by Jackson Ford
TEN
Teagan
Nobody liked my wild idea.
Annie got so angry I thought she was about to punch me. Africa called me crazy, a dëma, a mad woman. “I forbid it,” he kept saying. Reggie was about as enthusiastic, telling me to back off, observation only.
I told them that unless we actually got inside, we were observing dick. We were standing there staring stupidly at a building, waiting for something to happen.
These facts are all true. But they’re feeling very academic now that I’m actually in here.
How am I inside? Without being electrocuted? Glad you asked.
Back when Paul was still around, he and I had to get onto the roof of a hangar at Van Nuys Airport this one time. We stood on a thick sheet of metal – the kind they use for roofing – which I then floated upwards with my PK, like a magic carpet ride.
It’s a good trick. And if you want to navigate an electrified building, where the walls and floor and ceiling will kill you, a PK-powered hoverboard is the way to go.
Whoever is doing this hasn’t electrified the air itself, or the drone the cops sent in wouldn’t have gotten through the front door. I’m guessing it’s possible – if we’re talking electrons here, there’s really no difference between air molecules and the molecules in the walls or ceiling – but it hasn’t happened. We don’t know why. The only thing I can think of is that if it is a person doing this, they might not want to electrify things they have to breathe.
I’m not actually on a metal sheet right now. There wasn’t one handy. I’m on a car door, one that I ripped off a little Prius we found in the back lot. It made my idea seem even more dodgy than it was already, and did not, shall we say, inspire confidence in Annie and Africa.
They agreed – under protest – to keep the cops at bay, making sure they didn’t get near the rear of the building. They’re FBI, after all. While they were doing that. I got in through one of the storage unit’s back roller doors, opening it with my PK. And yes, before you ask, it’s a lot harder right now. I am not exactly operating at peak capacity. Which Annie and Africa reminded me of, multiple times. Annie kept telling me that my pupils were so big, she couldn’t see my irises any more.
But I did it. I’m inside. Heading down one of the corridors, hunkered down on the car door, two feet off the floor. Trying very, very hard not to touch anything. You know that game, The Floor is Lava? This is the grown-up version. And in keeping with all things adult, the consequences of fucking up here are so much worse.
Well, maybe. The receptionist didn’t die – he just said touching anything hurt a lot. But he managed to escape, and there’s no telling what would happen if I touched a surface and had nowhere to run. Still, right now, nobody’s dead. Hopefully we can keep it that way.
“Teggan.” Africa’s voice is hella staticky in my ear – the electricity must be causing some interference. “What do you see?”
“Nothing so far,” I murmur. Shit, even the act of talking makes it harder to stay balanced.
It doesn’t help that it’s like a horror movie in here. The lights are burned out, as you’d expect. I’m wearing chunky night vision goggles – Annie retrieved them from the van. They give everything a sickly green tint, which does not make the dank, concrete corridors any more appealing. Normally, I’d fall over myself for the chance to use night vision goggles. But right now, I’d kill for actual light.
Crappy linoleum floor panels. Concrete walls, with big metal roller doors every few feet, huge padlocks on each one. A low ceiling, also concrete, with lines of dead fluorescent lights. That’s it. This place is a maze – there’s not even an exit sign anywhere, which I’m sure has to violate a few laws. Would an exit sign keep working through all this? They use radioactive gas for their light, don’t they? How would electricity…
The burst of adrenaline and clear-headedness I got from puking has almost gone. I’m paranoid again, twitchy, my stomach and my head aching. I can’t keep a thought in my head. I’m desperate for more meth one second, then recoiling in horror from the idea a moment later. The air stinks of smoke – not an intense smell, but definitely there. Most probably from the fires Reggie mentioned. I’m still struggling to understand how the entire building isn’t on fire, but then again, what do I know about electricity?
