by Jackson Ford
It still feels wrong to use the word, but Reggie herself once told us that if we referred to her as differently abled one more time, she’d hack our social security files and give us that phrase as our new middle names.
In response to my question, she shakes her head. “I don’t believe so. It’s more about management style. I get the feeling she wants China Shop to be a little more… tightly run. I pushed for Africa to join our team, and I wanted to make sure she didn’t regret that.”
She pauses, as if choosing her words carefully. “I wanted to sell her on our creativity. That I would see things a more rigid manager wouldn’t be able to. Show her we could act on our instincts, instead of just following orders.” She scoffs. “God, listen to me. I’ve gone corporate.”
“Wait a second – is this because of me? Because of that whole thing with Jake?”
“Honey, not everything is about you.” But she doesn’t meet my eyes.
“You tell me one thing I could have done differently in that situation. Well, OK, I probably shouldn’t have thrown Annie and me out a skyscraper. And yeah, maybe I shouldn’t have revealed my ability in front of Nic, but it worked out OK, didn’t it? He’s on board, he signed all the NDAs, no harm done. Right? And if—”
“You’ve been getting stronger,” Reggie murmurs.
“Well… yeah. We knew that. Adrenaline spikes my PK. So what?”
“You think I haven’t noticed how much more you can lift nowadays? The control you have? The range? You’re getting more powerful, and it’s starting to make people very nervous.”
“People. You mean like Tanner?”
“I’ve kept it from her as much as I can, but she has her ways. There have been… I guess you could call them rumblings in her department.”
“Reggie, if you don’t start talking sense—”
“There are people who work with Tanner who would prefer you back in Waco.”
I let out a long, slow breath. Waco. The off-the-books Texas facility where these fuckers kept me for years after Wyoming. A grey hell, with endless tests and doctors and the threat of being casually murdered because someone in power thought I was too dangerous.
“Tanner wouldn’t let them,” I say, voice as steady as I can make it. “That’s the deal, right? I work for her, she keeps me in play. And we’ve been doing exactly what she wants. Haven’t we?”
“Tanner is getting pressure from everywhere. She has to make a change – and despite what you might think, she doesn’t want you in Waco, or anywhere else but here. One option she has is to switch out the management for someone with more… authority.”
“Reggie, this is crazy. She is not going to fire you. I won’t let her.” And I’m not letting someone else get shafted because of me.
It’s fully dark outside the truck now. We’re trundling up a hill, still lurching and bouncing over torn-up rubble. There are more trucks in line behind us, headlights cutting through the gloom.
Now that I think about it, I should have known something was up. Reggie’s been so distracted lately. She’s been short with us, spending more and more time locked away with her Rig. And here I was, bumbling through my weird-ass life, getting ready to ask her to tell her boss that I wanted to take time off and go to cooking school. It’s like a bad joke.
There must be a strange expression on my face, because Reggie says, “What is it?”
I almost don’t tell her, but then think, Fuck it.
“Reggie, I know it probably makes no sense to tell you this now, but I… I want to go to cooking school.”
“Cooking sc—I don’t understand.”
And then it all pours out of me. “I love cooking. Like, really really love it. I mean, you know that, you’ve eaten my food before. And I just… I guess I just want to make it part of my life. Officially.”
“You want somebody to teach you how to cook?”
“Kind of. I can already cook, but there’s so much I don’t know how to do. Things that might help me when I own my own restaurant. Eventually. I’d just be doing the cooking at a night school, at least at first…”
“At first?”
I look away, then make myself meet her eyes. “You can’t stop me. I need other things in my life besides… this.”
She slowly shakes her head. “Oh, h—”
“If you oh, honey me, I will never make your favorite brownies ever again. But I know what you were going to say anyway. You’re fine with it; Tanner won’t be.”
She’s silent for a good few seconds. “It’ll be an… uphill battle.”
“Yeah, and the hill is Mount Everest. I get it.”
