Eye of the Sh*t Storm

by Jackson Ford

  “Run,” I snarl at the biker.

  He doesn’t argue, scrambling to his feet and taking off towards the boom gate separating the lot from the street. Halfway there, he trips, the wet surface sending him flying, and does an almost acrobatic recovery, leaping to his feet and running even faster.

  I let the gun drop. Just in time. I am very close to running out of juice completely, fatigue and hunger and sleep deprivation burning holes in my ability. I put my hands on my knees, making myself take deep breaths. Ah, shit – we should have looked for food in there. Why the hell didn’t we?

  “Where are we gonna go?” Leo says, sullen.

  Annie cranes her chin, looking south. “We’re not far from the river. We can take the bikes. It’s all concrete storm drains from Dodger onwards, so it should be a straight shot down.”

  She’s speaking too carefully, as if she doesn’t trust herself.

  “We only got one set of keys,” I say, jingling them. “We’re gonna need two bikes, surely?”

  “Stop right there!”

  It comes from the entrance to the parking lot. There’s a group of people there, led by a man with wraparound sunglasses and a very big gun.

  The National Guard have found us.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Teagan

  They must have been tracking us since Dodger Stadium. Maybe they saw Pop’s guys take us, followed us all the way here. They were probably figuring out how to get inside when we strolled out the front door.

  Perfect.

  And once the soldier with the wraparound shades starts yelling, they all do.

  There are about ten of them, spread out, moving in the rifles-up-knees-bent way that soldiers do when they’re looking for someone to shoot. This time, it’s not just a group of scared kids. Shades has got himself a new posse. The National Guard might not be our finest fighting force, but these particular soldiers look like they didn’t get the memo.

  I try to lock down their guns now, the same way as before. But as soon as I do, I lose my grip. My PK just slips right off. I grit my teeth, trying to force it… and a whammer of a headache blooms at the base of my skull.

  “We got a problem,” I hiss at Nic.

  “Yeah, I can see.”

  “No, their guns, I can’t—”

  “Who the fuck are you people?”

  Pop.

  She’s pushing through the door we came out of, with about ten very angry bikers flanking her. They are bloody, bruised and very, very angry. The look on her face could give God a heart attack.

  Actually, her face itself could give God a heart attack. Man, I beat the shit out of her.

  There’s a second where I think we’re going to have an actual Mexican standoff. Everybody wanting to kill everybody else, but nobody wanting to actually start shooting.

  That doesn’t happen, because without warning, the bikers open fire on the National Guard.

  Yeah. Come to think of it, they probably weren’t going to talk this out like grown-ups.

  The world erupts with gunfire. We hit the deck, Nic rolling to protect Leo. I clap my hands over my ears as someone scrabbles at my shoulder – Annie. She rolls me towards her, pulling me onto all fours, hustling me behind the line of bikes. I get a split-second glimpse of Pop, down on one knee, no cover at all, pulling the trigger of a huge pistol again and again, the kickback so intense that it’s miracle she can even stay upright.

  Annie yells right in my ear, her words inaudible over the gunfire. I gape at her, thinking, This is a dream. I didn’t wake up this morning. This entire insane day is happening in my mind.

  The bikes. If we can get them going… and I have a key! One I took from the dude on guard duty! If we could—

  Oh, yeah, I have a key all right. A key. Singular. Four of us are not going to fit on one bike – and on that note, how the hell am I going to find out which keys fit which bikes? It’s not like I can call a timeout here.

  I’ll have to start them manually, using my PK. It can’t be that difficult – after all, a key just pushes tumblers into line. And as long as these bikes don’t use complicated electronics, I can get it done. Assuming my PK actually plays ball.

  I grab hold of Annie. “I’m going to start that bike!” I shout, waving my hand at the closest one.

  “What?”

  Ah, fuck. We could spend the rest of the night trying to hear each other, and it’s not going to be long before either Pop’s people or the National Guard remember who they really want to kill.

  I am going to have to dig deep. Comedown be damned, there’s got to be some PK left in there, and I am damn well going to find it.

