Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

I don’t know how to begin to tell Mia this. There’s too much wrapped up in it. It’s too complicated, even in my own head. More than that, I just don’t have it in me right now to puncture Mia’s enthusiasm.

“Can’t have breakthroughs if the world is broken,” I tell her. “I’m gonna go do that first, then worry about the science. ’K?”

“But you’ll think about it?”

“Teagan!” Annie calls from the back of the plane. “Chopper’s here in five.”

I flash Mia a smile, squeeze past her.

Schmidt and his bodyguards join us on the tarmac outside. The wind has picked up, and I can already hear the chopper coming in, the thick whup-whup in the distance. For the thousandth time, I try to think of an excuse not to go. I never thought I’d want to stay in Los Angeles in the aftermath of an earthquake. But right now, it seems better than the alternative.

Annie watches the approaching chopper closely. For a second time, I get that feeling of wrongness . She seems OK on the outside, alert and ready. But there’s a weird look in her eyes.

“Pillar Point first.” Someone has found Reggie a wheelchair – a very basic one, old and battered, that looks like it was used by airport staff to transport disabled people to and from the planes. “Then Lewis-McChord. Moira didn’t say much about the team meeting you there, but if I know her, they’ll be professionals.”

“Got it.” I bend down to hug her, squeezing tight.

“You’ll be fine.” She whispers in my ear. “I know you will.”

“…Yeah.” There’s a prickling in the back of my sinuses, a thick feeling in my throat. I have to remind myself that she’s not going anywhere, that she’s safe where she is, surrounded by allies.

“We’ll be right here when you get back,” she says. “Promise.” She lets me go, turning to Annie, talking quietly with her. The chopper is almost here: a big Huey, like something out of a Vietnam movie.

I shake hands with Mia, then turn to Africa.

I’ve been such an asshole to him, and all he wanted to do was help. To be good at his job. The thoughts freeze me in place, my hands at my sides.

Africa doesn’t hesitate. He wraps me in a huge bear hug, squeezing so tight I can hardly breathe. When he lets me go, his eyes are shiny with tears.

There’s not a lot else to say. Well, no, there’s actually a shit-ton to say, but neither of us want to say it now. I give him another hug. I feel like if there’s a chance to sneak a second one in, you should take it. You can never have enough hugs.

“You come back, yaaw ?” he says into the top of my head.

“Always, dude.”

He squeezes, lets me go. Gives me a firm nod. I return it, then look away, because otherwise I might just call the whole thing off.

“Later,” I tell the bodyguards. Mikhail gives me a slow nod, his mouth set in a thin line.

And then finally: Jonas.

Standing in the rain, studying me. An unreadable expression on his face.

“Here.” He passes me something. A thick fleece top, his company logo on the breast pocket. “In case it is cold where you are going.”

I pull it on, almost shuddering with delight. The fleece blocks the wind completely, even the approaching blowback from the chopper. “Thanks. For everything.”

We stand for a moment, looking at each other. I expect it to feel awkward, but it doesn’t. Instead, I find myself wondering how it would feel to go back inside the plane, into the bedroom, curl up in his arms.

“I would like to know your story, my friend,” he says softly.

“Maybe I’ll tell you one day,” I reply.

He smiles. “I hope that you will.”

And then the chopper is there, the thundering engines blocking out all conversation, and a soldier in dark camouflage is hopping out of the chopper body and hustling Annie and me towards it. I get one last look at the group: Reggie, her hair dancing in the blowback; Africa, still as a statue. Mia, her hands jammed in her pockets, looking uneasy. And Jonas, that small, knowing smile on his face.

The chopper door closes. Someone hands us bulky headsets, helps us put them on. My stomach gives a lurch as we leave the ground, the chopper coasting above the airport, above the city.

Heading for God knows what.

Pillar Point is over three hundred miles away, but the flight feels like it takes minutes. When we arrive, I get only the briefest glimpse of the base itself. We land right on the tarmac next to a plane, and not a swanky private jet, either. This one is big, military, the kind of thing you see dropping bombs over war zones.

The soldiers don’t let us linger, hustling us out of the chopper, keeping our heads down under the wash from the rotors. Before I can blink, I’m being led up the ramp at the back of the plane, to a seat along the one wall. It’s a metal frame with something pretending to be a cushion bolted on top, and it feels like sitting on an armadillo.

I’m barely seated for half a second before another soldier straps me in, then turns to do the same to Annie. The ramp is going up, the plane’s engines starting to rumble, even as a dozen soldiers hustle around the darkened interior, battening the hatches, trimming the mizenmast – whatever the hell happens on planes to get them in the air.

It’s weird to think that I’m a part of this machine. Not the plane – the whole military-industrial complex. My boss is someone who can call on this at a moment’s notice: this enormous military machine, these soldiers with their weapons and vehicles. I’m an indentured employee of the US government, to use as they see fit. But there’s another side to that relationship. If they deem it necessary, if they think I need backup, they will bring the fucking thunder.

Not exactly sure how I feel about that right now.

In what feels like less than a minute, we are wheels up, my stomach lurching as the plane climbs rapidly.

“How long till we get there?” I shout to one of the soldiers.

I only just catch his words over the roar of the engines. “Maybe an hour, hour and a half.”

I flash him a thumbs up, even though I’m very much not in a thumbs up mood.

I should sleep. Problem is, I’m way too wired, antsy as hell. The straps holding me to the seat are too tight, and the sick green glow from the chopper’s interior lights makes everything look like it’s under the ocean.

It occurs to me that I didn’t tell Tanner and Reggie everything. I haven’t mentioned my little PK tinnitus – the strange sensation I had from back in Watts, and again when we arrived at Dodger Stadium on the ATVs. I still don’t know what caused it, or what it means.

Should I have told them? Maybe. But it’s not consistent. It’s only happened twice, in two vastly different circumstances.

Both times, it was in the aftermath of an earthquake. But it happened way after – hours later. There’s no link that I can see. It may be connected to the kid, but I have no way of knowing for sure. And the kid definitely wasn’t around the first time it happened in Watts.

Hey, I could just let him trigger Cascadia, then sit around and wait to see if my mind goes all wonky. Good idea. Maybe it’ll let me take him down. Maybe it’s a secret part of my ability, specifically designed to neutralise psychotic, super-powered children.

Yeah, OK, and maybe Ferran Adrià will reopen El Bulli and ask me to be his sous-chef.

Next to me, Annie stares at nothing.

I have to say something. I can’t let her do this to herself. Then again: what do I know? Paul’s death was a gut-punch for me, something I’ll be seeing in my nightmares until the end of time. For Annie, it must be like the end of the world.