“You could say that. Sorry, Teagan, I know it’s not what you want to hear…”
I grunt. “Doesn’t matter. Pretty sure the school I wanted to go to doesn’t exist any more.”
“We’ll find a way,” she says, not unkindly. “After all, if I can play the Bard in my off-hours, then—”
“If you can what the what?”
“Play the Bard. Shakespeare?” A flicker of a smile. “I read once that the world can be separated into two groups of people: those who have played the Bard, and those who haven’t.”
“Cute.”
“Our troupe is doing The Taming of the Shrew right now. Or we were. Anyway, if I can do some acting on the side, then I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to do a little cooking.”
Neither of us state the obvious. Reggie acts for fun. She’s not planning a career change.
Somehow, that makes it worse. Reggie’s more than a boss. After everything we’ve been through in the past couple of years, she’s my friend. China Shop – her Rig, the Boutique, the job – means everything to her. Would Tanner really be so unkind as to take that away? Just to keep me in the field?
Yes. Of course she would. She’d do it without a second thought.
“Come on, motherfucker,” Annie mutters. “Just a couple more minutes. Almost got you…”
The truck comes to a sudden, shuddering halt. A soldier appears at the rear tailgate, reaching up to pop it open. “All right, everybody out!” he yells.
It’s a lot noisier out there with the truck’s engine off, a buzz of voices, other trucks hissing and clunking, the roar of helicopter engines. Africa takes Reggie, hefting her in his arms and climbing down from the tailgate. The rain has started again, because of course it has.
We’re in a parking lot at the north end of Dodger Stadium. If the entire baseball field is a huge V, with home plate at the bottom, we’re standing roughly between the two top points. The stadium looms above us in the cold, grey air. Most of it, anyway. The quake collapsed large sections of the bleachers, exposing concrete rebar, filling the air with the gritty taste of dust. An ad for Coors beer is torn in two – the C is still upright, but the oors part is twisted and broken.
The stadium is built on a hill. It’s at the centre of a terraced parking lot – the idea being that the people seated in the cheap seats behind home plate, at the top of the bleachers, can park their car on the same level, so at least they don’t have to use any stairs. I can see those seats from our parking spot. One of the sections is still largely intact, and it’s bustling with people. Like half of Los Angeles is here. Choppers hover on the horizon, blinking lights against the dark sky, buzzing over the smoke from downtown.
Annie is standing off to one side with the laptop, tapping away at it, ignoring the rain pattering on the screen and keyboard. As I look over, she makes a disgusted sound, slamming the laptop closed. “Piece of shit.”
“You get anywhere?” Reggie wheezes.
“I don’t think so. It’s the hardware, not the software.”
“He’ll be OK,” I tell her.
Nobody has to ask who I’m talking about.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Teagan
There are more people coming into the parking lot, and huge scrums of them waiting to get into the stadium. There are lots of injuries – broken arms, legs, gashes and cuts. Everybody is soaked to t
he skin, shivering, with the kind of shell-shocked look you’d expect from a war zone. The soldiers shepherd us into one of the lines, just under the broken Coors ad. An oversized digital clock, somehow miraculously still working, reads 7:13.
“I came here with my dad when I was little once.” Annie sounds dazed. “Dodgers-Padres. Garciaparra hit a walk-off at the bottom of the tenth.”
“Don’t think there’s gonna be home runs here for a while,” Reggie murmurs.
Africa’s holding her, his arms under Reggie’s knees and shoulders. “I see it like this in Sierra Leone,” he says, almost to himself. “Not good.”
At least the lines are moving fast. Soldiers with clipboards take names, hustle people through. Those who can’t walk are pointed straight onto the field, the rest into the bleachers. “Right stands only,” a grizzled-looking soldier bellows. “The left side of the field – yes, my left – is unsafe, and off limits. Walk, don’t run – hey! Do not run! Food and water will be distributed. If you need medical attention, make yourself known at the front of the line.”
