Eye of the Sh*t Storm

by Jackson Ford

I hold out my hand. “Hi. My name’s Teagan. I can move shit with my mind, but I like eating, and listening to rap music, and… and lying in bed on the weekends with a cup of coffee. I drive a shitty old Jeep and I love living in LA, even though the traffic sucks ass. What’s your name?”

  “Come on, man. Start from scratch? I don’t even… How would it work if…?”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know how it would work, not really. But it feels like the right decision.

  He looks down at my hand – and suddenly, I’m not sure I’ve done the right thing.

  Because I can guess what he’s thinking. He’s looking at all the things I’m trying to draw a line under. All the shit we’ve been through together. The horrible things we’ve said to each other. The wrecked apartments and gunfights. The text messages that were never answered, the calls that weren’t picked up.

  He’s thinking: can we really pretend all of that never happened? Is this person genuinely suggesting we just ignore it?

  My hand hangs in the air, trembling.

  His eyes meet mine. Hold my gaze.

  And then, slowly, his fingers wrap around mine.

  “Hey, Teagan,” he says, still kind of laughing, like he can’t believe we’re doing this. “I’m Nic. Nic Delacourt. It’s nice to meet you.”

  I squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

  And neither of us let go.

  FORTY-ONE

  Reggie

  The cab drops Reggie at the dead end of San Carlos Street, just south of Rosecrans. There’s not much there. A few sad-looking houses, some of them boarded up and lifeless. A pick-up parked at the end of the street, dusty with disuse. Beyond the cul-de-sac, there’s an expanse of hard-packed dirt bordered by scrubby trees, with nothing in it but an old merry-go-round. As if someone wanted to build a playground, but ran out of money halfway through.

  Beyond the dirt, the ground rises sharply, plateauing after perhaps fifteen feet of elevation. The river must be just over the hump. If she can get down there, intercept Teagan and Annie…

  Well, she’ll figure that part out later.

  There’s just enough ambient light here to see by. The rain has let up a little, which is good, but the ground is already muddy as all get out. Reggie eyes it, suddenly unsure. Is her chair going to be able to get through it?

  All at once, she feels very alone. There really is no one around – not a single sign of movement from the dark houses. The cab turns left at the closest intersection, dropping out of sight. Probably glad to see the back of me, Reggie thinks bitterly.

  “Come on, old girl,” she mutters, pushing the chair’s joystick. “Let’s keep it moving.”

  The kerb doesn’t present much of a problem – it’s nothing more than a thin lip at the edge of the tarmac. The chair tilts as it clears the bump, the wheels digging into the mud on the other side. Moment of truth.

  The motor whines, ratcheting up a notch. For a horrifying half-second, the wheels spin – and then catch, jerking forward. The ground looks muddy, but it isn’t quite deep enough to stop Reggie moving. Not that it’s easy; she bounces in her seat, rocking back and forth. Her shoulders ache, and the familiar tightness in her diaphragm is worse than usual.

  As she passes the merry-go-round, a sound reaches her. The crackle of old leaves being stepped on. She snaps her head in the direction of the noise, off to the right. But there’s nobody there, no figures emerging from the trees.

  Get it together. Reggie pushes the joystick even harder – she’s going to have build up a little speed to get up the slope ahead of her. Shouldn’t be too difficult. Her chair isn’t top of the line, but it’s powerful enough. Once she clears that, there should be a flat section where she can catch her breath, rest a minute. The river should be visible from there, too. She’s pretty sure she won’t actually see Teagan and Annie – that would be ridiculous – but at the very least, she can get a sense of the lay of the land. And once she’s on the concrete storm drain surface, things should be a lot easier.

  Reggie’s chair eats up the muddy ground, the motor whining harder. She makes contact with the slope, lurching back in her seat as the chair tilts upwards. It’s a lot steeper than she thought it would be – for a horrible second, she’s sure she’s going to keep tilting, topple right out of her chair.

  But no. She’s steady now, the motor rising to an angry pitch as it digs in. She slows right down now, inching forward, but that’s OK. All she has to do is keep moving.

