Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

There’s something… off … about this situation. Something I can’t quite see. You know, beyond the whole killing-the-kid thing. But running back our conversation in our head doesn’t help – my brain is a total mess right now, weighed down with exhaustion.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you, Ms Frost?” she says.

I really wish I didn’t. I would very much like to get angry, to rage and throws things and tell her she’s a giant asshole for even considering this. The problem is, I don’t believe it myself. And again, there’s the horrible feeling that I’m being used – in a way I can’t even begin to figure out.

“I need to hear it, Ms Frost. I want you on board with this.”

“…Yeah. I understand.”

“Are you ready to do what is asked of you?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Get some rest, then. We’ll contact you as soon as we’ve narrowed down the boy’s likely destination.”

There’s a click, and the line goes dead.

Annie says, “Yo, Teagan.”

“…Yeah?”

“You straight?”

Two words. Two simple words. A basic question that I have no idea how to respond to. Because I’m not straight at all – not even close. And yet, how the hell am I supposed to tell Annie that? She was there. She and I both saw what happened to Paul.

And what happened to LA.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m straight.”

But I don’t meet her eyes.

It feels like I’ve just gotten to sleep when Africa is shaking me awake. At my current level of awareness, it sounds like he’s speaking Klingon.

“What?” Jesus. Trying to speak words is like trying to shit diamonds.

“I said, Tanner is sending a chopper. Few minutes.”

My eyes go wide. “Wait, how long was I out for? What time is it?”

“Maybe three hours. It is almost dawn now. 5 a.m.”

I push myself out of the comfy, reclined seat, nearly knocking Africa over as my feet tangled up in the blanket. “Where are we going? How long have I been asleep for?”

He grabs me by the shoulders, steadies me. It’s a weirdly intimate gesture.

“Tanner and Mia talk a lot. They know where the boy is going. Up to Washington State.”

“ Where in Washington State? Tell me we can narrow it down. That’s sort of important.”

“A national park I think.”

I stumble to the back of the plane, where Reggie is in conversation with Mia and Annie. Jonas Schmidt is nowhere to be seen.

“Honey, you look terrible,” Reggie says.

“Thanks, I try. What’s the plan?”

“Air Force chopper’ll be here in twenty. They’ll take you up to Pillar Point in San Jose – apparently, the quake didn’t hit it too badly. After that, you’ll take a plane to Joint Base Lewis-McChord in Washington.”

“But where—?”

“Olympic National Park. West of Seattle.”

“It makes sense,” Mia says, when she sees me about to ask for more. “It’s a serious ETS hotspot. And the analyst I talked to was really good – they used all this traffic and road data to work out—”

“But are they sure ? Wasn’t one of the Cascadia hotspots in Northern California too?”

“Unlikely he’d go there,” Reggie says. “It’s around Mendocino, and everything west of the I5 is out of commission. He’d have to hike for days. But if he stays on the freeway, he can head all the way up to Washington.”

“What about Oregon?”

“There’s not a lot of pressure in that part of the fault right now,” Mia says. “Like, he might be headed there, but it seems more likely he’d go further north.”

Normally, sleep clarifies things. It solves problems for you, rewires your brain, makes you see a little clearer. Not this time. “Reggie, all of this… It feels like we’re rolling the dice. If we’re not sure …”

“Every bit of data and evidence we have points to this as the most likely outcome,” Reggie says patiently. “We’re in a much better position than we were before. This is the best option we have, given the circumstances.”

“What are you guys gonna do?”

“We were just discussing that. I’m going to stay here, if Herr Schmidt is happy for us to do so. I want to be in reach in case Moira needs me, for whatever reason.”

“Africa and I can get back on the ATVs,” Mia says. “Try get the word out that there’s food and water here.”

I really want to think of a reason to say no to all this, because I have no desire to participate in this boy’s death. But I can’t think of a single one.

“Reggie,” I say. “Schmidt… He doesn’t know. About what I can do, or the kid, or… or any of it. I didn’t tell him.”

She nods, slow and careful. “Well done.”

The look on her face says she knows exactly what the consequences of that choice will be. Somewhere down the line, Schmidt might call in the marker.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” I mutter.

When I come out, a good ten minutes later, Mia is waiting for me. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I was just wondering what you were going to do. When this was all over.”

It’s a surprising question, one that rattles around my hungover brain. “You mean, if this little boy doesn’t destroy the whole west coast?”

She blushes. “Well, yeah.”

“Dunno. Haven’t really thought that far ahead. Go see if my house is still upright, I guess. Maybe have a milkshake. Glass of bourbon. Fall asleep for a few years until it all blows over.”

“Because I was thinking,” she says, as if I hadn’t spoken. “With your ability, you could be doing so much more.”

“Yeah, I sort of work for this secret agency where we stop bad guys.” I wipe my hands on my pants. “I think I’m doing OK.”

“That’s not what I mean. Do you have any idea how useful your ability could be in the scientific community? You can help safely transport nuclear material. Work on clean energy. Hold antimatter particles in place so we could study them. And space – Jesus, do you have any idea what it would mean? To be able to lift stuff into orbit, without relying on fuel…”

“Don’t think I can reach that high.” Which is probably why the government scientists who locked me up for six years eventually let Tanner have me. Back then, I had limited range and strength. Even now, when I’m a lot stronger than I used to be, I doubt I’d be all that useful. I definitely can’t launch things into space.

“Even so, they could get you on the ISS.” She sees my confusion. “The International Space Station, I mean. God, imagine if you could move things around outside the modules, without having to do a spacewalk! You could fix any problem they had. Maybe even launch probes – you’d need much less energy to do it, if they were already in orbit.” Her eyes are shining. “It could change everything, having you involved.”

“Thought you were an earthquake person.”

She folds her hands by her waist. “Well, yeah… but I’m a scientist, first and foremost. And I know for a fact that every lab in the country, no matter what the field, would fall over themselves to have you. You could bring some breakthroughs forward by decades.”

All I want to do is open a fucking restaurant .

I don’t want to save the world or advance the cause of science or go into space. I just want to cook good food, and have other people it eat it. I want to listen to hip-hop and read books and watch movies and go explore LA.

Maybe that’s short-sighted, or unambitious – selfish even – but you know what? I don’t give a fuck. Everybody’s entitled to fight for their dreams, and that includes me. I didn’t ask for my ability, and I am getting sick and tired of being told where and how to use it, and what for.