Eye of the Sh*t Storm

by Jackson Ford

  Not that I care. Because I have coffee, bitches. It might be instant coffee from a can, but it is the single greatest cup of coffee I have ever had.

  Grant hasn’t stopped talking since we saved him. I was worried he was going to demand to know exactly how Leo and I did that, but he just breezed right past it. He ushered us into his little spot in the bamboo, jabbering away, like he hasn’t spoken to a human being in years.

  “You have to be so careful on the river these days,” he’s saying now, gesticulating with a hand smeared with grime. There’s a wedding ring on one finger, but no sign of a partner anywhere. “This isn’t the first time Bradley and I have run into trouble. This was a bad one, though, not like the last time I got jumped. That one was drunk, he could barely take two steps without falling over. I pretty much walked away from him. This time though? Oh man… let’s just say I’m glad you folks showed up.”

  I just sip my coffee and let his chatter wash over me. Mostly what I’m doing is marvelling at his setup. It’s not just the microwave. Grant’s carved himself a little home out of the bamboo, occupying an empty spot between the two groves. It’s all but invisible from the sloped side and the land above it, and there’s only one entrance from the river side. It’s not exactly what you’d call roomy though, especially with Grant’s possessions: three duffel bags of clothes, a surprisingly neat sleeping bag and mat, bottles of water. And the microwave, of course.

  Nic and I sit on upturned plastic crates, drinking our coffee. Annie leans up against one of the bamboo trunks, staring at nothing. She protested hard when Grant insisted on making us coffee, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Neither would I to be honest.

  “Anyway, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like,” Grant says. “There’s not all that much space, I know, but I’m sure we could work it out if you folks wanted to catch a few Zs.”

  Right then, there’s another rumble of thunder from above. There’s a little bit of sunlight still – the sun has dropped lower in the sky, escaping the growing cloud cover as it sinks towards the horizon.

  He winces. “OK, all right, it might be a little too wet to sleep out in the open. Doesn’t rain much here – well, I’m sure you folks know that, you’re Angelenos, I can tell – but when it does, hoo boy. When that happens, I usually go to the big camp downriver, under the freeway.”

  It’s the one the cop from before was talking about. I’ve never been there, but I’ve seen it on the news a few times. One of the big freeway junctions over the storm drain was really unstable after the quake, so the government put a whole bunch of scaffolding and supports in. Then there were lawsuits and committee hearings and God knows what else, because that’s how the government do, and the propped-up freeways just sat there.

  Combine that with a million people who have lost their houses and their jobs, and you get a gigantic, impromptu homeless camp. Why yes: it is an incredibly stupid idea to set up a massive camp in the middle of the storm drain, right in the path of any floods. There have been an endless number of hot takes and long reads online, exploring why these people have actually made camp in such an unstable place. I’ll be honest: I’m a little hazy on the reasons. From what I can tell, it’s because they have nowhere else to go, although I have no idea how true that really is.

  “How long have you been out here?” Nic asks.

  The question seems to catch Grant off guard. “Me? Oh, wow. Since the Big One, at least.”

  “What’s the Big One?” Leo asks. He’s sitting cross-legged on the ground, rubbing Bradley Cooper’s belly.

  “He’s not from around here,” I explain.

  “Oh, wow, OK.” Grant’s smile is awkward – probably because he wants to ask why we’re hanging around with a kid who isn’t from around here. “Sorry, little fella. I meant the quake. Two months ago? Three? I’ll be honest, I lost track of time…”

  In the silence that follows, Annie pushes off the bamboo, gives us a pointed look. “We should get going.”

  Grant leaps to his feet. “No, no, no, please, you certainly aren’t imposing. Are you sure I can’t make you any coffee? I might even have a teabag or two if—”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” says Annie, with exaggerated politeness.

  “We’ll head out after we’re finished drinking ours,” I tell her. Actually, I think I’ll ask Grant for a second. Maybe a third. Instant or not, this shit is good.