  Except: not even that is happening. The motor is going at full bore, and she’s come to a dead stop on the slope.

  “Damn it, no.” She’s got the joystick as far forward as it can go. “Come on.”

  Is there a setting she can change? An extra gear for her to engage? If she had a half-decent chair like she’d asked for, this wouldn’t be a problem.

  The motor sounds wrong now – like it’s on the very edge of blowing something important. Cursing, Reggie lets the joystick go, engaging the brake. She’ll let the motor cool down, but she’ll be damned if she loses any ground.

  A moment later, she starts to tilt backwards.

  Her centre of gravity is too high. Without the forward motion to compensate, the front wheels are starting to lift off the ground.

  Reggie teeters, breathing hard, frozen. In the split-second before the tilt becomes too much, spilling her out of her chair, she releases the brake. The chair coasts backwards, wheels rumbling as she hits the mud, rolling to a stop a few feet from the slope. The wheels and the bottom half of the chair are spattered with mud. Her legs too, brown and gunky up to the knees. For once, Reggie is grateful she can’t feel them.

  She presses her lips together, trying to control her breathing. There are tyre tracks on the slope – Reggie barely made it three feet up before the motor started to struggle. Three measly feet.

  Well, fine. She’ll just try it again. Take another run at it. She has come way too far to be defeated by a little hill.

  Come way too far? That’s a laugh. All she did was call a cab, have a little fight with the driver. She’s barely gone fifty feet under her own steam.

  Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare do this to yourself. Not now.

  A minute later, she tries to climb the hill again. This time, she doesn’t even make it three feet. The motor starts complaining the moment she hits the slope – and this time, there’s the added smell of burning. Reggie is forced to drop back before it goes. The only thing worse than falling out of the chair would be the chair itself catching fire.

  There has to be somebody she can call. But who? Africa? He’s off on his own mission, won’t even answer the phone – and if he did, there’s no guarantee he want to help her. He has gone way off the edge of the map. And – Jesus, what if he’s caught up with Tegan and Annie already? What if he somehow managed to stop them, or bring them in? The entire team could be back at the office right now, or en route to a pickup point to meet with Tanner’s people. She should have left a message at the office, something to let them know where she’s heading.

  She tries Africa’s number anyway, but of course, he doesn’t pick up. The burning smell has dissipated, a little, but there’s no point taking another run at the hill. If she can’t get more than a couple of feet up, she’s not going to make it all the way to the top.

  It occurs to her to try moving further along, to the north or south – perhaps there’ll be a shallower slope. But the trees, while thin and scrawny, are tightly packed on either side of the makeshift playground. It’s possible that she could navigate her chair between them, but she’s more than likely to get stuck. She’d be in an even worse position than she’s in now.

  “Goddammit.”

  It comes out louder than she intended – but then again, it’s not as if anyone is around to hear it. She spins her chair around, pointing back towards San Carlos Street. Nothing for it. She’s going to have to head back the way she came in, follow the river to the south. Perhaps there will be another way onto it. Of course, she
could always call another cab. And how long is that going to take? Another hour? Two? Where do I even tell them to go?

  “Are you OK?”

  A startled grasp almost jumps out of Reggie. Her hand snaps to her pocket, where the knife is. Except: it’s going to take far too long to slip her fingers through the holes on the handle, far too long to lift it out and—

  “Sorry,” the speaker says, hands up. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Reggie’s hand slows, then stops. The speaker is a woman in her mid-twenties, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She’s slight, but clearly in good shape, wearing a brown leather jacket and tight red sweater over jeans and Doc Martins. Reggie can’t help thinking there’s something a little off about her appearance. Mostly it’s her eyes, which are a little too big for her face.

  “That’s OK,” Reggie says, glancing back towards San Carlos Street.

  “Saw you trying to climb the hill.” The woman nods towards the slope. “Don’t know if there’s much of a view at the top.”

  “I’m—”

  Trying to get to the river. But how on earth does she say that without sounding like a complete lunatic?

