by Jackson Ford
I know if I asked her this, she’d say she wouldn’t feel guilty. That the kid deserves it. But what if she’s wrong?
I can’t stop it from happening, and I’m not even sure I should. But at the very least, I can try and talk to her. Let her know I’m around.
“Are you OK?” I shout, then immediately wish I hadn’t. As conversational openings go, it lacks a certain je ne sais quoi.
She touches her ear, shaking her head, irritated. I look around for something to write with – pen, paper, anything. Inspiration: you have a phone, numbnuts. I pull it out, noting the time – 06:22. My fingers dance, opening up the email app.
I still haven’t come up with a better opening gambit, so I type a simple You OK?, tilting the phone so Annie can see
She takes it, types back: Fine.
I’m here if you need to talk
Said im fine
Worried about you. Scared we are doing the wrong thing
Now there’s real annoyance in her expression. She waves me away, refusing to take the phone. For fuck’s sake – why is it so clear in my head, but so hard to actually say? Type? Whatever?
Annie come on… pls talk to me
When she read what I’ve written, she suddenly snatches the phone away, thumbs dancing. I’m not talking to you about this, I don’t give a duck if you want to talk… this is happening so just deal with it k???
She drops the phone in my lap. Then she turns away from me, folding her arms and closing her eyes.
FORTY-FIVE
Matthew
The truck pulls off the interstate just as the sky begins to lighten in the east. Matthew wakes immediately, feeling rather than hearing the pitch of the engine change.
He sits up, blinking. Behind him on the truck’s cot, Amber shifts in her sleep.
Jocelyn pulls her rig onto the shoulder, cuts the engine. She lets out a satisfied sigh as she puts the parking brake on, cricking her neck. “Oh hey, little one,” she says, eyes meeting his in the rear view mirror. “Sleep OK?”
He tries to stifle a yawn, fails. Then he climbs onto the passenger seat, presses his hands to the window. Outside, the world is still.
“Careful on that glass, son,” Jocelyn says, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. “You’ll leave handprints.”
“What time is it?”
“Oh, about seven? Quarter of?”
In the back, Amber sits up, eyes bleary.
“Are we in Portland already?” Matthew asks.
“With the roads the way they are? Honey, we’re barely into Oregon. Only been in the last hour or so that the traffic has cleared a little.” She yawns, exposing nicotine-brown teeth.
“So where are we? Exactly?”
“Wolf Creek. Middle of nowhere, off the 5. Don’t worry, we won’t be here long. Just taking a little break.”
She pops the door, climbs out of the cab. She’s so broad that she’s actually wedged into her seat by the steering wheel, and has to wiggle her way out. Matthew follows. He’s thirsty, too, his mouth desert-dry from the truck’s AC.
There’s just enough dawn light in the sky to see by. They’re parked in a deserted rest area, well away from the Interstate. Thick trees surround them on all sides, the ground on their eastern flank sloping upwards. The shadows in the trees are ink-black. Jocelyn leans up against the truck’s cab, lit cigarette in hand. They’re alone in the rest area, no other vehicles nearby. There’s no rain now, but the sky is still thick with clouds.
“Yep.” Jocelyn exhales a cloud of smoke, careful to turn her head away from Matthew. “I love mornings like these. Nice and peaceful. Sometimes I just pull off the road and walk for while.”
He’s about to tell her that they need to go, they don’t have time for her to give herself cancer, when he feels it.
An ETS zone.
It’s a little tug at the edge of his senses – like the moment before a sunrise, when you know there’s a giant ball of fire just below the horizon, but you can’t see it yet. There’s energy there, huge amounts of energy. It sends delicious prickles down his spine.
He thought they’d pass the one in Oregon completely, but they’re right on the edge of it. What if…?
He crouches down, puts his hand flat on the ground. There’s the noise of the truck’s door opening and shutting as Amber joins them.
Jocelyn snickers. “Little mucky pup, your son.”