  I close my eyes. Clench fists, which doesn’t really help, but feels like it should. Concentrate. I send the PK out, slipping into the nearest Harley, finding the key mechanism. The tumblers inside.

  There. Got you. Pushing the tumblers up and holding them. One… at… a… time…

  The bike roars to life. Even with the gunfire, the blat of the engine is so loud that it nearly takes my head off.

  “Yes!” I yell – right as the bike explodes away from us, wobbling wildly, the engine roaring. The back wheel actually fishtails, very nearly smacking Annie in the head.

  I stare in horror as our noble steed rips right into the middle of the gun battle, bullets already spanging off the metal frame. The bike crashes onto its side, bodywork screeching. As I watch, goggle-eyed, it takes out one of the bikers at the ankles. He didn’t see it coming, too focused on his targets, and it hits him so hard that he actually somersaults.

  I have no idea why the bike leapt forward like that, and I don’t have time to find out. Or the PK to do so: I really have drained the tank. Nothing but grey static and that awful, thundering headache.

  Annie grabs me, pulls me in close. Hunches around me, as if her body can stop bullets.

  I try again, but there’s nothing. Nothing we can do but wait for it to be over.

  I’m expecting a calm. This isn’t the first time I’ve faced death, and I know what it usually feels like. It’s an acceptance – an awful, languid acceptance. There’s nothing more you can do.

  This time, it’s different. I’m not calm. I’m fucking furious. Furious with myself: a hot, embarrassed anger.

  A while back, when I was seriously looking into going to chef’s school, Tanner asked me a question. If I had to give up my dream of being a chef, but doing so would save countless lives, would I do it? I hated the answer. Hated how simple and clear it was, with no wiggle room.

  Now, though? Seconds away from having a bullet rip through me?

  I should have given her another answer. I should have told her to get fucked. I should have found another way. Because it’s not anger I feel, not really. It’s something much worse.

  It’s regret.

  I don’t know how much time passes. I go deep into myself, the bitter feelings pulling me in. It’s only when Annie pushes away from me that I come back, blinking.

  Before I can ask why we’re not dead yet, Annie grabs me by the shoulder, turns me to face her. Her eyes are huge with worry. “Are you hit? Come on, baby girl, tell me if you got hit.”

  “… What?”

  “Are you hit?”

  “I… I don’t think so?”

  Before I can ask her what she’s doing, she pulls me roughly to my feet. My instinct is to duck back down, get out of the firing line. Only… nobody’s shooting any more.

  No – that’s wrong. The gunfight has just moved. It’s inside the depot now, the Legends retreating, the National Guard pushing up. As I turn to look, a guardsman sprints towards the depot entrance in a roadie run, one of his buddies close behind him.

  “Are you OK?” It’s Nic. He’s holding a terrified Leo, the boy clutching him so tightly that it’s a wonder he can still breathe.

  “Yeah, but—”

  Annie crouches a short distance away, next to a biker. A very dead biker, a pool of blood spreading out from his head. She’s holding something aloft – a s
et of keys. She must have gone through the dude’s pockets.

  “Quick,” she says, jogging back to us. “Match the bikes to the keys. Before they come back.”

  I goggle at her, still not a hundred per cent sure this isn’t a dream. “But—”

  “Let’s fucking go. Nic—” She tosses him the key she grabbed. “You and Leo take one bike. Teags and I got the other. Do not turn the ignition on without engaging the clutch.”

  “Which one is the clutch?” Nic snaps.

  “Should be a lever on the left handlebar.” Annie digs in my pocket without asking, snagging the key I grabbed before.

  There’s still gunfire coming from the entrance to the depot. Angry shouts, screams of pain. The air stinks of cordite. How in the name of blue fuck did we slip through the cracks here? How are we not dead?

  I am not a fan of standing around doing nothing. No situation has ever been improved by staring stupidly at it. But right now, as Annie and Nic zip between the bikes trying to find the ones that work, it’s the only thing I can do.

