by Jackson Ford
It takes Reggie a second to realise that Moira isn’t speaking to her. “Still nothing here,” she says. “Waiting on your handshake.”
There’s a scuffling sound, as if Moira is passing the phone from hand to hand. “It’s a problem on our side,” she snaps. “They’re having trouble getting a good connection. Jesus Christ.”
Reggie raises an eyebrow. Moira Tanner swearing? Dear God, it must be the end times. It certainly will be for whoever runs Moira’s communications in Washington, if they can’t get the connection working.
Wait a minute…
First, someone disrupts the China Shop job with the Legends, blowing their cover. Now, there’s a communications issue with Washington. It can’t be a coincidence.
She quickly briefs Moira, being as succinct as she can. When she’s done, Moira is silent. “Run diagnostics,” she says after a few seconds. “See if there’s been a network intrusion – we can coordinate on our side. Signature- and anomaly-based detection.”
“Do you want the team to stand by on site?”
“No. Keep them in play – we need to know what we’re dealing with. But they are to approach and observe only, they are not to engage. You are to stay in contact with Mr Kouamé, and I want updates on this line the second you hear anything.”
“I could find a way to patch you in somehow, a phone connection or—”
“I don’t want some broken-telephone link where I’m hearing everything second-hand. I want full audio and video. Just call me with any developments.”
“Moira… is this someone from the same place as Matthew Schenke? The same School?”
Perhaps now Moira will share what she knows. She’s been investigating the source of these extranormal individuals, but so far, she’s kept China Shop in the dark. Two months since they found out about the supposed School in New Mexico, and nothing. Whatever Moira Tanner has, she’s keeping it very close to her chest.
When Tanner speaks, her voice is sub-arctic. “We don’t know. But we will know if your team performs.”
“What if it is? What’s the plan?”
“It will be communicated to you in due course. Stay with your team, run those diagnostics. Tanner out.”
NINE
Teagan
By 2 p.m., we’re in Glendale, in the Valley, and my stomach wants to crawl out of my mouth.
I mean that literally. Not the food inside the stomach – the stomach itself. It’s like the muscles in the lining have become sentient and want to make a bid for freedom. Right up out of my mouth, over my tongue and teeth, and head for the horizon. I sit in the back of the China Shop van, breathing very carefully, and not opening my mouth even a little bit.
I can’t stop thinking about what I’ve done to myself. What if this is permanent? What if I never stop feeling like this?
Annie’s still with us. Africa and I managed to get her before she left – she was standing on the curb outside Ray’s, waiting for her ride. I desperately need to ask her if she thinks I’ll be OK. But every time the words get to the tip of my tongue, even worse paranoia drags them back. I can’t let Annie think I’m a meth addict. She’ll… she’ll…
I don’t know what she’ll do. And Africa. He must hate me. God, they’re going to kick me out of China Shop, make me go back to Waco, let me get cut open. Neither Annie nor Africa have looked at me since we left Ray’s. Fuck them. They don’t know what it’s like. Well, no, they do, because they got a little of the stuff, but nothing like I did. I got an entire faceful. They’re fine. They’re peachy. They can’t feel the horror that is my stomach, or the searing, blinding pain at the back of my skull. Like ants, digging tiny mandibles into my flesh. Fuck them fuck them fuck them.
I’ve never felt like this before. It’s the polar opposite of what the meth felt like before. Instead of the open, clear freedom, all I get are invisible prison bars, my cell shrinking by the minute, crushing my chest. If I can just find more meth… even a little bit… I wouldn’t feel so—
No. No way. Stop it.
I take everything back. I hate meth. I don’t care how powerful it makes me, I’m never touching it again.
Africa’s driving, Annie riding shotgun. She didn’t look happy to see us. Then I told her what Reggie said, and she looked both furious, and very, very scared.
I don’t blame her.
We pull off San Fernando into an industrial area, the road lined with warehouses and vacant lots. It’s not hard to find our destination. It’s the one further down the block surrounded by flashing red and blue lights.