“Hey, Matthew, do you want some water?” Amber calls. “I think there’s juice in the truck too, if—”
“Matthew?” Jocelyn’s brow furrows. “Thought his name was Mikey.”
“Sorry, yes. Mikey’s like a nickname. Matthew’s his actual first name.”
“Uh-huh. Anyway, he’s a smart one, your boy. Not like my little Katy, my Sally’s latest. Two years old and can’t even say mama yet! Don’t get me wrong, she’s cute as a button, but I’m guessing talking isn’t something little Mikey or Matthew or whatever had a problem with. Right?”
Matthew ignores them. The stored energy in the ETS zone is there, he can sense it. It’s like an itch at a spot he can’t quite reach. He has to concentrate. Dig deep. Most probably, he’s not going to be able to trigger the fault from here. But oh, if he could…
And he can.
He can feel it. It’ll take a lot of work, but he can trigger Cascadia from here. It couldn’t be better. There’s no one around to see him put himself inside the ball of dirt, no people from the government to stop him. They don’t even know where he is. And if they did… so what? What are they going to do about it?
Wait. There is someone around.
Jocelyn is still talking, blabbering on behind him. Matthew stands, looks at her, tilting his head.
The trucker trails off. Suspicion clouds her eyes.
“No,” Amber says. “Honey, please, she—”
“Shut up.” He barely glances at her.
“No.” She’s shaking her head, stepping between him and the trucker. Matthew still hasn’t told his mother about the ETS zones, or Cascadia, and she’s way too stupid to figure it out on her own, but she still knows he wants to do something. “She doesn’t have to – look, just let her go. Let her drive away. If we’re in the right place…” She steals a glance over her shoulder, as if she knows she’s said too much.
“Something on your mind?” Jocelyn can’t quite stop the fear sneaking in. Around them, the dawn holds its breath.
Despite himself, despite the tug of the ETS zone at his senses, Matthew finds that he’s curious. “Why do you care?” he asks his mom.
Amber speaks so fast that the words blur together, almost hyperventilating. “She doesn’t matter. She’s not important. You can save your energy for when you… with the… Whatever you want to do next. It makes you tired, right? I know it does.”
He cocks his head. Maybe she’s not so stupid after all.
Jocelyn stubs out her cigarette, grinding it into the dirt. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” she says, pointing at Matthew, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. “But you best mind your mom, you hear?”
And just like that, he’s angry. It fills him up, boiling oil coursing through his veins.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” he says quietly.
“Baby, no, please—”
Jocelyn narrows her eyes. “You best calm down, boy.”
“I said don’t tell me what to do!”
Dirt erupts from behind Matthew.
He forms it into a big tentacle, like the ones octopuses have – he didn’t even know he could do it until he thought about it, and the earth listens to him, like it always does. It becomes a writhing, twisting tendril of dirt, thick as a forearm, its end a churning, swollen ball of rocks and soil.
It shoots upwards, curving over him, and takes Jocelyn in the mouth. She staggers backwards, hands clawing at her face, the dirt forcing its way between her teeth.
“Stop it!” Amber screams at her son.
Jocelyn is making the most horrible noise – a t
hick, grinding sound, like a machine that hasn’t been fed oil for a good long time. Her face is turning purple, the thick soil spilling out from her lips, her nostrils. Amber turns away, shaking, begging Matthew to stop. He ignores her, and keeps going. It’s Jocelyn’s own fault, really. And she would have died from the cigarettes soon anyway.
When it’s over, after the rushing hiss of flying dirt subsides, Matthew speaks. His voice is calm again. Almost contemplative.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “We don’t really need her. I think I can do it right here. There’s enough energy stored up in the fault.”
“Please,” Amber chokes out. Her face is wet with tears. “Please, don’t.”
“I definitely felt something,” her son says. “When I touched the ground. And I think… I’m stronger now. It’s gotten easier – I don’t think I’ll be as tired. Amber, come stand next to me. I’ll make sure we aren’t hurt.”
Sobbing, pleading, Amber stumbles over to him. Matthew crouches down a second time, puts his hands flat on the ground.