  The woman tilts her head. “Would you…? Do you need a push? I’m sorry if that’s not, you know, the right thing to say here…”

  “No, no.” On a normal day, Reggie would resent someone trying to help. But since she’s not getting up that hill on her lonesome, she’ll take all the assistance she can get. “That’d be great. Please.”

  “OK, sure. How should we—?”

  “Just push me. I’ll disengage the motor.”

  “You got it.”

  The woman moves behind her, out of sight, grasping the handles on the back of the chair.

  Finally, Reggie thinks. A little luck.

  FORTY-TWO

  Teagan

  Five miles. That’s it. That’s all we have do.

  It’ll be an hour’s walk – maybe even less, if we hustle. A straight shot down the river around Alondra Boulevard, then through Compton to Leo’s uncle’s place. Then we just hope to hell his dad is actually there – or if he’s not, that Leo’s uncle is in a welcoming mood.

  Plenty can happen in five miles. But as we head south from the interchange camp, I’m feeling… surprisingly good. Not in top shape, no way – not on a meth comedown, not after the night we’ve had. But we’ve had food, and water, and a chance to sit for a little while. No ambushes or gunfights in the past hour. Nic and I made nice. There is a chance we might actually make it through this – a small chance, but I’ll take what I can get.

  Also, I didn’t have to spend long in the sewers under the freeway, doing my business. Maybe the people hanging out in there – and holy hell, a lot of people decided to set up shop in the tunnels – have gotten used to the smell. Not me. I can’t think about it without wanting to retch.

  The storm drain is wide and empty, the river a straight channel right down the middle. There are still unbroken lines of flood barriers on each side, but Annie says there’ll be a few gaps the further south we get.

  My PK isn’t back to normal, but the rest and the steak have helped. My little gas tank is probably back up to twenty-five per cent. I keep my PK alert for anybody approaching, but aside from a few homeless folk heading north to the camp, pushing shopping carts loaded with their belongings, there’s nobody we need to worry about.

  Leo still can’t walk without limping, but he barely seems to notice. He sticks close to Nic, a few feet behind me and Annie. “Are we gonna be there soon?” he says, speaking so fast he almost trips over the words.

  “Yeah, I think so,” Nic says breezily.

  “I’m gonna make sure you can stay with, with my uncle.” Leo nods to himself, like he’s made a difficult decision.

  Nic gives a noncommittal grunt. Then he says, “How’re the… wiggles right now? You good?”

  “I’m OK!” Leo grins up at Nic, who returns it.

  “No using your zaps,” I say over my shoulder. “I don’t want to carry you the whole way. You’re heavy.”

  “I am not!”

  “Hey, who’s done most of the carrying tonight anyway?” Nic says.

  Leo looks worried. “But what if the Zigzag Man…?”

  “Tell you what.” I slow down, so I’m walking beside him. “I’ll make you a bet. Whoever uses their powers first…” I falter, then it comes to me. “Gets a big, sloppy kiss from Nic.”

  “Ugh!” Leo makes a disgusted, delighted face. I wink at Nic, who is trying very hard not to laugh.

  “You guys done messing around?” Annie says. “We got a ways to go yet.” There’s an amused look on her face though, as if she too can’t help but feel a little lighter.

  “OK, OK,” Leo says. “But I wanna show you something.”

  “No, Leo,” I say. “I said no zaps.”

  “Yeah but just one thing, OK?”

  A few feet to our right, there’s a puddle of dank water, pooled on the concrete. A pigeon waddles along one edge, beak idly tapping at the water. Like all city pigeons, it gives precisely zero shits about us.

  Leo crouches down, putting a hand on the concrete.

  “Come on, dude,” Nic says. “Don’t—”

  There’s a sharp bzzt – more felt than heard – and the pigeon explodes upwards with a panicked squawk. It flaps in place two feet off the ground, feathers flying, wings beating so hard that it nearly turns itself upside down. Somehow, it rights itself, and flies away, wobbling wildly, almost crashing into the side of the storm drain.

  “Leo!” Annie gapes at him.

