Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

“Again, you saw the video. Four, maybe five. Were are we going with this?”

“And clothing? What was he wearing?”

I shake my head. Reggie just stares at me, refusing to look away.

“Shoes. Pants. A shirt. A T-shirt, I mean, not like a dress shirt. It was—”

Wait a second .

Reggie and Africa must see the expression on my face. “What?” Africa says.

“Quiet.” I close my eyes, trying to remember. I make myself see the kid again: that awful smile, the brown hair with the lame-ass little boy cut, the letters on the shirt…

I smile. “California Earthquake Exhibit.”

“What’s that?” Africa says.

“It’s… it’s an earthquake exhibit in California. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“But where?” He’s on his feet now. “Here in Los Angeles?”

“His T-shirt said that?” asks Reggie. “Teagan, are you sure?”

“Pretty sure. No, definitely sure.”

“This is good,” she says, almost to herself. “We don’t know where he and his mother are going, or what they want. But we do know where they’ve been. And I know where that exhibit is, I’ve seen it advertised. The Meitzen Museum, next to USC. That’s not far from here.”

“By car, sure,” I tell her. “And we know how that’s gonna go.”

“Even on foot, it’s probably no more than an hour away. Two, tops.”

“He could have gotten that shirt anywhere.”

“If you have a better idea, honey, I’m waiting to hear it. And do not say you’re going to go back out there and go hunting for him.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” I mutter.

“It makes sense that he went to that exhibit. If he’s only just discovered this power, or didn’t know he could cause quakes, then he might want to find out more. Maybe someone at the museum saw him, talked to him.”

“How do you know the building’s even still there? The quake might have—”

“We don’t. But one of the few things we do know, or at least have a good reason to believe, is that he went there recently. It might give us some insight into what he’s planning – if he and his mother actually have a plan.”

She looks at each of us. “We’re in uncharted territory here. Moira Tanner can’t help – at least, not until I convince one of these yahoos to lend us a sat-phone. We have to help ourselves, and the way we do that is by chasing up every lead, no matter how small. Go to the museum, talk to anybody who’s still there. See if they remember the boy at all – you should be able to describe him.”

“Reggie, this is… insane . We’re going to waste hours on this, and we don’t even know if there’ll be anyone there. They might have been evacuated already.”

“It’s not a waste. It’s a lead. And we won’t be idle while you’re gone. I’m going to do whatever I can to get a line of communication to Washington.”

“And if it does turn out the museum is a bust?”

“Then come straight back here. We’ll figure out something else.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.” It’s not fine, nothing in the past day has been even close to fine, but… Reggie’s right. Maybe someone at the museum did see him…

“If we run into him again.” Africa looks between Reggie and me. “The boy. What do we do?”

“We’re not gonna run into him on the way to the damn museum,” I tell him. “That’s south of here. He was going north.”

“What if we go back? Maybe he—”

Annie says, “We’re gonna kill him.”

They’re the first words she’s spoken since we got back to the stadium. They’re said calmly, clearly, with zero hint of emotion. She’s raised her head, looking up at us through dry, red-rimmed eyes.

“Annie…” Reggie says.

“We’re gonna take his fucking life.” Spoken in the same dead tone. I’ve never seen Annie like this. Annie shouts and rages and gets angry. She doesn’t get quiet. She doesn’t have a look in her eyes like the one she has now.

I open my mouth to say that no, we aren’t going to kill a kid. But I can’t do it. The words won’t form. How am I supposed to tell Annie, who just saw the man she loved buried alive, not to want payback? It’s all very well to say he’s a child, he didn’t know what he was doing, we can’t treat him like an adult. But right now, Annie doesn’t see him as a kid. She doesn’t even see him as human.

“Go,” Reggie says to me and Africa. “You can head straight down South Figueroa. It’ll take you right to the museum.”

Africa looks sick, but nods.

“I’m coming.” Annie tries to get to her feet, wobbling a little.

“Nope,” Reggie says. “You’re going to stay right here.”

“The hell I am.”

“You are not,” Reggie says, emphasising each word, “ready to go back out there. You’re in shock.”

“I’m fine,” Annie’s on her feet now, but swaying, like a drunk. She reminds me of a driver trying to convince a cop that she’s totally sober.

“Annabeth Ramona Cruz, you’re going to stay right here. Understand?”

Annie gestures to us. “They can’t do it. They don’t know… don’t know how…” She blinks, as if she forgot what she was trying to say.

“They’ll come straight back.” Reggie flicks her eyes towards the door, gesturing at us to leave. “Now I need you to get me some water. Can you do that?”

Annie nods and stumbles away, and once she’s out of earshot Reggie says to us, “Under my pillow. There’re some sandwiches. A bottle of water too, I think.”

“But you just told Annie… Also, why are there sandwiches under your pillow? Is that code for something.”

“They brought some food round earlier. I didn’t feel like eating, and I had a feeling we’d need to ration. Both of you eat, get some water, use the bathroom, do whatever you got to do. Then get back out there. Paul might be gone, but China Shop isn’t. Let’s get moving.”

It takes us a lot longer than I’d like to leave the stadium. It’s not that the soldiers try to stop us – they’re far more interested in the people coming in than the ones going out. But there are huge crowds now, packing the tunnels and the exits. A sea of shaken, shattered people: injured, hungry, cold, drenched from the rain.

Turns out Reggie’s sandwich rationing was a damn good idea. The two mystery meat sandwiches she to gave to Africa and me tasted like squashed ass cakes, but they beat standing in the huge, unruly lines for food.

I don’t even want to talk about what the stadium bathrooms were like. Let’s just say I’m glad my Jordans are water-resistant.

Africa and I push our way through, sorry -ing and excuse-me- ing out of the south exit, onto the main stadium plaza. Jesus, there’s a lot of people. How many before this gets out of control? I was too young to remember Hurricane Katrina, but I’ve read about what happened at the Superdome, and it did not sound fun.

I nearly come to a complete stop when I remember that Nic is still in there. If it does turn into the Superdome, he’ll be right in the middle of it.

You know what? Better in there than out here. I don’t want him anywhere near me, not while I try track down a kid who can bury people with his mind. And I don’t want him outside the stadium, period. If this kid causes yet another quake, at least Nic will be somewhere that already has emergency supplies.

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 .

Asshole.

Has he been thinking that this whole time? That I’m not interested in helping other people? Me: the girl who’s now heading away from food and shelter so she can stop Junior from causing the apocalypse?