  Nic’s eyes land on the microwave, and he chuckles. “How did you even…?”

  “The microwave?” He winks. He actually winks. “Little bit of elbow grease and a prayer. Even insulated the wires properly, in case it gets wet.” He points to the darkening clouds.

  “For real, though. How?”

  “I’m an electrical engineer. Well, I was. I used to work on traction substations – you know, for rail networks.” He sighs. “But, after the Big One, a bunch of us got laid off. Trains ain’t really running any more. I tried to get work, but you know how it is.” He brightens. “Anyway, if you can find your way around a transformer, it’s pretty easy to hook up a microwave. Beats eating cold meals all day, I’ll tell you that. I actually stole it after my landlord kicked me out.” His mouth twists in a strange smile. “I almost didn’t, but… well, I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “… I’m sorry,” Nic says.

  “What? No, don’t be! God no, no no no. I’m doing just fine.”

  “You were literally getting robbed when we came by,” I say.

  His smile falters. “Anyway, it’s not so bad,” he says, utterly ignoring my point. “I actually had a job interview today.” He plucks at his suit lapel.

  “Right on,” Nic says. “For an engineer position?”

  “Yes. Well, kind of. It’s more of a contract thing. Company that runs trash compactors needs a few of their units looked at.” He barks another laugh, this one sounding just a little more forced than before. “Lots of trash after the Big One, as I’m sure you can imagine!”

  My belly rumbles. God, when did I last have any food? Howlin’ Ray’s, that’s when, and I puked that up back at the storage unit.

  “Was that your stomach?” Grant says, his mouth twisted in a smile.

  “… No?”

  “Like hell. They heard that from space. God, you must think I’m so rude, not offering you folks anything to eat. I should have mentioned that – I’m almost out myself, actually. I’d just eaten dinner when those two thugs arrived. I don’t think they believed me when I told them. Lots of hungry people around these days.” He leaps up, roots around in one of the duffels, comes up with a sad-looking bag of ramen noodles. “This is all I’ve got left, I’m afraid. I’d be happy to cook it up for you, if you want?”

  He holds the bag out to me, but I shake my head. I don’t care how hungry I am, I am not stealing a homeless dude’s last meal.

  “What are you gonna do when you run out of food?” Leo says, scratching Bradley Cooper’s belly.

  “Excellent question. Truth be told, young man, I think I need to move on anyway. Like I said, tonight wasn’t the first time I’ve been robbed – or nearly robbed, I suppose.”

  With one more questioning glance at me – you sure? – he stows the ramen in his bag. I close my eyes, telling my growling stomach to quit it. The food problem is one I’ve been ignoring, but pretty soon, it’s going to become too big to do so. It’s not just me – it’s Leo, too. He must be running on empty – although give him this, he hasn’t complained yet. I’m kind of impressed with him, actually.

  If all this had happened before the quake, I would have suggested we go find a restaurant or a diner. Hell, a Starbucks. That’s not really an option right now. It’s not just that we’d risk being spotted on surveillance cameras – it’s that we could burn literal hours trying to find a working kitchen. They’re mighty thin on the ground these days. Sure, maybe we get lucky – find a convenience store that’s still open or something – but even then, we’d spend a while hunting for it.

  “I’ll head
to that camp I mentioned,” Grant says, as if he knows what I’m thinking. “Lots of people there now. Safety in numbers and all that.”

  “What about your stuff?” Leo asks.

  Grant says nothing for a few moments, busying himself with the bag. “I used to do a fair bit of hiking – walked Runyon Canyon all the time. I don’t mind hefting a bag or two. I’ll just take what I need.”

  “You gonna put a microwave on your back?” Nic asks.

  His reply is a weary smile. “I’ll leave that for other people to use. I don’t think anybody’s stupid enough to try unhook it from the power line, after all. Maybe someone else can get a cooked meal or two out of it.”

