Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

“If you were worried about me, why didn’t you text?”

“I just said I did. The cell towers are down, remember?”

“No, I mean after the first quake.” I probably should have led with that – my brain is all over the place, overworked and overtired. “I sent you like fifty messages, and you didn’t reply to any of them.”

“Um, yes, I did. I told you I was out in San Bernardino. Remember that?”

“OK, fine. One message. You didn’t respond to any of the others.”

“What does it matter?”

“What does it—? Of course it matters . I wanted to know if you were OK.”

“I’m fine. Obviously.” Nic does this thing when he’s frustrated. He’ll rub his leg with his right thumb, running it down the fabric of his jeans. He’s doing it now. Not looking at me. “I was busy. You know, helping out with the quake .”

“So what, you couldn’t message me during a break? A little thumbs-up emoji or something? Even you have to eat sometimes, Mr Super Laywer.”

I want it to come out like a joke. It just sounds bitter.

He meets my eyes. “Fine. I was pissed at you, OK?”

“What, because I wouldn’t—?” I stumble over the words. “Because I didn’t know how to help?” It sounds lame, even to me.

“I mean…”

“I don’t care how pissed you were, you can’t just… ignore me like that. You went off to San Bernardino, and—”

“The first quake was done. Nothing was going to happen.”

“Says you!”

“You know what? I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound even close to sorry. “I didn’t understand why you wouldn’t help out. I should’ve texted you a thumbs-up afterwards. Would that have made you feel better?”

“Just FYI, I have been helping. I messed up before, but I’ve figured it out. I just gotta careful when I use my PK.”

“OK. How’ve you been using it?”

“Well, we… I mean, I got Reggie out after the office collapsed on top of her. And even before that – these dudes tried to jump me and Annie and Africa, so I—”

“Oh, so when it’s your friends, it’s all good, but you won’t actually help out anyone else?

“OK, that is not fair—”

“That’s exactly how it is. Look around you,” He spreads his arms. “You’ve got these amazing powers, and you haven’t done shit to help. That’s embarrassing, man.”

“You know exactly why I have to be careful with my ability. Tanner would—”

“Would what? You think it matters any more? We got people dying out there, we got fires, we got burst gas mains, collapsed buildings, and you’re in here talking about what some FBI chick would think.”

“She’s not FBI.”

“Then what is she? Huh? Tell me that.”

“It’s—” I falter. Tanner’s agency or organisation or whatever it is doesn’t have a name – or at least not one known to those outside the corridors of Washington. “It doesn’t matter, dude. Just—”

“No seriously. What branch of the government is she from? You work for her, and you’ve got no idea if she even is who she says she is. Same for the whole of China Shop. My taxes go to your salary, so I wanna know. Who are these people you run with?”

“Did you seriously just pull the I’m a taxpayer defence? You sound like Paul right now, you know that?”

He makes a disgusted noise. “Paul. Yeah, I looked into him. Nothing but a deadbeat dad.”

“Excuse me? Where the fuck do you get off—?”

“He’s missed his last three child support payments, Teagan. What would you call him?

“You… Wait, you investigated him?”

“I made some inquiries. And by the way, Annie? You should see the shit she’s done. The whole thing with MS-13 and that heroin wasn’t even the worst of it.”

“Who gives a shit?” I snarl. “She ran some drugs. She sold a few guns. She’s done stuff she’s not proud of. We’re not talking about a… a… a fucking mass murderer here. She never killed anybody. You don’t get to just sit back and judge her. And you do not get to go out and dig up dirt on the people I work with.”

“Yeah, well. I know you don’t think I care about you, Teags, but I do, so—”

“Oh, that is such bullshit.”

“Nope. And see, I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have bothered. You don’t give a shit about people. You just want to cover your own ass, so you can sit in your apartment and live your little life and not have to worry about anyone but yourself.”

This can’t be what he thinks. There’s no way he could be this ugly.

“ Little life? ” I snarl. “You know what I’ve been through. You know exactly the kind of pressure I’m under, every single day. And you know what I do with my ability – the people I help bring down. How fucking dare you sit there and tell me it’s about covering my own ass? What the fuck is that?”

Right then, I get the oddest thought. Schmidt would get it. He’d understand .

Jonas Schmidt, who was supposed to be one of the bad guys. Schmidt is like Nic – he wants to help, would put himself in harm’s way to do so. But he lives in a world of spies and deep-cover assets and back-channel communications – a grey, shifting world where things are never simple. If I told him what I can do, how living with my ability means thinking about how I use it, all the time, and that I can’t just throw it around… he’d understand.

Nic? Nic either doesn’t want to, or can’t. How could I have missed this? How could I have wanted this… person to be a part of my life?

“I don’t actually care, man,” Nic is saying. “I’m here, I’m fine and as soon as I get some food into me and my mom and dad, I’m gonna go back out there and help . You stay in here, if you want. I don’t fucking care.”

You know how sometimes your mind sends out a signal that overrides everything else? I’m not talking about PK. I’m talking about good old intuition, your brain’s way of telling you that it’s noticed something important.

It won’t be able to tell you what it is – not directly. It communicates in other ways: a little prickle on the back of your neck, heightened sensation in the fingertips, a Spidey-sense tingling on the scalp.

Something I saw. Something that entered my field of vision, just for a split-second.

I glance to my left, then right. Nic is still talking, but I’ve tuned him out. Whatever I saw is important. I know it is.

It’s a kid.

The kid.

He’s walking up past the bleacher wall, on my left, at the edge of the field. Perhaps fifty yards away. There’s still a ton of people around, but he’s walking through a small gap between groups. He’s heading directly away from my position, as if he too had visited the water point, and left when it became clear there was none to be had.

It can’t be him. I’ve made a mistake. But then the kid looks over his shoulder, and I get a clear look at him. The shape of his face, his hair, the way he walks… there’s no mistake. That video is seared into my mind. He’s as dirty and soaked as the rest of us, wearing what was once a white T-shirt. Before I can blink, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd

Holy fucksticks. Paul was right .

Nic sighs. “I didn’t mean to… you know, say it all like that. When this is all over, maybe we can talk, OK?”

“I gotta go.” I can barely hear my own voice.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait a second. Teagan. Teagan!”

I leave him behind, moving from a walk to a jog. My brain is going into overdrive. The kid can’t be here – there’s no way, no way in hell that we’d get that lucky. I’m jumping at shadows. But I know what I saw, and more to the point, like Paul said, why wouldn’t the kid be here? Sure, he can cause earthquakes and move soil at will, but he’s not immune from the after-effects. He’d still need food, and water, and shelter. After the quake, there was probably precious little of those around, especially if he set the damn thing off in the middle of the Angeles forest. He would have looked for help, probably with his mom, and they ended up here.