thing Amber never seemed able to pull off. How was she going to manage her son without Ajay? Without the School? How could he expect her to just… leave?
“There’s no other way,” Ajay had said. “I’m sorry, but you have to go. Tonight.” He turned back to the boy. “And listen: you can’t use your powers in front of anyone. It’s just like we talked about. You have to keep you and your mom safe.”
Her son had stared at him for the longest time, chewing on his lip. Then he’d nodded, as if the decision had been his to make all along. “Amber,” he said, looking up at her. “Are we done packing?”
Already using her new name.
The world had seemed to tilt sideways, the ground sliding away from her. It wasn’t that the idea of going off-grid scared her – she’d spent years in New Mexico with no bank account, social security, any kind of record. But the sheer speed at which it had all happened. Just like that, they were having to leave the only safe place she’d ever known.
But right now, what the fuck does any of that matter? She’s here, and she is going to get control of this. She is going to find her child, her son.
And as if the thought summoned him, she spots Matthew. He’s walking out of the trees at the bottom of the slope, stepping lightly over a metal barrier onto the cracked tarmac. Amber can’t see his face, but his white T-shirt is clearly visible. It’s grimy and soaking by now, but still bright enough to spot in the darkness. Slowly, she gets to her feet, limping down the hill towards him.
She loses track of him within a few seconds, the white shirt vanishing as Matthew heads further onto the road. She quickens her pace, realising dimly that she twisted her ankle in the fall. It’s not broken – at least, she doesn’t think it is – but putting weight on it forces air out from between her teeth, like steam escaping a pipe.
Somehow, she makes it to the barrier, levers herself over. The road surface, like that of the stadium parking lot, has been damaged by the quake. It’s not as bad here, though, with yards of unbroken surface – a quirk of geography protecting it, perhaps. Matthew is heading down the road, his back to her, and just beyond him—
Amber blinks. There’s a helicopter parked on the street, side-on, its rotor blades still and silent. A logo emblazoned on the side: KTLA, big red letters against a white background.
The chopper pilot sits in the open cockpit door, baseball cap turned back, head bent over his phone. To his right, a woman paces, talking on her own cell. She wears a soaked green windbreaker over a flannel shirt, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks up as Matthew approaches, frowning slightly.
There’s no one else around. Amber limps towards the chopper, not sure what she plans to say, or if she even needs to say anything. Her only thought is to get Matthew away from them, before he does something…
“Can we use your chopper?” Matthew is saying to the woman when Amber arrives. The pilot looks up, puzzled annoyance crossing his face. Both he and the woman look exhausted, soaked from the rain.
The woman has her phone pressed to her right shoulder. “Um… are you lost? Where’re your mom and dad?”
At that moment, she looks up and spots Amber. “Is this your mom? Sorry, we’ve got no water left – you aren’t the first folks to come and ask. They’ll let you into the stadium though – it’s just up there.”
“We need to go north,” Matthew says, as if the woman hadn’t spoken.
“Hi, yes, sorry.” Amber puts a hand on Matthew’s shoulder. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”
The pilot is watching them, wary, as if he expects them to try steal his chopper. There’s another man, Amber sees, in the helicopter’s main cabin. He’s holding a professional camera, watching footage on a pop-out screen. “Nice shirt, kid,” he says with a smirk, gesturing at Matthew’s billowing Earthquake Exhibit T-shirt.
“Yeah, OK, excuse me.” The woman puts the phone back to her ear, turns away. “Sorry, I’m here. Yes, we already tried that. It’s like I said…”
“Matthew.” Amber goes down on one knee, wincing as her ankle takes a little weight. “Let’s go, OK?”
“Why? We need to head north, and they’ve got a helicopter.”
“I know but—”
“We can’t use cars,” he says, sounding almost bored. “And we can’t walk. So we need them to take us.” He raises his voice, addressing the woman with the phone. “You gotta get us out of the city.”
She doesn’t even look at him. The pilot has gone back to his phone.
“Hey,” Amber says, desperate to calm her son down. “Let’s just…”
Just what? Find another helicopter?
Matthew raises his voice. “I’ll make you fly us. I’ll make you take us out of here.”
