Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

Despite himself, despite the tug of the ETS zone at his senses, Matthew finds that he’s curious. “Why do you care?” he asks his mom.

Amber speaks so fast that the words blur together, almost hyperventilating. “She doesn’t matter. She’s not important. You can save your energy for when you… with the… Whatever you want to do next. It makes you tired, right? I know it does.”

He cocks his head. Maybe she’s not so stupid after all.

Jocelyn stubs out her cigarette, grinding it into the dirt. “I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” she says, pointing at Matthew, unable to keep the tremor out of her voice. “But you best mind your mom, you hear?”

And just like that, he’s angry. It fills him up, boiling oil coursing through his veins.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he says quietly.

“Baby, no, please—”

Jocelyn narrows her eyes. “You best calm down, boy.”

“I said don’t tell me what to do !”

Dirt erupts from behind Matthew.

He forms it into a big tentacle, like the ones octopuses have – he didn’t even know he could do it until he thought about it, and the earth listens to him, like it always does. It becomes a writhing, twisting tendril of dirt, thick as a forearm, its end a churning, swollen ball of rocks and soil.

It shoots upwards, curving over him, and takes Jocelyn in the mouth. She staggers backwards, hands clawing at her face, the dirt forcing its way between her teeth.

“ Stop it! ” Amber screams at her son.

Jocelyn is making the most horrible noise – a thick, grinding sound, like a machine that hasn’t been fed oil for a good long time. Her face is turning purple, the thick soil spilling out from her lips, her nostrils. Amber turns away, shaking, begging Matthew to stop. He ignores her, and keeps going. It’s Jocelyn’s own fault, really. And she would have died from the cigarettes soon anyway.

When it’s over, after the rushing hiss of flying dirt subsides, Matthew speaks. His voice is calm again. Almost contemplative.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “We don’t really need her. I think I can do it right here. There’s enough energy stored up in the fault.”

“Please,” Amber chokes out. Her face is wet with tears. “Please, don’t.”

“I definitely felt something,” her son says. “When I touched the ground. And I think… I’m stronger now. It’s gotten easier – I don’t think I’ll be as tired. Amber, come stand next to me. I’ll make sure we aren’t hurt.”

Sobbing, pleading, Amber stumbles over to him. Matthew crouches down a second time, puts his hands flat on the ground.

Concentrates.

I haven’t left Los Angeles for over two years. That’s a condition of my employment-and-or-indentured-servitude with Tanner: I can go wherever I want as long as it’s in the Greater Los Angeles area.

It only really hits me that I’m not even in California any more when Annie and I stumble out onto the tarmac at Joint Base Lewis McChord.

I’ve heard the name before, and I had some idea what it was – a big military installation near Tacoma, in Washington State. Makes it sound so clean, doesn’t it? Turns out, military bases are an ants’ nest. Huge, chaotic and loud . There are vehicles everywhere, trucks rumbling past with jeeps and golf-carts zipping in their wake. Squads of soldiers thunder back and forth, marching in formation. At the far end of the runway, a jet slowly turns in place, the blinking lights on the wings bright and sharp.

It is also really fucking cold, even through the thick fleece Schmidt gave me. And wet . And we’re not talking the unenthusiastic drizzle we had in LA. The rain is a steady downpour, with big, icy drops splattering the tarmac.

The place stinks of jet fuel. The smell has a weird undercurrent to it, something almost floral that reminds me of weed smoke. Probably is. If I had to be a soldier in this shithole, I’d be constantly high off my face.

Jesus, what time is it? I haven’t had a chance to look. It was 6 a.m. when we left Pillar Point, and it’s fully daytime now, the sky hidden behind grey clouds. Seven o’clock? Eight? I don’t know – my phone’s battery has finally died.

“Move,” someone barks in my ear. Annie and I are hustled off the plane’s ramp, forced to make an abrupt left, heading for a low stack of buildings a few hundred yards away. Cold light glows through the windows, but I’ll be more than happy to get out of the rain, and maybe stop being herded everywhere like a damn sheep.

Also get some actual food in me. It’s not like our ride had an in-flight meal. One of the soldiers had a bag of jerky he shared with us, and we each got a bottle of stale-tasting water, but that was about it.

The worst? The toilet. It was a hole with chemicals in it, surrounded by a curtain. When I asked to go to the bathroom – which I had to do really loudly – one of the soldiers had to walk me there, and he actually stood outside the entire time, like I was going to steal the toilet seat or something. I wanted to ask him if he and the other guys just let down the ramp in mid-air and took a whiz when the urge arrived, but there’s no way he would have heard me.

You know what? Screw this field trip. I’d rather be back in LA, hanging out on Schmidt’s private jet. Hell, I’d rather be anywhere than here.

Abruptly, the soldier escorting me taps my shoulder, points. Another chopper is coming in for a landing a couple hundred yards away. I hardly have time to register it before we’re being hustled over there. A jeep whips past us, drenching me with a thin spray of water. Not that it makes a difference – it’s not like I can get any wetter. And as far as I can tell, this new chopper is identical to the one that took us from Van Nuys to Pillar Point.

The soldier at my side grabs my arm, like he’s afraid I’m going to run. “ Dude .” I wrench away. “Fucking ow . Get off.”

A figure hops out the chopper, ducking low under the backwash from the blades. Full camo fatigues, assault rifle, helmet. I can’t see his face yet, but there’s something familiar about him, about the way he’s running, the set of his shoulders…

No.

No. Fucking. Way.

There is no way Tanner would do this to me. There’s sadistic, and then there’s this.

The soldier comes to a halt a few feet away, an evil grin on his face.

“Hey there, freak show,” he yells.

“ Burr? ”

The grin gets wider. “You miss me?”

Annie and I stare at Burr in horror. A situation which I can tell he’s enjoying. A lot.

When I got accused of murder last year, Burr was part of the squad Tanner sent to bring me in. He doesn’t like me, mostly because I was designed to be more useful in a war zone than him. Actually, not liking me doesn’t quite get there. He is personally offended by the very fact that I exist, which I think is a little unfair. Most of the time, people have to meet me first before deciding that I’m an asshole.

Fortunately, Burr isn’t very bright. Despite he and his squad being briefed on my abilities, the genius forgot he was wearing a wedding ring. I snapped his finger ninety degrees the wrong way. In the ensuing chaos, Carlos kicked him in the face and broke his nose.

He got the better of me in the end. After I finally took down Jake, he caught up to me, tasered me, and was all set to bring me back into the government’s clutches. It was only some quick thinking by Nic that stopped it from happening. Burr was, shall we say, not exactly pleased with the outcome.

I was really hoping to never run into him again.

At least it looks like we’re on the same side this time, because I very much doubt he and Tanner brought me all the way to Washington State just to off me. I send out a little tendril of PK, into his glove, sneaking in and around his fingers.