  “We could come with you,” I say. “We’re kind of heading down the river too.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome to join Bradley and me, for sure. But remember, I just ate. It’s hours of walking, and I’ll be doing it on a full stomach. You sure I can’t give you some—?”

  “Positive. Thank you though.”

  He taps his chin. “Come to think of it, you folks might want to check out the FEMA outpost.”

  “What FEMA outpost?” Nic says.

  “What’s a FEMA?” Leo asks.

  “Federal Emergency Management Agency,” Annie says absently. She keeps looking back towards the water, arms folded tight across her chest. “They’re the ones who…”

  She stops. Goes dead still.

  And I think I know why.

  “Yeah, they’ve still got an operation in LA,” Grant is saying. “Soup kitchen, water point, basic clinic. You might have to wait a while – it gets pretty crowded – and they definitely don’t let you stay, or else I’d never have been on the river at all. But it’s a lot closer than the camp I’m going to, probably no more than a forty-minute walk from here.”

  “Where?” I ask. I already know what he’s going to say.

  “Dodger Stadium.” He points. “It’s up a hill or two, but I’m pretty sure you can get there all right. You can definitely handle yourselves if there’s trouble!”

  Annie says nothing, staring out at the rushing water, chewing her lip. Nic senses the change, sends a questioning glance my way.

  Dodger Stadium. Somewhere I hoped I’d never have to go back to.

  The place where Paul died.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Reggie

  And with one phone call, Reggie’s world comes crashing down.

  “We think we’ve got it,” Moira says. “We’re going to make a fix here, then reboot the entire system from our end to reset the encryption. That should take care of the issue, and should bring the video and audio links back online. I want your team ready to give me a full update.”

  It takes a lot of effort for Reggie to respond. “Copy.”

  Moira ends the call without another word.

  All at once, Reggie doesn’t want to be in the office. Or even in the building. She wants to be far, far away from here, somewhere she can deal with everything that’s happened tonight. Where she can actually make a good decision, for once: an informed decision. She actually goes as far as to move her hand towards the chair’s joystick, meaning to push back from the monitors, turn her country ass around and go.

  But she has never run away in her life, not ever, and she sure as hell isn’t going to start now.

  Isn’t that why you told the lie in the first place? Running away is what you want.

  Reggie shuts down that thought before it can get going. She’s got to deal with this. She can’t do anything about Annie – that connection is still down, and won’t be back online until Tanner reboots the system. But at the very least, she can get Africa onside.

  She calls him on the comms. “Listen very carefully—”

  He cuts her off. “I am on the other side of the number 5 freeway. I cannot do this by myself, Reggie – there is too much ground. Where is Annie now? I did not hear her say anything.”

  “Africa, Moira doesn’t know.”

  “What?”

  “About Teagan. I… She doesn’t know Teagan is missing.”

  “What?”

  There is no other choice here. No way out of this particular hole Reggie has dug for herself. This is the problem with lies. You can’t just tell them and be done. You have to keep them alive, keep feeding them, so they don’t feed on you. And the problem with that is the myriad smaller lies that spring up to keep the big one alive.

  Reggie is still coming to grips with why she lied in the first place. Still trying to wrap her head around it. There is a chance she can still salvage this, but not if Moira talks to Africa.

  “I told her Teagan was still in the building,” she says, keeping her tone nice and even. “That we hadn’t found anything.”

  Silence. Then Africa says, “I do not understand.”

  “She thinks Teagan—”

  “You told her a lie?”

  “I didn’t have a choice. I wanted to give us time to find Teagan.”

  “So she does not know. This is bad, Reggie. This is very bad. We cannot leave her in the dark like this, yaaw? Why you tell me now, anyway?”

  Reggie hisses a frustrated breath. “They figured out how to fix the system. All video feeds will be back online soon.”

  Another long silence as he digests this. For Reggie, it’s the longest silence of her life. At any moment, there’s going to be a connection request from Moira, a bright little notification on her screen.