You want to know something weird? The soldiers remind me of the special forces crew that tried to bring us in last year, back when we were involved in the whole Jake thing. They’ve got the same blank, focused way of looking at you. The same condescending voices. Who knows, maybe I’ll run into Burr here, helping people check into Hotel Dodger. We can laugh about how he didn’t catch me last time because I broke his finger and then almost stabbed him with a piece of glass.
When we reach the front, I get my first good look at the field beyond. The diamond and the grass surrounding it are packed with white tents, soldiers and doctors rushing between them. The bleachers are already a heaving mass of people, and despite the soldiers’ best efforts, the crowds have started to spill out onto the field. Just past the far bleachers, helicopters are landing: big troop transports, touching down in the south parking lot and taking off seconds later.
One of the soldiers grabs my wrist. I’m so wired that I nearly brain him with a nearby tent pole, but he just jabs a black permanent marker at my hand, marking the back of it. I’m sure there’s a reason for it, some system they’ve devised, but I’m fucked if I can figure it out.
“What is our plan?” Africa says. He and the others have all received similar marks.
Annie runs a hand through her hair. The damp air has frizzed it, sending it out in weird directions – mine isn’t doing much better. “I’ll, um – I’ll take Reggie to the medical tent. Africa, Teags – you guys try find us something to eat and drink.”
“Annie, I don’t know if they’ll give two of us enough for four people,” I say.
“Figure it out,” she snaps. “When you’re done, I’ll meet you there.” She points to a section of the bleachers on our right, a relatively clear one, just beyond where third base would be.
As it turns out, we can’t go our separate ways yet. The way the tents are, we’re forced to walk in an uncomfortable group around the edge of the field. “Eh, Teggan,” Africa whispers at me. “What is the plan?”
“Annie already told you. We’ll go find some sandwiches or whatever they’re dishing out.”
“No no. About the boy. On the video.”
“I dunno.”
“We cannot just do nothing, huh? We the only ones who know. I think maybe—”
“Jesus-fuck, Idriss, give it a rest.”
I don’t mean to shout at him, but I am reaching the end of my tether, and I like to think that particular tether is pretty long.
I expect him to subside, like he always does. Instead, he gives me a weird look – almost disappointed. I turn away from him, keep trudging, feet squishing into what’s left of the muddy grass. Forget food – I would sell my stomach for a pair of dry shoes.
“Medical tent’s over there,” Annie says, when we reach a gap. “Teagan, take Africa and – wait, did you guys hear that?”
Africa bends his head, as if listening hard. “Ya, I think so. Teggan, here.” He shoves Reggie into my arms, so suddenly that I nearly drop her.
“I’m not a sack of grain,” Reggie snarls.
Annie isn’t listening. She’s got a finger to her ear, head bent.
“Move it along,” a soldier says from somewhere to my right.
“Yeah, just a second.” Annie bends her head even further.
“Yo, Annie,” I say. “What’s—?”
Then I hear it too. Our earpieces have still been connected this whole time, although we obviously didn’t need them on the bike ride down to Venice. And because we were so close, there was minimal interference. But now… now there’s a crackle on the line. I can barely hear it over the noise around us, but it’s there.
And then, out of nowhere, a voice. Intermittent and crackly, but…
“—can you read me, I—”
“Paul.” Annie starts moving again, quick steps. “Paul!”
A few seconds of silence. Then Paul’s voice, stunned. “—if you can hear me—at the—”
“I hear you!” She actually laughs. “We’re in the stadium too. Where are you?”
“—west bleacher – row twenty-thr—”
Annie doesn’t wait for the rest. She takes off, ignoring the three of us, heading for the bleachers.
Africa’s eyes are wide. Despite our ugly exchange earlier, there’s a stunned, almost goofy smile on his face.
“So,” I say to Reggie. “You still wanna go to medical, or—?”
“Forget that,” she mutters. “I want to see the reunion as much as you do.”