Africa comes to a stop on the opposite side of the street. “That is it?”
“Nah, it’s the other warehouse with a zillion cops around it,” Annie murmurs. There’s no venom in her words. It’s like she says them on autopilot.
I want to remind her that it isn’t actually a warehouse, but I don’t trust myself to open my mouth. I’m still trying to get a handle on this – it’d be tough to process, even when I’m not on a horrifying meth comedown. You can’t electrify concrete. Or wood. I don’t even know how you do that without the entire building exploding.
Except: something – or someone – has.
It shouldn’t be hard to believe. I can move shit with my mind, and last year I met a boy who could cause earthquakes. But there is something about this situation, something about the way it tells the laws of physics to go fuck themselves, that scares me. Bad.
“Yo, Teagan.” Annie doesn’t look away from the building. “Get the shit.”
“Hmmm… grerp.”
“Come on, let’s go. The jackets and IDs.”
“Hrrrrrroookay.”
The whole world does a loop-de-loop as I get to my feet, the tools lining the walls of the van doubling and tripling in front of me. I nearly thump back down, and it’s a goddamn miracle I manage to stay standing. I’m sweating buckets, but I can’t stop shivering.
I regret everything.
FBI. Jackets. ID. Yes. But where do I even look? Since Paul died, the back of the China Shop van has been a disorganised mess. Bins overflowing with clothes, tools lying everywhere, duffel bags, a can of paint – from the surveillance job we did in San Jacinto, maybe? And a whole bulging folder of fake IDs.
I start with that. Or try to. The letters are moving a lot. There are multiple IDs with my own photo on them, and I swear the little smile I have on them mocks me.
“Teagan, what’s the hold-up?” Annie doesn’t wait for my response, clambering into the back and taking the ID folder, flipping through it. “Just get the jackets. They’re in that bin right there.”
The jackets should be easier. They’re not. When Paul was around, they’d be neatly folded and itemised. Now? They’re a mess, sleeves everywhere, some folded, others balled up. Sorting through them right now is like trying to solve a Rubik’s Cube after a whole bottle of tequila. In the end, Annie has to help.
She hates me. I let Paul die. She’s going to let me suffer, she’s going to make me do the job, even though she knows I’m sick. Oh God. I can’t do this. There’s nothing for it. I have to get more meth. Maybe there’s some in the front passenger seat, where I first got a dose… no, that was in a different van, not this one, shit. Shit.
That image again: brown teeth in a pinched, ugly face. Meth mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears leaking from them. My throat feels like a straw that’s been left outside in the hot sun, shrivelled and kinked.
Then we’re outside. I’m wearing my jacket. There’s an ID around my neck. I have no memory of putting either of them on. The clouds on the northern horizon have gotten darker, despite the sun still burning high in the sky.
“Reggie, come in,” Annie is saying. “You got anything for us?”
I don’t even realise Annie put a comms unit in my ear until Reggie’s voice comes over the group channel. “Nothing. Security cams are fried across the storage unit, and I’m not getting anything useful from the surrounding buildings. Nothing on traffic, no online chatter, nothing on the sec
ure channels. Whatever this is, nobody’s seen it before.”
“What about the dude who called it in? The caretaker or whatever?”
“They took him to the hospital. We can follow up later, but I want you to check out the scene first.”
“You cannot put electricity in concrete,” Africa says. His jacket is both enormous and somehow still too small for him.
Over, I think. You should say “Over” at the end of each transmission. Paul insisted on it. None of us ever listened to him, not even Annie.
“Reggie,” Annie says quietly. “Are we absolutely sure this is a…” She flicks a glance at me. “You know. A Teagan situation. Someone like her.”
I don’t have the energy to tell her that calling it a Teagan situation is kind of rude. I don’t think actually I’m able to speak.
