by Jackson Ford
When I don’t respond, she says, “We’ll be sending tactical teams to all four locations, but I want you and Ms Cruz at the most likely one. You will both confirm the target. After that, my people will do the rest.”
“Why both of us? And why not… do video, or something… have us confirm from here?”
Silence. And I know exactly what it means. The bitch is debating whether to tell me her reasons, or just order me to do as she says. Well, she can get fucked if she thinks I’ll do that without hearing why.
She speaks in a monotone. “It’s the logical approach. Having you both there in person ups the chance of you correctly identifying the boy. It eliminates the risk that you’ll have to rely on video, especially when communications in some areas are still sketchy.”
My mind races to catch up with her. “So why not… shit, I don’t know, send me to one zone and Annie to another? Aren’t we putting all our eggs in one basket here?“
“Not at all. There’s no advantage in splitting you up – all it means is that one of you may have to use a video link. That adds in another element, when I want to reduce them. It gives us the absolute best chance of eyeballing the target. That means both of you, on site, at the most likely location for him to trigger the fault. If it turns out our data was inaccurate, then – and only then – will we rely on a visual link with one of the other tactical teams. I’ll be monitoring the situation from here, and adjusting tactics accordingly. Am I clear?”
There’s something… off… about this situation. Something I can’t quite see. You know, beyond the whole killing-the-kid thing. But running back our conversation in our head doesn’t help – my brain is a total mess right now, weighed down with exhaustion.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Ms Frost?” she says.
I really wish I didn’t. I would very much like to get angry, to rage and throws things and tell her she’s a giant asshole for even considering this. The problem is, I don’t believe it myself. And again, there’s the horrible feeling that I’m being used – in a way I can’t even begin to figure out.
“I need to hear it, Ms Frost. I want you on board with this.”
“… Yeah. I understand.”
“Are you ready to do what is asked of you?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Get some rest, then. We’ll contact you as soon as we’ve narrowed down the boy’s likely destination.”
There’s a click, and the line goes dead.
Annie says, “Yo, Teagan.”
“… Yeah?”
“You straight?”
Two words. Two simple words. A basic question that I have no idea how to respond to. Because I’m not straight at all – not even close. And yet, how the hell am I supposed to tell Annie that? She was there. She and I both saw what happened to Paul.
And what happened to LA.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m straight.”
But I don’t meet her eyes.
FORTY-THREE
Teagan
It feels like I’ve just gotten to sleep when Africa is shaking me awake. At my current level of awareness, it sounds like he’s speaking Klingon.
“What?” Jesus. Trying to speak words is like trying to shit diamonds.
“I said, Tanner is sending a chopper. Few minutes.”
My eyes go wide. “Wait, how long was I out for? What time is it?”
“Maybe three hours. It is almost dawn now. 5 a.m.”
I push myself out of the comfy, reclined seat, nearly knocking Africa over as my feet tangled up in the blanket. “Where are we going? How long have I been asleep for?”
He grabs me by the shoulders, steadies me. It’s a weirdly intimate gesture.
“Tanner and Mia talk a lot. They know where the boy is going. Up to Washington State.”
“Where in Washington State? Tell me we can narrow it down. That’s sort of important.”
“A national park I think.”
I stumble to the back of the plane, where Reggie is in conversation with Mia and Annie. Jonas Schmidt is nowhere to be seen.
“Honey, you look terrible,” Reggie says.
“Thanks, I try. What’s the plan?”
“Air Force chopper’ll be here in twenty. They’ll take you up to Pillar Point in San Jose – apparently, the quake didn’t hit it too badly. After that, you’ll take a plane to Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Washington.”
“But where—?”
“Olympic National Park. West of Seattle.”
“It makes sense,” Mia says, when she sees me about to ask for more. “It’s a serious ETS hotspot. And the analyst I talked to was really good – they used all this traffic and road data to work out—”
“But are they sure? Wasn’t one of the Cascadia hotspots in Northern California too?”
“Unlikely he’d go there,” Reggie says. “It’s around Mendocino, and everything west of the I5 is out of commission. He’d have to hike for days. But if he stays on the freeway, he can head all the way up to Washington.”
“What about Oregon?”
“There’s not a lot of pressure in that part of the fault right now,” Mia says. “Like, he might be headed there, but it seems more likely he’d go further north.”
Normally, sleep clarifies things. It solves problems for you, rewires your brain, makes you see a little clearer. Not this time. “Reggie, all of this… It feels like we’re rolling the dice. If we’re not sure…”
“Every bit of data and evidence we have points to this as the most likely outcome,” Reggie says patiently. “We’re in a much better position than we were before. This is the best option we have, given the circumstances.”
“What are you guys gonna do?”
“We were just discussing that. I’m going to stay here, if Herr Schmidt is happy for us to do so. I want to be in reach in case Moira needs me, for whatever reason.”
“Africa and I can get back on the ATVs,” Mia says. “Try get the word out that there’s food and water here.”
I really want to think of a reason to say no to all this, because I have no desire to participate in this boy’s death. But I can’t think of a single one.
“Reggie,” I say. “Schmidt… He doesn’t know. About what I can do, or the kid, or… or any of it. I didn’t tell him.”