We find Paul higher up in the bleachers, far back enough that he’s under the angled roof, out of the rain. His arm is in a blue medical brace, his shirt is torn, and his face is covered in a thin film of dirt. None of which stops Annie nearly knocking him over. She wraps her arms around him, buries her face in his shoulder, rocking from side to side. She’s making the strangest sound – a kind of gasping sob. Paul holds her tight.
At first, I don’t understand why she’s so emotional. Paul’s ex-Navy. He can handle himself, even when he’s stranded at an airport with a broken arm in the aftermath of a massive earthquake. Even I knew that. But for all of these past few hours – through all the chaos and insanity, finding the Boutique destroyed, discovering that the quake was caused by a person – which is still so terrifying I don’t want to think about it – Annie’s hardly mentioned Paul. She pushed all her worry down into a tiny part of herself, held it there, not letting it budge an inch this whole time.
All at once, she rips out of Paul’s grip, shoves him hard enough to nearly make him stumble. “You piece of shit, don’t you ever tell me to leave you again, I will slap the taste out your mouth.”
“… OK?”
“And don’t you fucking dare say you love me. I will break your other arm.” Then she grabs him a second time, kisses him, long and hard.
“Hey there, neighbours,” he says to us, when Annie finally lets him go.
“Boss!” Africa roars the word with delight. He lowers Reggie carefully onto one of the seats, thrusts his hand out to shake Paul’s. Unfortunately, Paul’s right arm is his injured one. When Africa realises, he snorts with laughter, claps Paul on his good shoulder. “Thought you left us, huh?”
I flash Paul a smile. “’Sup, Jasmine.”
The corners of his mouth flick ever so slightly upwards. “Hey there.”
“How’s the head?” I say.
He shrugs. “Better. I definitely have a concussion, but they think it’s minor. Or at least, they don’t believe I’m going to drop dead on them.”
“You sure? You were pretty out of it back there…”
“No, I’m good. Hurts to look at lights for too long, but I think I got off easy.” His eyes go wide. “The office. Did you—?”
“Toast,” Annie’s gone back to hugging him, her voice muffled by his shoulder.
“What?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Guess the construction guys owe us a refund.”
&
nbsp; “I have someone,” Africa says. “When we build it again, I know a company. I am friends with the CEO. He’ll give us good price – it will be even better than before.”
After a little more hugging, Annie gets busy, flipping open the laptop and screening the video. Paul absorbs it silently, his expression not even changing as the kid cocoons himself and his mom in dirt. When the video is done, he leans back on the plastic seats. Scratches his chin. “We’re sure?”
“You saw the video,” Reggie says.
“You don’t think that maybe—?”
“Paul, I’m positive. It was the boy.”
“Not his mother?” He glances at me. “A person Teagan’s age would make sense, we saw that with Jake, but a child…”
“Trust me, I’m as weirded out as you are,” I tell him.
He lowers his eyes, and I can almost see the gears turning; the mental whiteboard, rapidly filling with mind maps and brainstorms and long, intricate lists.
“OK,” he says eventually. “Everybody huddle up.”
There are a few seconds of awkward silence, the rest of us glancing at one another. Mostly because we are already standing pretty close together in the narrow line of seats, and it’s a little hard to figure out what he wants us to do.
He realises this. “Never mind. Our first priority is to inform Tanner. I’m guessing she doesn’t know yet, right?”
Annie glances at Reggie, shakes her head.
“We’ll need a satellite phone,” Paul continues. “Some type of communication, anyway. There’s military presence, and I’m guessing they’ll have a line out.”
“I will find us a phone,” Africa says, squaring his shoulders.
Paul talks over him. “But before we do that, we actually have something more important to discuss.”
“You literally just said informing Tanner is priority number one,” I say.
“Right, right. But priority number one is actually discussing what we do when we find the boy.”
“How do you mean?”
“What’s our strategy?” Paul looks out over the packed stadium. “How are we going to make contact?”
