Eye of the Sh*t Storm

by Jackson Ford

  A tiny figure emerges from behind them.

  Objectively, Reggie knew that the boy couldn’t be more than four. And yet, seeing him here, she’s struck by how small he looks. Like a strong breeze could simply lift him away.

  Behind her, the woman gets to her feet. Silent. Waiting. The seated man continues to chant.

  Reggie has a sudden urge to shout a warning, tell Annie and Nic to stay away. But her strained, trembling diaphragm won’t push the words out.

  There’s a long moment where the world holds its breath. There’s no sound but the distant rumble of thunder in the north. The very slight rustle of fabric as the woman who holds her captive shifts from foot to foot. The clouds have covered the sky above them now, dark and heavy. Reggie has already felt one or two tiny, spitting droplets on her forehead.

  How much pressure on the trigger would it take to set off the bomb? It’s all too easy to imagine the sudden kick in the small of her back, the searing pain, the bright light obliterating everything, wiping her from existence.

  The approaching trio are close enough that Reggie can pick out more details now. Annie’s shoulders are tense – her upper body hardly moves at all as she walks, her arms barely swinging. Nic is a little looser, but not by much, and his face is pinched with worry.

  The boy between Annie and Nic is Asian, with a black fringe and enormous, terrified eyes. He wears a dirty, sodden T-shirt over torn jeans. Reggie feels a renewed surge of hate for her captor – how can she treat this boy, this child, like a tool? Like a weapon?

  Then again, he’s not just a boy. He has the ability to call down the lightning.

  “Reggie?” Annie calls out, when she’s around twenty feet away. Her voice is as tense as her shoulders.

  “I’m all right,” Reggie says. Or tries to. It barely carries, nothing more than a croak. A wave of shame rolls through her, at Annie seeing her like this. A pawn in a bigger game.

  Reggie has always thought of hostage negotiations as taking place on a larger scale – a building surrounded by strobing blue and red from patrol cars, the FBI getting ready to breach, even though she knows it’s an image taken from the movies and that most stand-offs are nowhere near as dramatic. But this feels like it’s gone too far in the opposite direction – it’s too calm, too quiet. The insanity of the situation is at odds with the calm soccer field, the distant basketball court, the hillside with the grass hissing gently in the breeze.

  “That’s close enough,” the woman says. Then: “Hello, Leo.”

  Leo flinches, and Reggie expects him to step behind Nic. He doesn’t. He holds his ground – trembling, but steady.

  “I wish you hadn’t run away,” the woman says. “If your father—”

  “My dad hates you.” Leo’s voice is tiny, but still carries. “I hate you, and the Zigzag Man too.” He cuts a look at the seated figure, rocking back and forth.

  Reggie does too. Zigzag Man, she thinks, and shivers.

  Nic’s eyes meet Reggie’s. He looks drawn and tired, like it’s been weeks since he slept. The last time Reggie saw him was during the incident with Jake, the other psychokinetic.

  She has a sudden urge to apologise to him, tell him she’s sorry he got mixed up in this. What was the saying? I wish we could have met under better circumstances.

  “Don’t come any closer,” she says. This time, her voice carries. “There’s a bomb.”

  In half a second, Annie’s anger goes from simmering to boiling. Her eyes dart to the shape underneath Reggie, then back up.

  There’s another rustle of fabric – the woman lifting the detonator, no doubt. “You see this, Leo? No games now. If I let go, or squeeze too hard—”

  “I know.” The boy sounds exhausted too, his voice that of someone much older.

  “This is going to be very simple,” the woman says. She sounds reasonable, even gentle. “You’re going to come with us. I’m going to give you something – a little jab, just like a flu shot. It won’t hurt, I promise, and it’ll make you sleep.”

  Leo nods. He looks sick.

  “Look at me, bitch.” It’s as if Annie rolls the word around in her mouth, tasting it. “There’s gonna be a lotta scary dudes coming for you after this. I’m not even talking about the government, although you’d best believe they’ll be hunting too. I’m talking about every soldier in every hood in LA, every gangster, every shooter, every contact I got. I’m putting the word out. They’re gonna be coming for your ass.”