  Annie and Nic find the right bikes at almost exactly the same time. Annie’s is an enormous black Harley, with one of those silly little raised passenger seats on the back. Nic’s is a few bikes down the line: a sleek, neon-blue ride with a bulging gas tank. Annie is holding on tight to the handlebars, her left hand wrapped around a thick lever.

  I have an absurd urge to tell them to find one with a sidecar. I’ve always wanted to ride in a sidecar.

  “Get on!” Annie yells at me.

  I snap out of my stupor, jogging across and clambering aboard, perching on the passenger seat and wrapping my arms around Annie. The seat is one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever sat on, way too small, finding the bony parts of my ass in seconds. Nic jams Leo down in front of him, the two of them chest to chest. An odd thought bounces through my mind: We should have helmets. You shouldn’t ride bikes without helmets. It’s dangerous.

  Yeah, you know what’s more dangerous? Hanging around a gun fight. The sooner we get the fuck out of here, the better.

  “Turn left out the gate,” Annie yells at Nic. He doesn’t reply, just pops the kickstand, and takes off. Or tries to. The bike immediately stalls, wobbling like crazy. Nic has to jam his feet into the concrete surface to keep it upright.

  “Work the clutch,” Annie snarls at him. She takes a deep breath, visibly calms herself. “It’s just like a car. Pop the clutch and accelerate at the same time.”

  “I’ve never driven manual!”

  “Are you serious right now?”

  I open my mouth to tell her to ease up, and then Jonas Schmidt walks out of the night, sauntering towards us.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Teagan

  Jonas wears the same outfit as before – same suit, with the white T-shirt underneath it. His hands are in his pockets, and the smile on his face is gentle.

  “Hello again, Teagan,” he says.

  This isn’t real. It’s not real, it’s the Zigzag Man, he’s here, he—

  But these thoughts come from very far away. It’s as if they belong to someone else.

  I blink – it seems to take ten years to open and close my eyes – and I’m no longer outside the train depot in Chinatown. I’m in a hangar at an airport, standing alongside a sleek private jet. Slanted rectangles of sunlight paint the floor, coming from windows set high in the rear wall. Jonas is at the bottom of the plane’s entry stairway, which leads up to a door filled with warm, beckoning light.

  And I can’t believe how calm I feel. It’s as if the light coming through the plane door is inside me, too, blooming inside my chest. I can’t look away from Jonas, can’t look away from that easy, welcoming smile.

  I don’t want to.

  It’s happening faster this time, you’re much more exhausted, he’s inside your head—

  “I’m here to help,” Jonas says.

  The others are in trouble, Leo, Annie…

  “Isn’t this what you want?” Jonas’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

  “I—”

  “Just come with me, and everything will go away. You won’t have to make any more decisions. I’ll do it all – all you have to do is come into my house.”

  The calm light fills every part of me. I take a step towards him, a smile of my own breaking out of my face. As I do so, there’s a strange sensation on my shoulder, as if someone is gripping tight, shaking. I reach up, brush it away, and the feeling vanishes.

  “You can do whatever you want,” he says. “And I will be there. I will always be there.”

  No, this is wrong—

  Except: I do want him. I want him so badly.

  I want what he represents. Freedom. The ability to make my own choices without having to worry if the consequences will hurt me, or hurt others. I want to make choices that I will not regret.

  And I want someone I can be with. I burn with that want.

  Someone to listen to me, and to hold me, and to make love to me. I want to make love without thinking, to have it be as natural and as easy as the light that fills me up.

  Jonas can offer me that. He can help me. He can protect me. He can love me.

  “I’m ready,” I say, reaching out to him.

  His smile grows wider. “I never had a doubt.”

  He takes my hand. His skin is warm, and dry, his grip firm.

  “Come into my house.” He gestures to the door of the plane. The light is so bright that I can’t actually see the interior. “Come into my house, and be safe.”

  The same irritating sensation on my shoulder – both shoulders now. I shrug deliberately, trying to get past it, walking towards the plane.

  But something holds me back. Locks my feet in place.

  Jonas turns, frowns. “Isn’t this what you want?”