  I collapse, howling with laughter. I can’t help it – Leo might have just committed a heinous act of animal cruelty, but I can’t stop thinking about how the pigeon wobbled and bobbled and flapped its wings at a million miles an hour.

  I clutch my stomach, tears streaming down my cheeks. Leo is grinning like a fool.

  “You can’t do that.” Annie is literally shaking a finger at Leo, a horrified expression on her face.

  “I just gave it a little—”

  “It doesn’t matter! That bird was just minding its own business!”

  Oh God. My lungs are going to disintegrate. I’m down on my knees now, hands on the concrete, and I’m laughing so hard my face hurts. Everything we’ve been through tonight, all the insane shit… it’s all coming out. Even Annie is struggling to keep the disapproval on her face, shaking her head and grinning to herself.

  But Nic… Nic isn’t laughing. Not even a little bit. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he says to Leo.

  “I was just—”

  “You think this is a joke?” It’s like something has given way inside Nic, an impulse that he can no longer control.

  Leo falters. “I just wanted to show you something.”

  “You could hurt people. You could hurt yourself. You could—”

  Abruptly, Nic snaps his mouth shut. Looks away. Neither Annie nor I are laughing now.

  Leo looks down, scuffing the concrete with the toe of a dirty sneaker. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, well.” Nic still won’t look at him.

  “I didn’t hurt myself.” Leo waves his hands in the air. “And the bird’s OK!”

  And the pigeon is indeed fine. It’s giving the puddle a wide berth, but it’s back on the concrete, pecking for scraps at the edge of the slope.

  For some reason, that makes Nic even angrier. “From now on,” he tells Leo, “don’t use your power. Not ever. You keep that inside you.”

  “Nic, ease back,” I say. What the hell’s gotten into him?

  “Yeah, man, relax,” Annie mutters, which surprises me a little bit. She’s not exactly a fan of Leo, or what he can do.

  Nic looks between us, then takes a deep breath. “You’re right,” he says. “Sorry. Things are just getting to me.” It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s not looking at Leo when he says it.

  Annie runs a hand through her hair. “Come on. Still a ways to go yet
.” She marches off, setting the pace.

  We resume walking in silence, Leo between Nic and me. The boy walks with his head down, dragging his feet a little.

  “You are evil,” I tell Leo, although I make sure I’m smiling when I say it.

  “It was just a bird,” he mumbles.

  “Yes, it was. It’s OK this time, but maybe don’t do it again, huh? Or we’ll tell your dad.”

  Leo blushes. “Nooooo.”

  “Yeeeees.”

  “Do you think my dad’ll be there?” Leo asks again. He looks worried all of a sudden, the pigeon forgotten.

  Nic clears his throat. He speaks quickly, as if ashamed of his little outburst. “He will. And if he’s not, for whatever reason, we’ll find him, OK?”

  “What if we can’t?”

  “We will.” I nod towards Annie, who by now is a good fifty yards ahead of us. “Come on. We gotta keep up.”

  “But…” And all at once, there’s panic on his face. “But you don’t know what he looks like! What if we saw him, and I didn’t see him, and you did, but you didn’t know?”

  Following that particular burst of little-boy talk takes some doing, but I manage. “I’m pretty sure he would have seen you,” I say, hustling him along.

  “Maybe you can show us a photo of him,” Nic says.

  Leo skirts the edge of the puddle, and as he does so, his face lights up. “I know what he looks like!”

  “All right,” I say. “That sounds good. Fire away.”

  Leo thinks. “He’s really tall. He’s got black hair, and… and glasses.”

  “Cool,” I say, exchanging a look with Nic. A look that says, We’ll be sure to keep an eye out for a bespectacled Asian man with black hair. Very few of those in California.

  “When he left me at the place, he had a jacket like the people who work there. He’s got blue pants, and red shoes. Like, really red.”

  As he talks, I come to a dead halt. Just stop cold.

  “Thanks,” Nic says. “Got it. We’ll keep a look out, won’t we, Teagan?… Teags?”

  He had a jacket like the people who work there.

  Red shoes.