Random Sh*t Flying Through the Air (The Frost Files)

by Jackson Ford

  “No seriously. What branch of the government is she from? You work for her, and you’ve got no idea if she even is who she says she is. Same for the whole of China Shop. My taxes go to your salary, so I wanna know. Who are these people you run with?”

  “Did you seriously just pull the I’m a taxpayer defence? You sound like Paul right now, you know that?”

  He makes a disgusted noise. “Paul. Yeah, I looked into him. Nothing but a deadbeat dad.”

  “Excuse me? Where the fuck do you get off—?”

  “He’s missed his last three child support payments, Teagan. What would you call him?

  “You… Wait, you investigated him?”

  “I made some inquiries. And by the way, Annie? You should see the shit she’s done. The whole thing with MS-13 and that heroin wasn’t even the worst of it.”

  “Who gives a shit?” I snarl. “She ran some drugs. She sold a few guns. She’s done stuff she’s not proud of. We’re not talking about a… a… a fucking mass murderer here. She never killed anybody. You don’t get to just sit back and judge her. And you do not get to go out and dig up dirt on the people I work with.”

  “Yeah, well. I know you don’t think I care about you, Teags, but I do, so—”

  “Oh, that is such bullshit.”

  “Nope. And see, I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have bothered. You don’t give a shit about people. You just want to cover your own ass, so you can sit in your apartment and live your little life and not have to worry about anyone but yourself.”

  This can’t be what he thinks. There’s no way he could be this ugly.

  “Little life?” I snarl. “You know what I’ve been through. You know exactly the kind of pressure I’m under, every single day. And you know what I do with my ability – the people I help bring down. How fucking dare you sit there and tell me it’s about covering my own ass? What the fuck is that?”

  Right then, I get the oddest thought. Schmidt would get it. He’d understand.

  Jonas Schmidt, who was supposed to be one of the bad guys. Schmidt is like Nic – he wants to help, would put himself in harm’s way to do so. But he lives in a world of spies and deep-cover assets and back-channel communications – a grey, shifting world where things are never simple. If I told him what I can do, how living with my ability means thinking about how I use it, all the time, and that I can’t just throw it around… he’d understand.

  Nic? Nic either doesn’t want to, or can’t. How could I have missed this? How could I have wanted this… person to be a part of my life?

  “I don’t actually care, man,” Nic is saying. “I’m here, I’m fine and as soon as I get some food into me and my mom and dad, I’m gonna go back out there and help. You stay in here, if you want. I don’t fucking care.”

  You know how sometimes your mind sends out a signal that overrides everything else? I’m not talking about PK. I’m talking about good old intuition, your brain’s way of telling you that it’s noticed something important.

  It won’t be able to tell you what it is – not directly. It communicates in other ways: a little prickle on the back of your neck, heightened sensation in the fingertips, a Spidey-sense tingling on the scalp.

  Something I saw. Something that entered my field of vision, just for a split-second.

  I glance to my left, then right. Nic is still talking, but I’ve tuned him out. Whatever I saw is important. I know it is.

  It’s a kid.

  The kid.

  He’s walking up past the bleacher wall, on my left, at the edge of the field. Perhaps fifty yards away. There’s still a ton of people around, but he’s walking through a small gap between groups. He’s heading directly away from my position, as if he too had visited the water point, and left when it became clear there was none to be had.

  It can’t be him. I’ve made a mistake. But then the kid looks over his shoulder, and I get a clear look at him. The shape of his face, his hair, the way he walks… there’s no mistake. That video is seared into my mind. He’s as dirty and soaked as the rest of us, wearing what was once a white T-shirt. Before I can blink, he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd

  Holy fucksticks. Paul was right.

  Nic sighs. “I didn’t mean to… you know, say it all like that. When this is all over, maybe we can talk, OK?”

  “I gotta go.” I can barely hear my own voice.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Wait a second. Teagan. Teagan!”