  The woman ignores her. Barely even looks at her. “Where’s Teagan?”

  “She couldn’t come,” Nic says.

  “She’s here somewhere, isn’t she? I do hope she understands what will happen if the pressure on my trigger finger changes. It would be a shame if she sprung a trap, only to kill her colleague.” She raises her voice. “Come on out, Teagan.”

  “She’s not here,” Annie says, through gritted teeth. “She…” But it’s as if she can’t get the words out. She snaps her mouth shut, hands balled into fists.

  She’s not lying. Reggie can tell. Teagan really isn’t here. Reggie feels a mix of hurt and pride – hurt that Teagan didn’t come anyway, and pride and relief that she was smart enough to stay away.

  “There’s a homeless camp,” Nic says. “Upriver from where you left the…” He clears his throat. “The chair. Regina’s chair. There’s a flood coming, in the storm drain, and Teagan’s helping get people out.”

  This time, the woman does laugh. “Is that right, Teagan?” she says loudly, as if hoping her voice will carry to wherever the girl is hiding. “Wherever you are, it’s best if you stay there. I see anything moving in a way it shouldn’t, and…” She raises the bomb trigger, holding it high.

  The steak knife. Reggie still has it, tucked into her pocket – her special knife, with the rings on the handle to slip her fingers into. If she could just…

  Just what? She doesn’t dare stab the woman, doesn’t dare do anything that would make that trigger finger squeeze. Especially not now, with the others so close.

  “Come on, Leo,” the woman says.

  Leo doesn’t move. He’s not looking at the woman. Instead, he’s looking at the figure he called the Zigzag Man. As Reggie watches, the boy starts to shake his head back and forth, slowly at first, then faster and faster. “I don’t wanna.”

  “Yes you do,” the woman tells him. Reggie has never wanted to hit someone so badly. From the look on Annie’s face, she isn’t the only one.

  Leo bows his head, wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t wanna,” he says, the words coming out in a rush. “I know I said I’d go but I don’t wanna be with the Zigzag Man, please don’t make me go!”

  He reaches for Nic, who scoops him up in a hug. Reggie has never seen a man look so wretched.

  The woman mutters something, which sounds to Reggie like the word Pathetic. “Leo,” she says. “Come here. Now.”

  “He’s scared,” Annie spits at her. “Can’t you see that?”

  For a second, a different expression flickers across the woman’s face. One that might be something approaching concern. But it’s gone almost as soon it appears, replaced by steel-hard resolve. “Last chance,” the woman says, raising the bomb trigger.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, Nic puts Leo down.

  The boy doesn’t want to let go. He keeps stealing glances at the Zigzag Man, and Reggie can’t help but do the same. The man is lost in his own world.

  Nic and Annie both talk quietly to Leo. Both of them crouch down, holding his hands. They too seem to be in their own world… and all Reggie can do is silently watch, fuming, hating how helpless she is. Hating that she’s a bargaining chip.

  She expects the woman to get more and more impatient, but surprisingly, she stays silent. Why wouldn’t she? She’s won.

  She’s won.

  And eventually, Leo turns around. He still crying, but his mouth is set in a thin line now. He’s not looking at the Zigzag Man, just at the woman with the bomb trigger. Nic watches as
Leo starts to walk, shaking his head. Neither he nor Annie move.

  The woman must have a vehicle nearby – how else would she have gotten Reggie to the park? By the time Annie and Nic get Reggie off the explosives and give chase, both she and Leo will be long gone.

  And then…

  More dead. Maybe thousands more. Hundreds of thousands. Leo forced to use his ability to help carve out a new world.

  Reggie’s hand is in her pocket now, fingers slotting into the holes of the specially designed handle on the steak knife. Except: what good will it do? Even if she gets the knife out in time, and even if she stabs the woman, what on earth would it accomplish?

  The woman might squeeze the bomb trigger, or drop it entirely. If it were just the two of them, Reggie might consider doing it – pretty hard to carve out a new world if you’re vaporised. But it’s not just them. It’s Leo, who is way too close to the bomb.