And the storage unit feels… wrong. There’s a taste to the air, metallic and oily. The air feels thick, too – the kind of thick you get when you’re walking through a pea-soup fog. It may not be carrying electricity itself, but it is not happy about being here. There’s a very low sound in the background that reminds me of a generator, or an AC vent. A low hum. I can’t shake the feeling that the deeper I go, the more electricity there is coursing through the walls and floor.
I’m breathing way too hard, and it has nothing to do with the meth comedown. Whoever’s doing this is powerful. Really freaking powerful.
Why is it that every time I encounter someone else with abilities, I feel like I’m playing catch-up? Just once, I’d like to be the person with the biggest dick.
Underneath me, the door wobbles. Normally, levitating myself like this would be easy. Not today, though. Today, it’s taking a lot out of me.
Holy shit – movement. At the far end of the corridor. A dark shape, flickering in the corner of my eye. I whip my head round, but the shape isn’t there any more. It’s gone. Except it’s not – it’s right behind me, about to fall on me, and I can feel it, I—
I snap my head back. There’s nothing there. Of course there’s nothing there. I’m seeing things now. Because if there really was something there, the night vision goggles would paint it green… right?
Fan-fucking-tastic. Bad enough that the comedown makes me feel like ass, it has to make me hallucinate too?
Something nearby explodes. Pow. Like a balloon popping. There’s no flash of light, but it still makes me jump. The shift in my centre of gravity rocks the door underneath me. I start to drift, heading right for one of the roller doors.
“Oh,” I say. “Oh shit. Ooooh shit. Shit shit sh—”
With an effort of will, I pull my platform from the roller door, drifting to a wobbly stop in the middle of the passage. Another second, and I’d have been bacon.
I slap myself. Then I do it again, despite the fact that it hurts a lot more than it should. “Get it together, bitch, come on.”
Which is when I see the body.
The passage dog-legs off to my right, more roller doors and concrete and padlocks. Lying in the middle of the passage is the smoking body of a man. His right arm is splayed out in front of him, like he died trying to crawl to safety.
My gorge rises, subsides, then rises again. I crouch down on my floating door, hugging my knees to my chest. There are little pinpricks of light going off behind my closed eyelids, and my skin feels like an evil witch is raking her pointed nails across it, very slowly. The headache has subsided, a little, but it’s still there, a burning knot at the base of my skull.
Somehow, I manage to keep my stomach under control – throwing up on an electrified floor would cook the puke. I think if I have to smell that right now, I’ll just implode.
“There’s a body here,” I say, keying my earpiece.
No answer. The static doesn’t even change.
I’ve got to check it out, even though I really don’t want to. Odds are it’s not the source of whatever is causing this… but I can’t just breeze past it.
I float over, trying to look everywhere at once, listening for the slightest noise. It would be just perfect if someone with electricity powers got the drop on me right now. That would really cap off this whole day.
The man is lying face down. He’s wearing a cheap green windbreaker over torn blue jeans. Bright red New Balance kicks. His hair is dark, cut short, and there’s a wedding ring on his left hand, which rests to one side of his body. His jacket is smoking, very gently.
There’s no one around. Not a sound.
I let out a breath. Whoever
the source of the electricity is, it’s not this guy. He’s just some poor schlub who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sorry, buddy.
Guess I was right. The electricity is more powerful the deeper you go. Good news for the receptionist. Very bad news for yours truly.
Anger wakes me up, a nice sharp bolt of it, like an icicle sprouting in my chest. It clears my head a little more. God, I am going to kick the ass of whoever is doing this.
But where the hell do I find them?
I slowly spin my platform, my muddled brain puzzling it out. The power source – I’m just going to call them that from now on – is still here. Still in the building. They have to be. So if I was them, where would I hide?
Nobody’s going to sit back and just be like, Wow, guess the electrified storage unit of death is off limits for ever, oh well, have a good day everybody! They’d investigate. If I’m the power source, I’d know that, so I’d put myself at the furthest possible point from any entrance. I’d go to the top floor, as close to the middle of the building as I could get.