Concentrates.
FORTY-SIX
Teagan
I haven’t left Los Angeles for over two years. That’s a condition of my employment-and-or-indentured-servitude with Tanner: I can go wherever I want as long as it’s in the Greater Los Angeles area.
It only really hits me that I’m not even in California any more when Annie and I stumble out onto the tarmac at Joint Base Lewis McChord.
I’ve heard the name before, and I had some idea what it was – a big military installation near Tacoma, in Washington State. Makes it sound so clean, doesn’t it? Turns out, military bases are an ants’ nest. Huge, chaotic and loud. There are vehicles everywhere, trucks rumbling past with jeeps and golf-carts zipping in their wake. Squads of soldiers thunder back and forth, marching in formation. At the far end of the runway, a jet slowly turns in place, the blinking lights on the wings bright and sharp.
It is also really fucking cold, even through the thick fleece Schmidt gave me. And wet. And we’re not talking the unenthusiastic drizzle we had in LA. The rain is a steady downpour, with big, icy drops splattering the tarmac.
The place stinks of jet fuel. The smell has a weird undercurrent to it, something almost floral that reminds me of weed smoke. Probably is. If I had to be a soldier in this shithole, I’d be constantly high off my face.
Jesus, what time is it? I haven’t had a chance to look. It was 6 a.m. when we left Pillar Point, and it’s fully daytime now, the sky hidden behind grey clouds. Seven o’clock? Eight? I don’t know – my phone’s battery has finally died.
“Move,” someone barks in my ear. Annie and I are hustled off the plane’s ramp, forced to make an abrupt left, heading for a low stack of buildings a few hundred yards away. Cold light glows through the windows, but I’ll be more than happy to get out of the rain, and maybe stop being herded everywhere like a damn sheep.
Also get some actual food in me. It’s not like our ride had an in-flight meal. One of the soldiers had a bag of jerky he shared with us, and we each got a bottle of stale-tasting water, but that was about it.
The worst? The toilet. It was a hole with chemicals in it, surrounded by a curtain. When I asked to go to the bathroom – which I had to do really loudly – one of the soldiers had to walk me there, and he actually stood outside the entire time, like I was going to steal the toilet seat or something. I wanted to ask him if he and the other guys just let down the ramp in mid-air and took a whiz when the urge arrived, but there’s no way he would have heard me.
You know what? Screw this field trip. I’d rather be back in LA, hanging out on Schmidt’s private jet. Hell, I’d rather be anywhere than here.
Abruptly, the soldier escorting me taps my shoulder, points. Another chopper is coming in for a landing a couple hundred yards away. I hardly have time to register it before we’re being hustled over there. A jeep whips past us, drenching me with a thin spray of water. Not that it makes a difference – it’s not like I can get any wetter. And as far as I can tell, this new chopper is identical to the one that took us from Van Nuys to Pillar Point.
The soldier at my side grabs my arm, like he’s afraid I’m going to run. “Dude.” I wrench away. “Fucking ow. Get off.”
A figure hops out the chopper, ducking low under the backwash from the blades. Full camo fatigues, assault rifle, helmet. I can’t see his face yet, but there’s something familiar about him, about the way he’s running, the set of his shoulders…
No.
No. Fucking. Way.
There is no way Tanner would do this to me. There’s sadistic, and then there’s this.
The soldier comes to a halt a few feet away, an evil grin on his face.
“Hey there, freak show,” he yells.
“Burr?”
The grin gets wider. “You miss me?”
Annie and I stare at Burr in horror. A situation which I can tell he’s enjoying. A lot.
When I got accused of murder last year, Burr was part of the squad Tanner sent to bring me in. He doesn’t like me, mostly because I was designed to be more useful in a war zone than him. Actually, not liking me doesn’t quite get there. He is personally offended by the very fact that I exist, which I think is a little unfair. Most of the time, people have to meet me first before deciding that I’m an asshole.