  And Reggie cannot murder a child.

  They planned to do so before, when Matthew Schenke was on course to set off the Cascadia fault line and kill millions. Taking him out seemed like their only option. But Matthew was a sociopath, and he knew exactly what he was doing. Leo doesn’t deserve this, any of it, and Reggie isn’t prepared to take his life.

  “That’s it,” the woman murmurs. “Come on.”

  “Leo.” The desperation and despair in Annie’s voice cuts Reggie’s heart in two. “We’ll find you, OK? We’re not gonna stop looking, no matter what. We’ll get you out, just… just stay strong, you hear me?”

  Leo looks as if he wants to say something, but he just nods. Never stopping his slow, steady walk.

  “We’ll find your dad,” Nic is saying. “We’ll tell him you’re OK.”

  Reggie happens to be looking at the woman right then, and the oddest thing happens. The woman’s expression changes. It goes from cold control to absolute shock, just for a microsecond. Then it’s as if the woman gets a hold of herself, slams the mask back down again.

  “We know the way to your uncle’s house.” Reggie gets the sense that Nic is not even talking to Leo now, that he’s just talking to keep himself sane. “We’re gonna head straight there after this, find your dad, figure this all out.”

  “Don’t listen to them, Leo,” the woman says. “Your dad’s with me. We’ve already found him. He’s waiting for you.”

  Leo comes to a halt. Looks up at her.

  “He’s with you?” he says.

  The woman nods. “He’s in a safe place. He wants me to bring you to him.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say. Reggie understands that instantly. Leo tilts his head, biting his lower lip.

  “He hates you,” he says.

  A half-smile crosses the woman’s face. “Maybe he does. But I don’t hate him, and I certainly don’t hate you. Now come on.”

  “Where’s my dad?” Leo says quietly. “Really?”

  All at once, Reggie doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to hear it.

  “Like I said.” The woman sounds irritated now. “He’s nearby. Somewhere safe.”

  “No.” Leo actually stamps his foot. “He wouldn’t go with you. He wouldn’t.”

  There’s a sudden rumble from the dark clouds above them – a rumble that goes on far too long. Lightning flashes in the clouds, leaving glowing afterimages.

  “Leo.” Nic starts moving towards him, his eyes huge, ignoring the anger on the woman’s face. “Buddy, listen to me, you have to control it. Don’t do this.”

  Reggie sucks in a horrified breath. The lightning strikes at Dodger Stadium.

  “Get back,” the woman spits at Nic, her voice nearly lost in another boom of thunder.

  “Where is he?” Tears are rolling down Leo’s cheeks. “What did you do to my dad?”

  “Leo, take it ea—” Nic gets out.

  And then the world fills with white.

  It’s a flash so bright that it sears itself into Reggie’s mind, obliterating all thought. It’s followed a split-second later by a massive, cracking bang, and a shockwave that rumbles up through her body.

  The lightning struck twenty feet from them, not far from Nic and Annie. The woman sprints towards Leo, dives for him, just as Nic does the same thing. But right then, a second bolt hits the ground. Reggie actually gets a look at this one: a jagged spear etched in a white so bright it’s almost yellow. It lands between her and Nic, and although it doesn’t hit him, he staggers sideways, losing his balance. Leo is screaming, his face raised to the sky, mouth open in a terrified little boy howl.

  Annie sidesteps around Nic, lunging forward. And at that moment, the lightning strikes for a third time.

  It hits right next to Annie.

  No more than two feet from her.

  And in the frozen moment of the strike, Reggie sees the electricity leap to her body. Crackling across it in jagged, spitting arcs, moving up her legs and chest and jaw.

  Annie’s arms fly out. Her back arches, her head snapping up. It makes her look like a dancer, contorting herself in mid-air. The edges of her jacket are smouldering.

  The bolt of lightning vanishes, and Annie crashes to the ground.

  This time, it’s Reggie who screams.

  FIFTY

  Teagan

  There’s a great meme that did the rounds online a few years back. It’s called “The Last Great Act of Defiance”.

