Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

Wait a second.

Wait one goddamn second.

“What about the gas in the ATVs?” Africa is saying. “Is there enough to try?”

“I think so,” Mia replies. “They’re gonna be pissed when we get back though. Arnie wasn’t supposed to—”

“We’re not going back,” I say.

Africa frowns. “What do you mean, we’re not going back? You just asked me to… Why you smiling?”

Why am I smiling? I’m smiling because I know exactly who can help us. He’s half an hour away, sitting in a parked plane on the tarmac at Van Nuys Airport.

He won’t have left, not so soon after that insane landing his pilot pulled off, not when he still thinks he can do some good. He’ll be there all right, and that ridiculous private plane of his will have power, some food, a place to finally sleep… and a working radio. My smile cracks into a full-blown laugh.

Jonas fucking Schmidt.

“What are you laughing at?” Reggie asks pointedly. For some reason, that makes me laugh much harder, turning it into an insane cackle. Now they are all looking at me, even Annie.

“OK.” I wipe my face, trying to get myself under control. “Mia, Africa: go get the ATVs. Annie: take Reggie for me. Reggie: start working on your boss voice.”

“I’m sorry, what are we doing?” Mia asks.

“You ever been on a private jet?”

“…Excuse me?”

Reggie, fortunately, is quicker on the uptake. “Teagan, are you sure? Are you totally sure? We don’t have time to—”

“ Yes , I’m sure.” I almost start cackling again, because it’s perfect. It’s fucking perfect. Technically, he even owes me a favour – I promised him I wouldn’t reveal he still had that list, and I’ve kept to that promise. “Africa, what are you waiting for? Get the ATVs.”

He spreads her hands, gives me a confused look. “Teggan—”

“You know how you were talking about being good at the job? Backing me up? This is it. This is how you do it. I’ve just figured out how to save the freaking day, and we do not have time for you to start in on me with how I never listen to you, or—”

“I can’t get the ATVs.”

“Can’t or won’t?” I get in his face. “I don’t believe this, Africa, of all the times you pick to—”

“You twisted that plastic into the wheels,” Mia says. “Remember?”

My finger wavers, drops. “…and they’ll absolutely still be there because it was a genius security measure, am I right? Reggie, Annie, follow me. I’ll go unlock our ride.”

OK, half an hour was a little optimistic. I keep forgetting you can’t apply the rules of regular LA traffic to a post-earthquake wasteland.

We can’t use the freeways – obviously. We cut up through the Hollywood Hills into Studio City, doing a kind of weird zigzag up the map. Once again, Mia and Africa do the driving. Annie takes Reggie, wedging her between herself and Africa on one vehicle, arms wrapped around Reggie’s midsection. I’m on the other ATV with Mia, doing my best to stay conscious. I almost fall asleep again , jerking awake a split-second before I tumble off.

This is the part of town where you live if you produce Marvel movies. The houses in the hills are mostly intact, and a few of them even have power, unseen generators clattering away. But there are other dwellings that paid for their precarious perch on the hillsides, and which are now so much kindling in the valleys below.

The Hollywood Sign… well, what do you think happened to the Hollywood Sign?

Since we left Dodger Stadium, my certainty about Schmidt’s plane has gotten a little bit shakier. What if he has left? What if they made him take off again, sent him somewhere else for… reasons? I’m going to end up looking stupid, and then Matthew will probably set off the biggest earthquake in human history. Nothing major.

As we pass through the Valley, I drift into a kind of waking doze, where I have just enough awareness to not fall off the ATV, but I’m not actually paying attention to anything. It’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds. It feels like a weird dream, a nightmare I don’t known how to wake myself up from.

The next thing I know, we’re crossing onto the tarmac at Van Nuys Airport. Guess nobody’s too bothered about making us put our shoes through the X-ray machine.

In the darkness, the airport doesn’t look any different to when we left. The fire in the terminal building has burnt out, and the control tower still reminds me of a broken tooth. Then again, the time we were last here is a total blur anyway. In that part of the day, we didn’t know how bad the damage was – not really. In that part of the day, Paul was still alive.

Africa comes to a stop as we reach the runway, Mia coasting in alongside her. “Where do we go?” he asks. Reggie and Annie both look zoned out, almost unconscious.

I squint into the darkness, trying to find Schmidt’s plane. When he dropped me off, we were on the side of the runway. If the terminal building is behind us, then that means…

No. He wouldn’t just chill by the runway – when he dropped me off, he was still quite a ways from the terminal building. If he wanted to help, like he said, he’d get closer.

Surprisingly, it’s Annie who speaks first, pointing towards some glimmering lights at the other end of the runway. “Hangars. Let’s try there.”

And his plane is in one of the hangars. It’s in the second one we check. Thank God. Also Buddha, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and whoever else happens to be listening. I almost shriek for joy when we see it.

The jet is in the centre of the floor, parked at an angle. I expected it to be surrounded by people, the relief effort, the National Guard, something. I expected to see supplies getting handed out, radio communications set up, orders being barked. What I didn’t expect was to see Jonas Schmidt sitting on the steps of his plane, smoking a cigarette and looking bored. The hangar is dark, the only light coming from the interior of the plane.

He glances up as we pull into the hangar, a relieved expression on his face. The relief turns to confusion when he sees who we are, and when he spots me, his eyebrows shoot up. He stands, flicking the cigarette aside, as we come to a stop in front of him. He’s wearing the same T-shirt, with the geometric tattoo visible from underneath his right sleeve.

Mia and Africa cut the engines. For a few seconds, nobody says anything. Then I give Schmidt a little wave. “Hi.”

“Hello again, Mister Germany,” Africa booms.

Schmidt inclines his head, a small smile on his face. “I am guessing you are not the National Guard.”

It’s funny. All the shit that’s happened today, and I’ve still found myself thinking about him at odd moments. Seeing him now, remembering our conversation on the plane, before the quake hit…

Honestly? I thought I’d never see him again. I figured our paths just wouldn’t cross. Seeing him here – healthy, alive , smoking a cigarette for fuck’s sake – makes me more relieved than I can say.

His eyes flick over to the others, and the smile drops from his face. When he looks back to me, his expression is hard. “What do you want?”

Shit. He thinks I’m about to sell him out – that I’m about to ditch the little arrangement we made about the list. He probably thinks the Annie and Africa and the rest are my backup, although given that this also includes Reggie and a very puzzled-looking Mia, he probably thinks I should have chosen more carefully.

“This isn’t about before,” I say quickly. “Forget that. We don’t even care anymore.”

He pauses for a moment, weighing my words, then nods. He looks like I feel, haggard and drained. But his eyes land on Africa, and a tired smile flickers on his face. “ Mein Herr . How are you and your colleague –” he nods to Annie “– enjoying your job at the Transportation Security Administration?”