“Because maybe there’s just a…” Annie scratches her head. “Shit, I don’t know a fault or something. A loose wire that’s—”
“Ain’t no loose wire causing this. But right now, there’s no way to be sure – not without any footage or eyewitnesses to confirm. You folks are on observation duty. Local law enforcement’s not equipped to deal with this – they don’t even know people like Teagan exist.”
Which may change, after my little stunt in the storm drain, but whatever.
“But if it is a person, then why?” Africa tugs at his jacket cuff. “Why electrify an entire building? For what?”
“Honey, I have no idea,” Reggie replies.
“Is it a hostage thing?” Annie asks.
“No. There’ve been no demands, no anything. Just an electrified building. Now listen – Moira’s asked to be connected directly.”
Ah. The only thing that could make this day worse. Having Moira Tanner see what we see, and listen to our every word. Another burst of hot, staticky paranoia: if Tanner finds out that I’m high, what will she do?
Reggie isn’t finished though. “But it looks like there are some problems with the connection in Washington. She’ll join us when she’s able.”
“Problems?” Annie bites her lip. “Reggie, you don’t think—?”
“I’m running diagnostics now. Chances are, it’s just a glitch, but we have to assume the worst.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“Proceed with the mission. And one more thing: Africa’s on point for this job. Moira’s request.”
There’s a second of stunned silence. Then Annie says, “I’m sorry, what the fuck?”
“Eh.” Africa glares at her, looking both offended and pleased at once.
I don’t hear Reggie’s response. The comedown is doing horrible things to my sense of time, because suddenly we’re across the street and heading for the police line. Blue and red, the lights piercing my brain.
Annie approaches one of the uniformed cops, a middle-aged, heavyset dude with a bad goatee. He shouts at her to keep back, then blinks when she holds up the FBI identification. What are we going to do if the real feds show up? Then again, maybe Reggie and Tanner will keep this off their radar…
Another skip forward. Africa is bending down, hissing at me to get it together. Which is a bit like telling a broken egg to fix itself. Annie is in conversation with a detective, a woman with cornrows and a gold badge hanging down over her black polo.
“And you haven’t been inside?” Annie is saying. She sounds pissed.
“Can’t even get close.” Like Annie, the detective has a slight Latinx accent.
“What about drones? I know LAPD got a few – shit, even something from your evidence lockup—”
“You think we ain’t tried that?” The detective runs a hand down her face, looking tired and confused. “Most of the building is normal inside. Couple small fires, but that’s it. But when we got to the second floor, the drone… went down.”
The detective looks over at me, her gaze lingering. Probably thinking that I look mighty out of it for an FBI agent. Also that I don’t actually look like an FBI agent in the slightest, despite the windbreaker.
“Detective, we don’t have time for this,” Annie says. “What do you mean it went down?”
“It’s not really clear on the tape. There’s this shadow, from something just out of camera view. Then bam. No control, no video, nothing. Listen, if the FBI are assuming command then—”
Aaaaand fast-forward.
No cops any more. I think we’re on the other side of the building, in an empty parking lot. I’m sitting down with my back against something – a car? I don’t know – and Annie and Africa are having one mother of an argument.
“—way she can do that.” Annie jerks a finger at me. “She can barely stand up. Look at her fucking pupils, man!”
“We cannot go in there ourselves,” Africa says, scowling. “We cannot even get near it. I am in command of this mission, and—”
“I don’t give a shit, bro. She’s done. You think she’s gonna be able to just stand outside and echolocate what’s in there?”
“We know she has good range. We have seen it, yes?”
“Listen, jackass, I’ve been doing this longer than you. I don’t care if you’re Tanner’s new flavour of the month – you don’t understand how Teagan’s shit works. Yeah, she’s got range – if she’s in good shape, or if her body goes into fight-or-flight.”
Or if I’m high. I feel like I should mention that, but I can’t get the words out.
“So we get her into that,” Africa says. “Fight-or-flight.”