Fortunately, Burr isn’t very bright. Despite he and his squad being briefed on my abilities, the genius forgot he was wearing a wedding ring. I snapped his finger ninety degrees the wrong way. In the ensuing chaos, Carlos kicked him in the face and broke his nose.
He got the better of me in the end. After I finally took down Jake, he caught up to me, tasered me, and was all set to bring me back into the government’s clutches. It was only some quick thinking by Nic that stopped it from happening. Burr was, shall we say, not exactly pleased with the outcome.
I was really hoping to never run into him again.
At least it looks like we’re on the same side this time, because I very much doubt he and Tanner brought me all the way to Washington State just to off me. I send out a little tendril of PK, into his glove, sneaking in and around his fingers.
“No wedding ring this time,” I yell into the wind. “Smart.”
If anything, his grin gets wider. Annie looks murderous, and I don’t blame her. Before he and his team found me, Burr smacked her and Paul around, trying to get information on my whereabouts.
Burr steps in close, looming over me. He’s near enough now that I can hear him just fine, without him having to raise his voice too much. “I’m in command of this operation, freak show.”
“Really? After what happened last time?” I widen my eyes. “Oh, I see! You’re sleeping with Tanner. Does your wife know?”
But of course, I get why he’s in command. Even after the injuries he sustained, he was the one who chased us down – who kept going despite the fact that Carlos smashed his nose to pieces in the escape. He’s a tenacious fucker, and that’s the kind of thing Tanner appreciates.
He carries on as if I hadn’t spoken. “You do what I say, when I say it, we get along just fine.”
He gives Annie a cheerful wave, like she’s an old friend. That does it. I step in close, snarling in his ear. “You say one word to her I will snap your fucking neck, you hear me?”
Burr doesn’t flinch. “You do anything other than what I tell you to, I will shoot you in the leg and tell your boss you tried to run. You hear me?”
Abruptly he claps me on the back, snaps a crisp salute to my escort. “Let’s go,” he shouts into the wind, gesturing to the chopper.
The door is open, the interior filled with soldiers. I spot the familiar shape of assault rifles, bulbous helmets, just like Burr’s. Annie and I look at each other. After a long moment, she gives a very tiny shrug.
We’re almost at the chopper, doing a bent-over roadie run, when the ground starts to vibrate underneath us.
At first, I’m convinced it’s the vibration from th
e chopper’s engines. But it’s too strong, too irregular. I stumble, crashing into Annie, both of us grabbing onto each other. The chopper’s skids are rocking slightly, the vibration rumbling through them. On my right, a jeep screeches to a halt.
The horror in Annie’s face is echoed on mine, the vibration thrumming up through our soaked shoes. This is it. Cascadia.
We’re too late.
FORTY-SEVEN
Teagan
Burr grabs us, hurls us into the chopper. The second we’re inside, it lurches off the ground, shooting up like someone kicked it in the ass. I grab hold of the first thing I can find, a chair support, not even bothering to get to a sitting position.
The realisation of what’s happening is like a dagger through my chest. Either we didn’t get to the Olympic National Park in time, or the kid found somewhere else to trigger the fault.
The inside of the chopper is hot, the air humid and sticky. It makes me feel like I’m under a thick blanket at the height of summer. The stench of fuel is stronger than ever. Every soldier in the chopper is yelling, their words inaudible under the din of the engines. There are hands on my shoulders, pulling me up onto my knees, then helping me into my seat. Annie sits opposite me, craning her neck to see out the window. What was it Mia said? Full-margin rupture.
The chopper banks, giving me a good look at the ground. There’s still power down there, floodlights bathing the base and its vehicles in a yellow glow. I scan the runway, waiting for what I saw out of Schmidt’s plane window, when the first quake hit. Waiting for the firework sparks as power lines let go. For buildings to start tearing themselves apart.
I don’t see any of it. The chopper must be banking too fast – I can’t get a fix on the ground.
Someone tries to put something on my head. I jerk away, almost cracking my chin on the window. It’s one of the soldiers, a man with a neatly trimmed black goatee, holding a thick headset.