Yes, I admit, the logic is a little fuzzy. But I’m just saying. If could generate a million volts with my fingertips, that’s where I would go.
The elevator is obviously a non-starter, even if it was still working, which I doubt. It takes me a while to find the stairs – I hit a couple of dead ends first, and more than once I’m turned back by an actual fire. One of the lockers is ablaze, bright and hot enough that I have to pull up my goggles. It doesn’t look like the fire has spread yet – say what you like about concrete and metal, they don’t burn easily.
The stairs, when I eventually do get there, are a surprising pain in the ass to navigate. They’re tight, which makes not touching the walls and ceiling a challenge. Still nothing but static on my earpiece, and the hot, harsh sound of my breath in the dark. More than once, I catch movement at the corners of my vision – flickering dark shapes, like before. I’m almost certain that I’m seeing things, but I might not be. As you can imagine, that only adds to the paranoia.
I hit the top floor. There’s another explosive pop – distant this time, something else in the building giving up the ghost. It doesn’t make me jump, fortunately, but it sharpens the edge on my nerves. My stomach is hitching again. If I—
There’s a noise. One I definitely haven’t heard before.
At first, I think it’s metal creaking – you know that high-pitched sound it sometimes makes if it’s under pressure? Only, it’s not that. It’s…
Sobbing?
Sobbing.
Someone down here is crying. It sounds like a woman, high-pitched. Soft and distant… but there, all right.
Got you.
Only: I might be wrong. It could be someone else, another employee who somehow found a way to stay safe from the electricity. I can’t assume anything.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I float towards the source of the sound. Several times, I have to stop and listen hard – the tight corridors twist and multiply the sobbing, disguising its direction.
But my ears are good, despite the loud rap music I pour into them on an almost daily basis. I keep moving, doubling back when I have to, getting closer and closer. I don’t know which direction I’m heading in, but I have a feeling I’m getting close to the edge of the storage unit.
More light, flaring in my goggles. I pull them up, blinking away sweat, expecting to see something else on fire. What I see, instead, is actual light. Like, electric light. Coming from around the corner of the corridor.
I hover in place, suddenly more scared than I’ve been in a long time. The sobbing is very loud, and it’s definitely coming from right around the corner.
Now that I’m here, I realise I don’t actually have a plan. Because of course I fucking don’t. Although in my defence, I’ve been a little preoccupied with not dying, not freaking out and not throwing up.
The person behind the corner may or may not be causing this. They may be a frightened civilian who has somehow kept themselves safe. Either way, this is one situation where the element of surprise may not be in my favour. When you have someone who can wield this much power, the last thing you want to do is startle them. It would be like a party where the birthday girl kills everyone after they turn on the lights and yell “Surprise!”
I’m pretty sure I couldn’t stop a bolt of electricity, not even if I smoked all the meth on Planet Earth. Which leaves me with… what, exactly?
Easy. I identify myself. I let them know I’m here.
If I surprise them, I’ll get electrocuted. If I tell them I’m here and they’re bad news, like Matthew Schenke, I may still get electrocuted… but there’s a chance I won’t.
There’s another option of course. Leave. Get the hell out of here. Tell Tanner where this person is, and let her handle it. She can send in a special forces team. Nuke the site from orbit. Anything.
Instead, I clear my throat, and say, “Hello?”
The sobbing stops immediately. Somehow, the silence is even worse.
I lick my dry, cracked lips. “I’m… Listen, I’m going to come round the corner, OK? Please don’t zap me. I just wanna talk.”
Nothing.
I wait for a real superhero to burst in and save the day.
Still nothing.
So I grip the edges of the hovering car door, and float around the corner.
ELEVEN
Teagan
It’s not a secret lair. It’s not even a room. It’s just another corridor. Same roller doors. Same grimy floor.