  I leave him behind, moving from a walk to a jog. My brain is going into overdrive. The kid can’t be here – there’s no way, no way in hell that we’d get that lucky. I’m jumping at shadows. But I know what I saw, and more to the point, like Paul said, why wouldn’t the kid be here? Sure, he can cause earthquakes and move soil at will, but he’s not immune from the after-effects. He’d still need food, and water, and shelter. After the quake, there was probably precious little of those around, especially if he set the damn thing off in the middle of the Angeles forest. He would have looked for help, probably with his mom, and they ended up here.

  A little splinter of thought: what was he doing in the Angeles forest in the first place? Why go there? Unless he wanted to deliberately…

  There’s no way. He’s four years old, he doesn’t have control of his ability, and he fucked up. That’s all there is to it.

  The kid has vanished. I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get to him, but there is no way I’m letting him escape. “Paul, Annie, anybody, can you hear me?”

  Paul’s voice, sounding like it’s coming from the middle of a snowstorm. “We read you, Tea—over?”

  “He’s here.” I’m pushing through the crowd now, frantically scanning it for the kid. He’s nowhere to be seen.

  “Say again?”

  “The boy. The one we’re looking for. I just saw him, over by the leftfield wall.”

  A fuzz of static. Then Annie: “—sure you saw—?”

  “Yes! Yes, I’m fucking sure. Get over here, right now.”

  Paul again. “Teagan, what’s your loca—over?”

  “Already said. Location is the left stadium wall. He’s heading up towards the wide end of the field.” Wide end? Is that even what it’s actually called? My brain is a big ball of wasps right now. I’m getting the same feeling I had when I first met Jake, the other psychokinetic, six months ago. Confusion, awe. It’s not just that someone else with powers exists. It’s that he’s right here, both of us occupying the same real estate.

  “Copy,” Paul says. “Annie and I will meet you—confirm his last pos—”

  “Goddamnit people, move.” The group I’m pushing through don’t even notice I’m there. I get a flashback to my parents’ farm in Wyoming, the two or three dairy cows we had, chewing cud and staring at us with blank expressions. I turn sideways, squeezing between them and one of the tents. Too bad I can’t start throwing things – that would shift them, all right.

  “He’s here now?” Africa says over the comms. “And you are abso—saw him, Teggan?”

  “If someone asks me that again…” I hop the barrier separating the field from the bleachers. I say hop, but thanks to my short legs it’s more like an embarrassing scramble.

  The landing nearly topples me over, earning myself a couple of dirty, exhausted looks. Shit, where is he? I scan the bleachers.

  “I do not see—anywhere,” Africa says.

  Paul: “Africa, stand d—find a phone, like we talked abo—handle this.”

  I’m running now, heading along the line of the barrier, sorry-ing and excuse-me-ing my way through the crowd. Where are you?

  I’ve lost him. Maybe for good. There are thousands and thousands of people here – I might have seen him for a second or two, but actually trying to track him through this mess is too much to ask for. I come to a halt and have to bend over, a sudden stitch lancing at my side. Then I force my head up. Keep looking. Eyes darting between faces. Every child I see, boy or girl, sends e
lectric jolts down my spine.

  A minute passes. Two.

  I’m on the verge of telling the crew I lost him when my earpiece bursts into life.

  “Got him!” Paul’s transmission is clear, at least for a second. “Heading for one of the tunnels out to the—maybe fifty yards. Annie, converge on my—”

  “Copy,” Annie growls. “What do we do when—?”

  “Teagan, get here now. Get—” Paul’s voice dissolves in a burst of static.

  I can see the exit tunnel from here – or the signs for it, anyway, a gap between two of the bleachers. Is it even the right one? Fuck it – I don’t care. If he’s heading for an exit, that means he’ll be out of the packed crowd. Easier to spot.

  There must be a hundred people between me and the tunnel, but I start to run anyway, shoving through the crowd.

  THIRTY

  Matthew

  The stadium should have been fun.

  It should have been awesome.