“Honey, please, listen to me. I know we can’t go back to the stadium, but we can’t just…”
But it’s already happening. What will he do this time? Swallow the entire helicopter? No, he’ll just kill the reporter and her cameraman, maybe the pilot too…
Amber looks from the logo on the helicopter, to the camera, to the woman talking on her phone. And just like that, she knows what the angle is.
Doesn’t matter if it’s a nervous driver in Albuquerque, or a reporter in the aftermath of a Los Angeles earthquake. A con is a con.
And if there’s one thing Amber knows how to do, it’s run a con.
“We were in the stadium,” she says. The woman flicks an annoyed glance at her, but doesn’t respond. Amber almost gives into panic – she’d been banking on the reporter wanting to interview them, get some comment on the conditions inside. But her mind works the angles for her, gets her to where she needs to go.
“They kicked us out,” she says loudly. “Told us we had to go somewhere else.”
“Jim, give me a second.” The woman puts the phone to her shoulder again, focusing on Amber. “What do you mean they kicked you out?”
“Yeah, we were there,” Matthew replies, before Amber can. Jesus, he’s quick. “They said we had to leave, because they were going to run out of food and stuff. And water.”
“They’re…” Amber looks over her shoulder, as if she’s worried soldiers are going to appear out of the rain. It’s easy. Like muscle memory, all the old tricks ready and waiting for her. “They shot a guy. I saw it happen, he… he was trying to get a drink of water, and they…”
The reporter pops the phone to her ear, gaze darting between Matthew and Amber. “Jim, I’ll call you back.”
Her smile is dazzling, teeth achingly white. “Molly Zuckerman.” She shakes Amber’s hand, holding on just a little too long. “I’m with KTLA news. You saw this happen? You saw someone get shot?”
“I – yes. Yes, we did.”
“Miguel!” Molly Zuckerman bangs on the side of the chopper, making the cameraman start. Some hair has come loose from her ponytail, and she brushes it back, still looking at Matthew and Amber, as if they’ll run the moment she blinks. “Sorry about before. It’s been a little crazy down here. You know how it is.”
“So can you help us or not?” Matthew says. Amber has an urge to snap at him – he might be smart, but he’s being way too demanding. If this is going to work, he needs to trust her…
Zuckerman’s smile falters slightly. Without looking away from them, she gestures at her cameraman. He’s already got the camera hoisted to his shoulder, red light on. Amber’s instinct is to flinch away – but then again, what does it matter? The government already knows where they are, already sent people after them.
All the same, she finds herself stepping in front of Matthew, shielding him from the camera’s eye.
“OK…” Zuckerman closes her eye
s and takes a deep breath, moving her hands down to her waist as she exhales, thumbs and index fingers touching. She glances at the cameraman. “We rolling?”
He nods, and Zuckerman turns her thousand-watt smile back on Amber. “Ma’am, can you tell us exactly what you saw in Dodger—?”
“We’ll talk to you if you give us a ride out of here.” Amber straightens up, ignoring the stab of pain in her ankle.
“The hell you say,” mutters the pilot.
A shadow crosses Zuckerman’s face. “I’m just asking a few simple questions, that’s all. About the stadium. Can you—?”
“I said. You fly us north, we’ll give you your interview.”
“I say we do it,” says the cameraman. “We’re not getting anywhere here.”
“Not your call, Miguel.” Zuckerman sounds annoyed now, but her eyes tell a different story. There’s a hunger in them, an eagerness.
Beside Amber, Matthew has fallen silent, as if sensing what she’s trying to do.
There’s a risk. An insane risk. If the government really is on the hunt, then she’s about to do something that will let them know exactly where she and her son are headed. Then again, she’s lived through risk like this before. She lived through it every time she picked a mark, every time she pretended to be hurt, every time she threw herself in front of a car. Risk is in her blood.
The government won’t shoot down the chopper – not one from a TV station. They might try and divert it, change the flight path… but they’d have to do that without letting Molly Zuckerman know. And of course, even if that did happen, and the reporter agreed to it, the government couldn’t just take them the moment they stepped out of the helicopter. Not while cameras are right there.
By the time the footage gets back to the station, she and Matthew will be long gone. And really, what’s more dangerous? Going on foot? Through a city where the government could swoop down on them at any time? Or risking this chopper ride?
Zuckerman bites her lip. “Why north?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Matthew says. “We just need somewhere where the roads are still working.”
The reporter blinks at him in surprise.