She nods, slow and careful. “Well done.”
The look on her face says she knows exactly what the consequences of that choice will be. Somewhere down the line, Schmidt might call in the marker.
“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” I mutter.
When I come out, a good ten minutes later, Mia is waiting for me. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I was just wondering what you were going to do. When this was all over.”
It’s a surprising question, one that rattles around my hungover brain. “You mean, if this little boy doesn’t destroy the whole west coast?”
She blushes. “Well, yeah.”
“Dunno. Haven’t really thought that far ahead. Go see if my house is still upright, I guess. Maybe have a milkshake. Glass of bourbon. Fall asleep for a few years until it all blows over.”
“Because I was thinking,” she says, as if I hadn’t spoken. “With your ability, you could be doing so much more.”
“Yeah, I sort of work for this secret agency where we stop bad guys.” I wipe my hands on my pants. “I think I’m doing OK.”
“That’s not what I mean. Do you have any idea how useful your ability could be in the scientific community? You can help safely transport nuclear material. Work on clean energy. Hold antimatter particles in place so we could study them. And space – Jesus, do you have any idea what it would mean? To be able to lift stuff into orbit, without relying on fuel…”
“Don’t think I can reach that high.” Which is probably why the government scientists who locked me up for six years eventually let Tanner have me. Back then, I had limited range and strength. Even now, when I’m a lot stron
ger than I used to be, I doubt I’d be all that useful. I definitely can’t launch things into space.
“Even so, they could get you on the ISS.” She sees my confusion. “The International Space Station, I mean. God, imagine if you could move things around outside the modules, without having to do a spacewalk! You could fix any problem they had. Maybe even launch probes – you’d need much less energy to do it, if they were already in orbit.” Her eyes are shining. “It could change everything, having you involved.”
“Thought you were an earthquake person.”
She folds her hands by her waist. “Well, yeah… but I’m a scientist, first and foremost. And I know for a fact that every lab in the country, no matter what the field, would fall over themselves to have you. You could bring some breakthroughs forward by decades.”
All I want to do is open a fucking restaurant.
I don’t want to save the world or advance the cause of science or go into space. I just want to cook good food, and have other people it eat it. I want to listen to hip-hop and read books and watch movies and go explore LA.
Maybe that’s short-sighted, or unambitious – selfish even – but you know what? I don’t give a fuck. Everybody’s entitled to fight for their dreams, and that includes me. I didn’t ask for my ability, and I am getting sick and tired of being told where and how to use it, and what for.
I don’t know how to begin to tell Mia this. There’s too much wrapped up in it. It’s too complicated, even in my own head. More than that, I just don’t have it in me right now to puncture Mia’s enthusiasm.
“Can’t have breakthroughs if the world is broken,” I tell her. “I’m gonna go do that first, then worry about the science. ’K?”
“But you’ll think about it?”
“Teagan!” Annie calls from the back of the plane. “Chopper’s here in five.”
I flash Mia a smile, squeeze past her.
Schmidt and his bodyguards join us on the tarmac outside. The wind has picked up, and I can already hear the chopper coming in, the thick whup-whup in the distance. For the thousandth time, I try to think of an excuse not to go. I never thought I’d want to stay in Los Angeles in the aftermath of an earthquake. But right now, it seems better than the alternative.
Annie watches the approaching chopper closely. For a second time, I get that feeling of wrongness. She seems OK on the outside, alert and ready. But there’s a weird look in her eyes.
“Pillar Point first.” Someone has found Reggie a wheelchair – a very basic one, old and battered, that looks like it was used by airport staff to transport disabled people to and from the planes. “Then Lewis-McChord. Moira didn’t say much about the team meeting you there, but if I know her, they’ll be professionals.”
“Got it.” I bend down to hug her, squeezing tight.
“You’ll be fine.” She whispers in my ear. “I know you will.”
“… Yeah.” There’s a prickling in the back of my sinuses, a thick feeling in my throat. I have to remind myself that she’s not going anywhere, that she’s safe where she is, surrounded by allies.
“We’ll be right here when you get back,” she says. “Promise.” She lets me go, turning to Annie, talking quietly with her. The chopper is almost here: a big Huey, like something out of a Vietnam movie.
I shake hands with Mia, then turn to Africa.
I’ve been such an asshole to him, and all he wanted to do was help. To be good at his job. The thoughts freeze me in place, my hands at my sides.
Africa doesn’t hesitate. He wraps me in a huge bear hug, squeezing so tight I can hardly breathe. When he lets me go, his eyes are shiny with tears.
There’s not a lot else to say. Well, no, there’s actually a shit-ton to say, but neither of us want to say it now. I give him another hug. I feel like if there’s a chance to sneak a second one in, you should take it. You can never have enough hugs.
“You come back, yaaw?” he says into the top of my head.
“Always, dude.”
He squeezes, lets me go. Gives me a firm nod. I return it, then look away, because otherwise I might just call the whole thing off.
“Later,” I tell the bodyguards. Mikhail gives me a slow nod, his mouth set in a thin line.
And then finally: Jonas.