  When Matthew let the San Andreas fault go, the feeling had been… Big, was the only word he could think of. Like he had the entire world, the whole planet, in his hand. He had some idea of how much damage there’d be. He’d caught glimpses of it at the temporary camp in Victorville, and on the chopper over to Dodger Stadium.

  But he’d walked around the stadium, Amber trailing behind him, and it was lame. He wanted to see what it felt like – to be right in the middle of everything, knowing he caused it, and not a single person could have stopped him. He wanted that more anything. So why does he feel so let down?

  With the amount of energy he released, the result should be more than just a big bowl full of unhappy, hungry, tired faces.

  Logically, he knows why it’s this way. People in California would know what to do if an earthquake hit, so they probably got under tables and stuff. They knew how not to get hurt, even during a really big one. It makes sense… but it also makes him mad. He wants to drop the whole stadium into the ground, bury it, just so he can hear everyone screaming.

  Maybe he made a mistake, setting off the San Andreas fault in the middle of the forest. He should have found somewhere with more people.

  It took Amber a while to get them food. Matthew waited under one of the bleachers, where it was dry, sitting on one of the plastic bucket seats, his arms folded. Bored. That’s what he was. He was bored with it all.

  Once Amber returned – all she’d found was a couple of hastily made sandwiches and a single bottle of water – he’d eaten in silence, his eyes scanning the packed field. Amber had tried to talk to him as he’d chewed his sandwich listlessly, but he’d ignored her, and eventually she’d stopped.

  Now, finally, he makes up his mind. The decision arrives fully formed – no point hanging around here, not when it’s so dumb. “Let’s go.”

  Amber, startled, blinks at him. “What—?”

  “You have to take us out of the city.”

  She wants to say no. He can see it in her face. But of course, she doesn’t dare – she knows what’s good for her.

  After a few moments, she rises, leads him back down to the field, heading for the tunnel they’d entered through. Matthew wonders if the soldiers might stop them, but the men don’t even glance their way.

  Out. Into the shadowy parking lot beyond the stadium, generator-powered floodlights casting pools of yellow light that split the darkness. Matthew walks without really seeing where he’s going, trailing Amber, busy inside his head. OK. So San Andreas turned out to be kind of lame – not nearly as big as he thought it would be. There’s plenty more he can do, as long as Amber gets them out of the city. And if she can’t, or she gives him any problems, he can teach her a lesson.

  Somebody’s following you.

  Matthew’s head snaps up, and he looks back at the tunnel. There’s nobody there – well, nobody but the milling, spaced-out, stupid crowd of people, none of whom are looking at him. His stomach rumbles. Maybe he’s just hungry again. Yeah, that’s it – hunger making him jumpy, he’ll have to tell Amber to—

  Then he sees the man.

  He’s older than Amber, bald, his arm in a sling. Pushing his way out of the tunnel. As Matthew watches, the man puts a finger to his ear, his lips moving like he’s talking to someone, and looking right at him. As if…

  He’s following them. Just like Ajay said would happen.

  Matthew liked Ajay. That surprised him, but only a little. Ajay was one of the few people he’d ever met who didn’t treat him like a kid. When Ajay talked to him, it was as if they both knew things that didn’t need to be said. They could just talk about the important stuff. Ajay had given him books and shown him documentaries and chatted about his powers like everyone had them.

  Ajay had sent them away, too. Away from the School in New Mexico. Matthew had been mad at him for that. If it was anybody else, he wouldn’t have gone. But Ajay said the government was coming.

  In Matthew’s imagination, his brain is like a giant library. Only it’s not a regular library. It’s a big, circular one – a huge room with clean, white walls, deep underground and filled with a million books. Matthew imagines himself standing at the centre, and he knows everything. He can reach into any book in the library, in a second. And of course he knows what the government is. He’s read about them.

  The government want to take him away. They’re maybe the only people in the whole world who could.

  And they have found him. Somehow, some way, they know he caused the quake.

