Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

A little splinter of thought: what was he doing in the Angeles forest in the first place? Why go there? Unless he wanted to deliberately…

There’s no way. He’s four years old, he doesn’t have control of his ability, and he fucked up. That’s all there is to it.

The kid has vanished. I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get to him, but there is no way I’m letting him escape. “Paul, Annie, anybody, can you hear me?”

Paul’s voice, sounding like it’s coming from the middle of a snowstorm. “We read you, Tea—over?”

“He’s here.” I’m pushing through the crowd now, frantically scanning it for the kid. He’s nowhere to be seen.

“Say again?”

“The boy. The one we’re looking for. I just saw him, over by the leftfield wall.”

A fuzz of static. Then Annie: “—sure you saw—?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m fucking sure. Get over here, right now.”

Paul again. “Teagan, what’s your loca—over?”

“Already said. Location is the left stadium wall. He’s heading up towards the wide end of the field.” Wide end? Is that even what it’s actually called? My brain is a big ball of wasps right now. I’m getting the same feeling I had when I first met Jake, the other psychokinetic, six months ago. Confusion, awe . It’s not just that someone else with powers exists. It’s that he’s right here, both of us occupying the same real estate.

“Copy,” Paul says. “Annie and I will meet you—confirm his last pos—”

“Goddamnit people, move .” The group I’m pushing through don’t even notice I’m there. I get a flashback to my parents’ farm in Wyoming, the two or three dairy cows we had, chewing cud and staring at us with blank expressions. I turn sideways, squeezing between them and one of the tents. Too bad I can’t start throwing things – that would shift them, all right.

“He’s here now?” Africa says over the comms. “And you are abso—saw him, Teggan?”

“If someone asks me that again…” I hop the barrier separating the field from the bleachers. I say hop, but thanks to my short legs it’s more like an embarrassing scramble.

The landing nearly topples me over, earning myself a couple of dirty, exhausted looks. Shit, where is he? I scan the bleachers.

“I do not see—anywhere,” Africa says.

Paul: “Africa, stand d—find a phone, like we talked abo—handle this.”

I’m running now, heading along the line of the barrier, sorry -ing and excuse-me -ing my way through the crowd. Where are you ?

I’ve lost him. Maybe for good. There are thousands and thousands of people here – I might have seen him for a second or two, but actually trying to track him through this mess is too much to ask for. I come to a halt and have to bend over, a sudden stitch lancing at my side. Then I force my head up. Keep looking. Eyes darting between faces. Every child I see, boy or girl, sends electric jolts down my spine.

A minute passes. Two.

I’m on the verge of telling the crew I lost him when my earpiece bursts into life.

“Got him!” Paul’s transmission is clear, at least for a second. “Heading for one of the tunnels out to the—maybe fifty yards. Annie, converge on my—”

“Copy,” Annie growls. “What do we do when—?”

“Teagan, get here now. Get—” Paul’s voice dissolves in a burst of static.

I can see the exit tunnel from here – or the signs for it, anyway, a gap between two of the bleachers. Is it even the right one? Fuck it – I don’t care. If he’s heading for an exit, that means he’ll be out of the packed crowd. Easier to spot.

There must be a hundred people between me and the tunnel, but I start to run anyway, shoving through the crowd.

The stadium should have been fun.

It should have been awesome .

When Matthew let the San Andreas fault go, the feeling had been… Big , was the only word he could think of. Like he had the entire world, the whole planet, in his hand. He had some idea of how much damage there’d be. He’d caught glimpses of it at the temporary camp in Victorville, and on the chopper over to Dodger Stadium.

But he’d walked around the stadium, Amber trailing behind him, and it was lame. He wanted to see what it felt like – to be right in the middle of everything, knowing he caused it, and not a single person could have stopped him. He wanted that more anything. So why does he feel so let down?

With the amount of energy he released, the result should be more than just a big bowl full of unhappy, hungry, tired faces.

Logically, he knows why it’s this way. People in California would know what to do if an earthquake hit, so they probably got under tables and stuff. They knew how not to get hurt, even during a really big one. It makes sense… but it also makes him mad. He wants to drop the whole stadium into the ground, bury it, just so he can hear everyone screaming.

Maybe he made a mistake, setting off the San Andreas fault in the middle of the forest. He should have found somewhere with more people.

It took Amber a while to get them food. Matthew waited under one of the bleachers, where it was dry, sitting on one of the plastic bucket seats, his arms folded. Bored. That’s what he was. He was bored with it all.

Once Amber returned – all she’d found was a couple of hastily made sandwiches and a single bottle of water – he’d eaten in silence, his eyes scanning the packed field. Amber had tried to talk to him as he’d chewed his sandwich listlessly, but he’d ignored her, and eventually she’d stopped.

Now, finally, he makes up his mind. The decision arrives fully formed – no point hanging around here, not when it’s so dumb. “Let’s go.”

Amber, startled, blinks at him. “What—?”

“You have to take us out of the city.”

She wants to say no. He can see it in her face. But of course, she doesn’t dare – she knows what’s good for her.

After a few moments, she rises, leads him back down to the field, heading for the tunnel they’d entered through. Matthew wonders if the soldiers might stop them, but the men don’t even glance their way.

Out. Into the shadowy parking lot beyond the stadium, generator-powered floodlights casting pools of yellow light that split the darkness. Matthew walks without really seeing where he’s going, trailing Amber, busy inside his head. OK. So San Andreas turned out to be kind of lame – not nearly as big as he thought it would be. There’s plenty more he can do, as long as Amber gets them out of the city. And if she can’t, or she gives him any problems, he can teach her a lesson.

Somebody’s following you .

Matthew’s head snaps up, and he looks back at the tunnel. There’s nobody there – well, nobody but the milling, spaced-out, stupid crowd of people, none of whom are looking at him. His stomach rumbles. Maybe he’s just hungry again. Yeah, that’s it – hunger making him jumpy, he’ll have to tell Amber to—

Then he sees the man.

He’s older than Amber, bald, his arm in a sling. Pushing his way out of the tunnel. As Matthew watches, the man puts a finger to his ear, his lips moving like he’s talking to someone, and looking right at him. As if…

He’s following them. Just like Ajay said would happen.

Matthew liked Ajay. That surprised him, but only a little. Ajay was one of the few people he’d ever met who didn’t treat him like a kid. When Ajay talked to him, it was as if they both knew things that didn’t need to be said. They could just talk about the important stuff. Ajay had given him books and shown him documentaries and chatted about his powers like everyone had them.