  After a few seconds, Africa simply says, “Mm.”

  “Africa, listen to me. You cannot tell Moira about Teagan. If she thinks the girl’s gone AWOL, then all hell will rain down.”

  “Mmmm-mm-mm.” She can picture him now. Head slowly shaking, lips pursed, finger up to his ear – something both she and Annie have told him to stop doing multiple times.

  If he rolls on me, it’s over.

  And she is not ready to leave. She is not ready to make the leap into the dark just yet.

  “It is a very bad thing you have done,” Africa says slowly.

  “I’m aware.”

  “I do not understand why. We have to tell her the truth—”

  “No! No. I’m going to handle this, but I need you to help me. We are going to find Teagan, and Annie, and we’re going to figure it all out.”

  “Do not ask me to do this, Reggie.”

  She should have seen this coming. Africa idolises Moira Tanner, so asking him to lie to her, especially when he’s been lied to himself…

  Moira’s Join request blinks up on her screen.

  She opens her mouth to plead with Africa, but finds she has no idea what to say. She’d just be repeating herself.

  Her mind races. Moira’s rebooted the system, which means the issues with Annie’s system should be fixed, too. Reggie quickly brings her feed up on screen – she’s going to have to do this fast, get Annie on the same page.

  Except: Annie’s feed is still dark. There’s nothing there. No audio, no video.

  “Oh, hell,” Reggie murmurs. For a long moment, she doesn’t move. She has lost control of this situation, dug a hole far too deep to climb out of.

  And she has no idea what to do next.

  As if in a dream, she accepts the Join request. There’s nothing else to do.

  “Tanner here. Mr Kouamé, report.”

  No answer.

  “Mr Kouamé.” Tanner sounds dangerous. “I said, report. Ms McCormick, are we still having technical—?”

  “We find nothing in the building, Mrs Tanner,” Africa says in a flat voice.

  For a second, Reggie is sure she’s misheard.

  “It is not electrified any more,” Africa continues. “Teagan and Annie and me, we are now hunting in Glendale.”

  Reggie’s breath releases in a choked gasp. Tanner, fortunately, doesn’t appear to have heard it. “What’s your strategy?” the woman snaps.

  Reggie steps in, amazed at how smooth she sounds. “We’re going street by street. Africa’s moving south, Teagan north.”

  “
That’s far too much ground to cover.”

  “We know. Right now, I’ve got Annie helping the LAPD work the scene – we may be able to find forensic evidence that will point us in the right direction.” She keeps her voice even, certain that this is the lie that will get her caught – the idea of Annie working with the LAPD is laughable. “If necessary, we can lean on the police to help coordinate the search.”

  “I expected results by now,” Tanner says, but there’s no venom in her words – just ragged exhaustion. “If the situation has expanded beyond the original scene, then some real-time drone imagery might be helpful. I’ll coordinate it from here, and I’ll lean on the police department to provide some helicopter support. Ms Frost, what’s your status?”

  Africa steps in. “We are having issues with the connection, for both her and Annie.”

  Tanner’s fury threatens to boil over. “I see,” she says, icy calm. “Ms McCormick: is this a result of the intrusion?”

  “I don’t believe so.” Reggie’s mouth is bone dry. “We think their comms may have been affected by… well, by whatever is behind this electricity business.”

  “Mr Kouamé,” Tanner says. “Keep searching. You’re in charge on the ground. Let’s lock this down.”

  “Ya, Mrs Tanner.”

  “Ms McCormick, a word please.”

  Here it comes. Reggie mutes Africa’s connection, tries to keep her voice steady. “Yes?”

  Moira sighs.

  It’s not a sigh of exasperation, or anger. It’s the sigh of someone who has gone beyond exhaustion.

  “How are you holding up?” Moira asks.

  Reggie pauses, not sure how to respond. She can count the number of times Moira Tanner has expressed interest in her well-being without even troubling the double digits.