Except in the middle of that floor, sitting with his arms around his knees, is a boy.
Blinking up at me in astonishment.
He’s four or five, with black hair that hangs down his forehead in a spiky fringe. Vietnamese heritage, with dark skin and a round face. The skin around his eyes is puffy, the cheeks shiny with tears.
A single fluorescent light buzzes on the ceiling, flickering and grimy, but alive. I have no idea how it’s still working when the entire building is a live wire.
The boy wears an oversized black T-shirt, pipe-cleaner arms poking out the sleeves. He’s wearing tiny sneakers which used to be white, and neat blue jeans with a big rip just below the right knee.
For a few seconds, we just look at each other. Me, floating on my car door two feet off the electrified floor. Him, sitting on that exact same floor.
“Are you with my dad?” the kid says.
To say I’m not expecting the question is the understatement of the century. But on its heels comes a wave of relief – he’s not going to zap me, or at least he’s not going to zap me right away.
“Um,” I say. “Um. I… yeah. Ah. No. No, I’m not. I’m… sorry.”
He looks down at the floor. He doesn’t start sobbing again, but his shoulders are trembling.
“I’m Teagan,” I say.
“My name is Leo,” he mumbles.
“Hi, Le—”
“My name is Leo Nguyen and I am four and my dad’s name is Clarence and his number is 505-222-8870 and we live in Albkeekee.”
My brain scrambles, until I realise he’s trying to say Albuquerque.
“Wow,” I say. “OK. Let’s just—”
“Why are you flying?”
I open my mouth to tell him about my ability, but the words won’t come. In an ideal world, I’d be in a dark room on a soft bed, with lots of water, maybe watching a nature documentary narrated by Morgan Freeman. Instead, I’m here. And if I don’t get it together, this is going to go very badly.
Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t answer. “I’m hiding from the, from the Zigzag Man,” he says.
“Who…?” I clear my throat. “Who is that?”
Leo doesn’t answer. He buries his head in the space made by his arms, which are still wrapped around his knees.
What kind of dad just leaves his kid alone like this? Then again, if you’re trying to keep pursuers away from your child, leading them on a diversion makes sense.
Problem is, that answer only leads to more questions. What the hell were they doing here? Why come all the way to LA from New Mexico?
I lick my lips, suddenly aware of how thirsty I am. Like down-an-entire-six-pack thirsty. The corridor swims in front of me, the anxiety and paranoia and insistent pain fighting for control. Keep it together.
What I wouldn’t give for some direction from Reggie right now. To hear Annie’s voice, Africa’s. No chance. There’s not even any static on the earpiece any more. I’m not actually sure it’s still working.
“Hey Leo?” I say, trying to sound casual. “Can I…? Would you mind if I sat down next to you?”
He doesn’t respond.
“I’m kind of tired.” I try on a smile, which feels like an XXL sweater on an S body. “Would that be cool? Because the floor next to you is OK, right?”
“I only made the zaps start, like, over there.” He points back in the direction I came in.
It takes me a second to understand what he’s saying – and when I do, my stomach drops.
It’s not just that he has power. He has control over it. He can electrify solid surfaces, but not the air. He can create a… I guess you’d call it a safety zone around himself.
It makes a weird kind of sense sense. I have a range for my PK, and it’s easy enough for me to lift something far away while leaving closer objects untouched, even though I can wrap my PK energy around both. Maybe his control over electrons works the same way. He tells the ones at a distance to start moving, while keeping the ones close to him static.
And that, right there, is the scariest thing of all. He has more control over his power at age four than I did at age twenty. And his range… He’s affecting hundreds of feet in one go. The electric charge might get weaker at the edges of that range, but still. Damn.
Who the hell is this kid?
“So it’s good for me to step off?” I ask. “OK. Cool. I’m gonna just…”
Step off my nice, safe platform onto a floor that may or may or not kill me, based on a little kid saying it’s OK.