  It is. It’s what I want. What I can’t understand is: why, as Jonas says those words, does his face became Nic’s?

  There was no mistaking it. At least… I think there was no mistaking it. My thoughts are slow, mired in the warm light.

  I open my mouth to tell Jonas that this is what I want, but the words don’t come. When I try to speak, I can’t hear myself.

  “My house is close,” Jonas says.

  Emergency blink. Emergency blink now!

  “We can spend all the time you like inside it. It goes on for ever.”

  I let go of his hand.

  Let my eyes slowly close.

  “Teagan.” Jonas’s voice is different now. Changing. For the first time, a tiny needle of fear pierces my chest.

  “My house does not lie,” Jonas says.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them.

  And scream.

  The hangar is gone. The plane is gone. Jonas is still there, but his skin is melting, running off his face like slow-moving lava. The light is everywhere, but it’s no longer warm. It’s hot, burning, searing, and there are flames and smoke and the needle of fear has become a knife, twisting, and Jonas…

  He’s not Jonas any more.

  He’s Carlos.

  Carlos Morales. A man I’ve tried very hard to forget. My old China Shop teammate. My friend. The person who betrayed me, who tried to frame me for murder.

  The man I left to die.

  To burn.

  The fight I had with Jake, the only other psychokinetic I’ve ever met, left Carlos impaled on a steel pole. A wildfire was approaching and I couldn’t get out in time and I was so scared, and I—

  “Hola, mi hermana,” Carlos says. His grin is the most awful thing I’ve ever seen, a white slash in a blistering, burning face. “It’s been a long, long time.”

  I blink, again and again, but it doesn’t work. Carlos takes a step towards me, still smiling as the fire ravages him, and I topple over backwards. I’m sobbing, screaming at him that I’m sorry, but the words are silent. I can’t look away. In desperation, I try to reach out with my PK, but there’s nothing. Not a single thing, not even fuzziness. It’s like it’s gone for good.

/>   “There’s a fire in my house, mi hermana.” Carlos raises a burning hand, examines it, as if surprised at the scorched, peeling skin. The flames have burned a hole in his cheek, exposing his jaw. His face changes, Jonas one moment, Nic the next, all burning, all grinning. “There’s a fire in my house, and it’s your fire, and it is going to eat you alive.”

  I can’t scream any more. I can’t breathe. And I can’t look away.

  I’m going to burn. Just like before, in Wyoming, when Adam burned down our ranch and killed Mom and Dad and Chloe and—

  There is another sound, a screeching, grinding bang. All at once, Carlos vanishes. So do the flames.

  I’m on my back, in front of the depot, the wet concrete soaking through my clothes. Annie is close by, on her knees, retching, as if trying to bring up something foul. The Zigzag Man must have hit her, too. Nic is still holding Leo, but the bike he was on—

  I don’t really understand what I’m seeing. As I turn my head, I catch sight of the bike, which is roaring across the parking lot – just like before, when I turned the key with my PK. And dancing out of the way, cursing, nearly getting creamed by it—

  The Zigzag Man.

  He only just dodges the charging bike. As it crashes to the ground, his head snaps towards us.

  He’s dressed in all-black, like before. Same black bandanna, tied over the lower half of his face. Above the bandanna, below the thick mane of straggly black hair, his eyes radiate pure hatred.

  “Leave us alone!” Leo screams.

  The Zigzag Man tilts his head. “It’s time to go, little bug.”

  “Back off, asshole,” Nic snarls at him.

  Get up. But I can’t move. I feel like I’m waking up from a deep sleep myself, my movements sluggish and uncoordinated, my PK a distant memory. I don’t know what’s happening here. Where did the Zigzag Man come from? Did Nic attack him with the bike? How—?

  “Motherfucker!”

  Another bang. This one much closer. Then two more.

  Pop. She’s coming out the front of the depot, a glare on her mashed face, a big-ass assault rifle held tight to her shoulder. I can’t see her eyes from here, but it’s as if she doesn’t know where she is. She’s just shooting, firing at anything that moves.