  As memes go, it’s pretty simple. It’s a drawing of a mouse, standing on hind legs, watching as a voracious, razor-beaked owl dives down on it, talons outstretched. The mouse is sticking an exhausted middle finger up at the owl.

  You can probably see where I’m going with this.

  Problem is, as the flash flood grows on the horizon, filling the storm drain from end to end, I don’t have any strength left to raise a middle finger. I just stand there, shoulders sagging, watching the end creep closer.

  My brain, however, is a goddamn hornet’s nest. I’ve got to everybody out. Now. Right fucking now.

  But what if the flood gets here before I can? And it will, because that thing is moving at ten feet per second, and I have four or five minutes before it hits. If that.

  OK. Just think. What if I… fuck, I don’t know, got everybody still here onto a big platform and levitated them out of here? It might work – but it might just as easily go horribly wrong. People might fall off. They might freak out – and I do not have time right now to explain who I am and what I can do. They might simply refuse to get on the platform, which means we’ll still be arguing when the wave hits us. That’s if I have the PK energy to lift that much weight.

  And – oh, shit – that’s not even the biggest problem. There are still some people downriver, looking for an exit. The China Shop van is probably still in the storm drain, Africa hunting for an exit. Ditto for the Legends. When the flood hits the homeless camp, it’s going to sweep everything away. All that scaffolding, everything not nailed down. The wave will obliterate it all.

  The distant radio-static hiss has gotten much louder, even in the thirty seconds or so since I spotted it. It’s deeper, more thunderous, and that little line of water on the horizon has grown. It’s bigger now, big enough that it isn’t just a little line of water. It doesn’t look that high – six feet, maybe eight – but it’s violent, a massive, boiling mess of dirty white foam.

  It’s not just water. There’s debris, too. I can’t make the details out from here, but I have a good idea of what’s in there. Concrete and rubble. Wrecked cars. Trash. Bamboo stalks.

  The LA River is taking revenge on us for hiding it. For lining it with concrete and pretending it didn’t exist. For building on it and pissing in it and trying to prove that we were better. It’s an absurd thought, pointless and stupid. But as I watch the torrent approach, as the sheer rage of it becomes clear, it’s a thought I can’t get rid of.

  And it’s raining hard now. Bucketing down from black clouds. The storm letting loose, all at once, frigid wind whipping the drops left and right. As if the sky has decided that it wan
ts to help the river wipe us from existence.

  I’m too late.

  No. Fuck that. It’s not too late. There are a hundred things I could do here to get everyone to safety. It’s just that…

  It’s just that all of them have massive problems. And if I get it wrong…

  I turn to look at the camp around me, refusing to believe I’m out of options. There are still people at the bottom of the slope, near the exit I made – I have to get these assholes moving. But what am I going to do about the people who, unbelievably, are still in the camp?

  The dude over there, fussing with his bag, desperately trying to pack his possessions because apparently saving your prize collection of bowling trophies or whatever is super-important when a tsunami is coming. He’ll be easy. But even as I think this, a woman stumbles past, high off her motherfucking tits, screaming for somebody called Derek. I’ve hadn’t seen her before now. It’s like she’s been waiting this whole time to show herself.

  And – holy shit, is that guy drawing? Yep. This happy asshole is kneeling on the ground and muttering to himself and drawing something with a piece of chalk. He’s facing the flood, and either doesn’t know it’s there, or doesn’t give a shit.

  I’m not going to be able to get them all out. Not in the three or four minutes I have left. Not even with the assistance of Africa, or the Legends. And even if I did, even if I somehow managed to clear this place in time, it wouldn’t help the poor fuckers downriver.

  My hand strays to my jacket pocket, and my eyes go wide.

  And immediately squeeze shut. No fucking way. I promised myself I wouldn’t. And in any case, we are not talking about a few random organic objects here. We are talking about a mass of raging water. I don’t even know for sure if I’ll be able to affect it.

  I have to try.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, the consequences of what I’m about to do bouncing around my mind like ricocheting bullets.

  There has to be another option. There has to.

  There isn’t.