Standing in the rain, studying me. An unreadable expression on his face.
“Here.” He passes me something. A thick fleece top, his company logo on the breast pocket. “In case it is cold where you are going.”
I pull it on, almost shuddering with delight. The fleece blocks the wind completely, even the approaching blowback from the chopper. “Thanks. For everything.”
We stand for a moment, looking at each other. I expect it to feel awkward, but it doesn’t. Instead, I find myself wondering how it would feel to go back inside the plane, into the bedroom, curl up in his arms.
“I would like to know your story, my friend,” he says softly.
“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” I reply.
He smiles. “I hope that you will.”
And then the chopper is there, the thundering engines blocking out all conversation, and a soldier in dark camouflage is hopping out of the chopper body and hustling Annie and me towards it. I get one last look at the group: Reggie, her hair dancing in the blowback; Africa, still as a statue. Mia, her hands jammed in her pockets, looking uneasy. And Jonas, that small, knowing smile on his face.
The chopper door closes. Someone hands us bulky headsets, helps us put them on. My stomach gives a lurch as we leave the ground, the chopper coasting above the airport, above the city.
Heading for God knows what.
FORTY-FOUR
Teagan
Pillar Point is over three hundred miles away, but the flight feels like it takes minutes. When we arrive, I get only the briefest glimpse of the base itself. We land right on the tarmac next to a plane, and not a swanky private jet, either. This one is big, military, the kind of thing you see dropping bombs over war zones.
The soldiers don’t let us linger, hustling us out of the chopper, keeping our heads down under the wash from the rotors. Before I can blink, I’m being led up the ramp at the back of the plane, to a seat along the one wall. It’s a metal frame with something pretending to be a cushion bolted on top, and it feels like sitting on an armadillo.
I’m barely seated for half a second before another soldier straps me in, then turns to do the same to Annie. The ramp is going up, the plane’s engines starting to rumble, even as a dozen soldiers hustle around the darkened interior, battening the hatches, trimming the mizenmast – whatever the hell happens on planes to get them in the air.
It’s weird to think that I’m a part of this machine. Not the plane – the whole military-industrial complex. My boss is someone who can call on this at a moment’s notice: this enormous military machine, these soldiers with their weapons and vehicles. I’m an indentured employee of the US government, to use as they see fit. But there’s another side to that relationship. If they deem it necessary, if they think I need backup, they will bring the fucking thunder.
Not exactly sure how I feel about that right now.
In what feels like less than a minute, we are wheels up, my stomach lurching as the plane climbs rapidly.
“How long till we get there?” I shout to one of the soldiers.
I only just catch his words over the roar of the engines. “Maybe an hour, hour and a half.”
I flash him a thumbs up, even though I’m very much not in a thumbs up mood.
I should sleep. Problem is, I’m way too wired, antsy as hell. The straps holding me to the seat are too tight, and the sick green glow from the chopper’s interior lights makes everything look like it’s under the ocean.
It occurs to me that I didn’t tell Tanner and Reggie everything. I haven’t mentioned my little PK tinnitus – the strange sensation I had from back in Watts, and again when we arrived at Dodger Stadium on the ATVs. I still don’t know what caused it, or what it mea
ns.
Should I have told them? Maybe. But it’s not consistent. It’s only happened twice, in two vastly different circumstances.
Both times, it was in the aftermath of an earthquake. But it happened way after – hours later. There’s no link that I can see. It may be connected to the kid, but I have no way of knowing for sure. And the kid definitely wasn’t around the first time it happened in Watts.
Hey, I could just let him trigger Cascadia, then sit around and wait to see if my mind goes all wonky. Good idea. Maybe it’ll let me take him down. Maybe it’s a secret part of my ability, specifically designed to neutralise psychotic, super-powered children.
Yeah, OK, and maybe Ferran Adrià will reopen El Bulli and ask me to be his sous-chef.
Next to me, Annie stares at nothing.
I have to say something. I can’t let her do this to herself. Then again: what do I know? Paul’s death was a gut-punch for me, something I’ll be seeing in my nightmares until the end of time. For Annie, it must be like the end of the world.
What would happen if I lost Nic? Or if he lost me? It wouldn’t be like what Annie is going through, that’s for sure. Nic and I are complicated – and the last couple of days have only made it worse. Paul and Annie have – had – something much simpler. She liked him. He liked her. They both realised it, and decided to be together, and like turned into love. The fact that they came from wildly different backgrounds didn’t matter, and they didn’t give the tiniest shit what anyone else thought.
It was the simplest, most uncomplicated love there is. You only had to take one look at them together to see it – I mean, I’m no expert on this stuff, but even I could figure that out.
And love like that… when it’s torn apart, there’s nothing to fall back on. Annie can’t console herself by saying he was a fling, or she was unsure about Paul, or that she’ll find someone else. He mattered to her, in a way that I’m not sure I matter to Nic – or him to me.
And now there’s only one thing she can do. One thing she believes will stop the pain.
We have to go through with this, or a lot of people are going to die. But what if Annie’s nightmares become… something worse? There’s the guilt of losing Paul, which is bad enough, but what about the guilt of killing a child?
