Jackson Ford - Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air

As Matthew runs, he sends his power out in a wide arc behind him. He doesn’t have all that much range, really – not unless he’s on top of a fault line, which amplifies what he can do, lets him reach a lot further than normal. But he’s still able to use the soil up to about fifty feet out, and he uses it. He swings it in all directions, spreading it as far as he can. It’ll leave a trail, sure… but it’ll be a big one, wide and dispersed, and if he’s clever – if he zigzags and goes in unexpected directions – they won’t be able to track him nearly as accurately.

Behind him, he continues destroying the forest, uprooting trees and detonating clods of earth, left and right, irregular patterns designed to confuse any pursuers. As he reaches the other side of the ridge, he cuts a hard left, using his hands to help him balance on the steep slope, wincing as a jagged rock grazes his palm. He reaches back with his mind as far it will go, and rips open a great hole in the earth.

Voices. Just on the other side of the ridge, shockingly close. “Delta Commander, do you copy? Over.”

A burst of static from a radio, followed by an angry voice, spitting words Matthew can’t make out. His trick didn’t work. Somehow, they’ve found him. They weren’t supposed to do that. He stills, clenching small fists by his sides. He’ll bury them. He’ll bury them all.

“Copy that. We’re maybe two klicks into the woods. Heading north by north-east. We’ll keep you posted. Out.”

He’s about to send out a tidal wave of dirt, perhaps rip the ground out from underneath them and bury them deep, when he stops. He’s vulnerable here, and these men have guns. They’ve seen what he can do, and at this close range, there’s a chance they could fire off a few shots before he kills them. He has no desire to die – especially not when Cascadia is so close.

And there’s another way. A smarter one.

Quickly and quietly, he moves the dirt under his feet. He slips beneath the soil as if dropping into water, the granules of soil and rock and clumps of root simply sliding past him. At the very last instant, he closes his eyes, tilting his head back so just the tip of his nose shows above the surface. With a soft, rolling hiss, the dirt hides his face from the world.

Other kids would be scared about being buried this way. But they aren’t as smart as him. Why should he be scared? He can tell the earth what to do. Other people might freak out if you put them in the ground, but not him.

He reaches out, sending up a few bombs of dirt further away, deep in the trees. Let them follow his trail. He won’t be able to send the bombs any further, and they’ll wonder why he stopped… but at least then, they won’t be in his immediate area.

Muffled sounds reach him. Crunching footsteps, hushed commands, the soft clanking of equipment as it shifts across hips and backs. Matthew waits. It’s possible they might find him – notice the one tiny slip of flesh he has to keep above the ground to stay breathing. If that happens, he’ll bury them, and accept the risk that they might try shoot him. There’s only so much he can do.

But the footsteps are already moving away. Matthew waits, very still. Breathing, in and out through his nose, ever so softly.

And before long, the forest is quiet again.

Dead still, under the earth. One hour, two. It takes everything Matthew has to control his annoyance, his desire to hunt down the men chasing him.

He occupies himself by imagining what will happen to them when he triggers Cascadia. They’ll be crushed to pieces. Drowned in a tidal wave. Maybe they’ll be in a building when it happens, and die from a gas explosion. He pictures their torn bodies, which makes him forget for a while that he has to be still.

Eventually, when he’s absolutely sure he’s alone, he lifts himself out of the dirt. Slowly, carefully, listening hard. Waiting for a shout of alarm. Nothing. The forest is darker now, more shadowy, and the only sound is the wind in the trees.

He did it.

They can’t hurt him. They can’t do a thing to him. If he hears them first, he’ll just hide himself away. If they surprise him, he’ll kill them. For real this time.

There’s the fluttering of wings above him as some bird takes flight. He shivers, suddenly cold. It was surprisingly warm under the ground, but the open air of the forest has a chill to it. His sweater – he’ll need it if he’s going to—

The sweater is still in the car, back at the campground. Amber was supposed to bring it with them.

Matthew pouts, hugging himself. His breath forms a very light cloud in front of him.

Whatever. It’s not like he’s going to be out here long, anyway. Just long enough to trigger Cascadia, and then he can make his way back. He’ll find a new Amber. And there are plenty of other fault lines – none as big as Cascadia, sure, but they’ll still be fun to set off. And what about volcanoes? He hasn’t even started thinking about volcanoes! The thought sends an electric bolt up his spine, makes him grin momentarily. He’ll have to find out. Even if it’s a no, there’s other, smaller stuff he could do: messing with building foundations, bursting dams…

His thoughts land on the woman with the powers. The one he thought he’d killed. If she existed, others will too. Maybe they could work together.

First things first. Cascadia.

Only: where is it?

The ETS zone was a little way into the park. He’ll have to get pretty far in to trigger it, but it shouldn’t take him all that long to get to a point where he has a strong enough connection. The zone was to the north-west from the campground, maybe a three hour hike.

But where is the campground? And which way is north-west?

Matthew turns in a small circle, heart beating a little faster. His annoyance grows. This is dumb. He knows which direction the ETS zone is in. It’s just over there, past that grove of shrubs.

He sets off, picking his way across the uneven ground. He’s thirsty, his throat a little dry. He clears the grove, the branches scratching at his bare arms. It’s actually gotten colder, and the tops of the trees are darker now, less distinct. A bird calls out in the dusk, startling him.

The ground is getting hard to see now. His foot tangles in a clutch of roots, and he almost falls. Suddenly, he’s breathing hard, clutching at himself as he fights for balance. He puts a tiny hand against one of the big tree trunks, and his skin comes away wet.

OK. So he doesn’t know where the ETS zone is, or which direction he should go. It’s cool. All he has to do is concentrate, and he’ll be able to feel it calling out to him, even if he isn’t close enough to release the pressure. That’s how it’s supposed to work, right? The very first fault – that little one when they were driving into LA – called to him. Didn’t it?

You were close. You were right next to it when that happened .

He kneels, placing his palms flat on the damp earth. For a moment, he thinks he feels it… but it’s just the regular ground, the dirt, the usual stuff. Boring. Stupid.

Amber had the maps, the sweaters. The food and water. She was supposed to bring it all.

With a growl, he tears a chunk out of the ground, a boulder the size of a motorbike. He hurls it into the trees, listens to it break apart with a giant crunch. More birds take flight, cawing in alarm. Matthew jerks, as if shocked, then abruptly starts walking again. He’ll just keep heading in the same direction, and everything will be fine. He’s bound to come across the ETS eventually, and then—

Wait. The direction he’s walking in now… is that the same as before? He’d tripped, or almost tripped, and he’d gotten turned around He needs to turn right a little. That’s definitely north-west.