“Oh, and how you gonna do that? You gonna hit her? Shoot at her? If you even try anything…” Annie takes a breath, visibly calms herself. “It doesn’t even matter. We could have her fly a camera in there and it’d just be the same as the drone. Zap.”
“But we have to confirm. I have orders from Mrs Tanner.”
Not we have orders. I have orders.
Why the fuck did Tanner put Africa in charge? It’s not that he can’t do it – he’s more than proven himself since he joined the team, despite his category-five-hurricane personality. But leadership material? Running missions? While someone as seasoned as Annie is walking around?
“Orders to observe,” Annie is saying. “Right now, I don’t observe shit.”
“And I am saying that is not good enough!”
Africa crouches down in front of me, snapping his fingers in front of my face, each one like a thunderclap. “Teggan, are you good? We need you to scan the inside.”
“Did you not hear a fucking word I just said? She’s done. We’re not making her do that. You of all people should know what a meth comedown looks like.”
Africa rounds on her. This time, he speaks slowly. Quietly.
“Do not ever speak of that to me again,” he says. “You know nothing.”
“I’ve been on these streets longer than you, jackass, you think I don’t—?”
Another time skip.
Usually, I can speak for myself, but my mouth is way too dry. It’s the Mojave Desert in there.
“Then we must come up with something.” Africa touches his earpiece, as if checking whether or not she’s connected. “Mrs Tanner will be expecting answers.”
Annie’s nostrils flare. “I know you got a hard-on for impressing her, but this is not the fucking time.”
“Yo.” My voice is barely there, but it suddenly seems very important to make myself heard. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”
Annie doesn’t hear me. “We fall back. We come up with a new plan. Because if you think I’m letting her—”
“Yeah, definitely gonna throw up. ’Scuse me.”
I lean over and retch both chicken sandwiches onto the blacktop.
I’d love to say the puking stops there, but it does not. My head is a balloon in a hurricane, and my stomach is a howling maw of death. I retch stomach acid, saliva dripping from my gasping mouth, my whole world shrunk down to a tiny point where it’s just me and the pain.
Just a tiny little bit of meth. That’s all I need. It’s not even about the pa
in I’m feeling now—
Liar.
—it’s about how good I was. I was perfect and clean and free, the absolute best version of myself. What’s so bad about wanting to be that way again?
Hands on my back. No idea whether it’s Annie, or Africa. They’re both talking, their voices blurred and indistinct. I’m going to die. That’s what going to happen. The finality of it almost crushes me.
I don’t die. I may not be human – not technically, anyway – but my body acts like it. And when humans puke, they usually feel better. The fog in my mind clears, just a little.
A person is causing this electrical shit – there’s no doubt in my mind. Someone with abilities like mine. Matthew Schenke was the last one I ran into, and he was a psychopath, using his ability to destroy as much as he could.
Right now, inside that building, is someone who came from the same place Matthew Schenke did – I’m sure of it, more sure than I’ve ever been of anything.
Which means that if we don’t find a way to stop this, a lot of people could get hurt.
There’s also the fact that I cannot let Tanner get to whoever is doing this before I do. She’ll spirit them away, maybe even to the same facility she held me in before deploying me in Los Angeles, and she’ll tell us nothing. I’ll never find out about how these people are using my parents’ research.
Worse: what if she just decides, fuck it? Decides not to risk a second Matthew Schenke situation, and just nukes the building with a Hellfire missile? If you don’t think she’d deploy a weapon of war on US soil, you don’t know Moira Tanner.
I straighten up, still on my knees. Annie’s sort of right – echolocating through an entire building is probably more than I can handle right now, demands more concentration than I can spare. But vomiting my guts out has cleared my head, just a little, and I still have some PK left. I can feel it, feel the objects around me, fuzzy but distinct.
I think about Tanner. About Waco. About Hellfire missiles. About Matthew Schenke and Paul Marino. About what’s at stake if I don’t knuckle up.
“Hey, guys,” I say carefully. “I’ve got a wild idea…”