  He walks faster, catching up to his mother, grabbing her sleeve. “We gotta go,” he hisses. “We gotta go now.”

  “Matthew, what—?”

  “Come on!”

  They head out across the cracked parking lot. Nearby, a young couple go from bickering with each other to a full-on shouting match, the woman yelling that she should never have come to the stadium. Hastily erected spotlights almost blind them as they move through the crowd. Amber looks back, suppresses a gasp, and Matthew knows she’s seen the man, too.

  What if one of the soldiers tries to stop them as they make their way across? But they barely get a second glance. They reach an access road that bisects the parking lot; most of the trees lining it have been ripped from the earth, torn roots visible. The road itself has fared better than others he’s seen. It’s cracked and pitted, but still flat enough for Army vehicles to rumble past. A particularly large one does so as they reach it, a huge truck with wheels the size of a person, slowly trundling across to the western edge of the parking lot.

  “Honey.” Amber says. “We’re gonna get to the other side of that truck, OK? We’re gonna walk alongside it.”

  He ignores her. “There.” He points, his little voice breathless. “See the other trees?”

  On the north side of the parking lot, the tarmac gives way to a hilly, forested park, just visible in the darkness. There’s a fence, but sections of it have been shredded by the quake, along with many of the trees.

  Somewhere with dirt.

  With his weapons.

  “No, honey, listen,” Amber says. “We don’t have to do that. If we double back—”

  He doesn’t even look at her. Just takes off running, heading for the tree line.

  There are fewer cars in this part of the parking lot, fewer people. Matthew looks back. The man he saw before, the one with the broken arm, has just made it across the road that bisects the parking lot. Matthew spots two more figures behind him: two women, a short one and a tall one, both in the same dark uniforms. They’re trying to cross, waiting for a small convoy of trucks to pass, yelling something at the man with the broken arm. He ignores their shouts, barrelling across the lot towards Matthew and Amber.

  Finally, they reach the park. It’s more an undeveloped section of the stadium property: hard-packed, hilly earth, with scraggly trees and shrubs, made even messier by the quake. Matthew starts sprinting, wanting to get in as deep as he can. Branches scratch at his arms, whipping back into Amber’s body as he pushes past them. Everythin
g is wet from the steady rain, and he can hardly see three yards in front of him.

  Amber’s voice is harsh, ragged. “Honey, please… let’s just… go back, OK? We can…”

  And then a voice: “Hey, woah. Stop.”

  The man with the broken arm has reached them, a silhouette against the lights from the stadium. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Leave us alone!” There’s fear in Amber’s voice… and Matthew doesn’t think it’s because of what the government man might do. In the darkness, a small smile slides across his face.

  “I know about your powers,” the man says. “You made the earthquakes happen, It’s… it’s OK. You probably didn’t even mean to do it. My name’s Paul – Paul Marino. I work with—”

  “Paul?” comes a voice from beyond the trees. One of the women in the dark uniforms.

  “Over here,” the man called Paul replies. He turns back to Matthew. “But you don’t have to be scared any more. I work with people who can help you – they can teach you to control it. We’re… we’re the good guys, I promise.”

  Amber steps in front of Matthew, as if trying to shield him. “Go away,” she says.

  He doesn’t even understand why she’s giving the government man a warning. The earth underneath him begins to tremble.

  “You don’t understand,” Amber says. “You need to leave. Right now.”

  “I’ve got a boy about his age,” Paul Marino says, speaking to Amber now. “His name’s…” His voice catches. “His name’s Cole. He doesn’t have powers… abilities… but it sounds like your son could use a friend.”

  He holds out a hand, like he’s trying to shake. “I didn’t mean to chase you – I wish I could have just walked up and said hello. But you don’t need to worry – nobody’s going to hurt you. The government can—”

  What happens next happens very fast.

  The two women emerge from the treeline – one tall and willowy, the other short, with spiky black hair. Matthew raises his chin, feeling the earth around him respond. Every grain of dirt, every rock, every chunk of soil, held tight in his mind’s eye.