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

by Jackson Ford

  Too late, I realise our mistake. One of them – a kid not much older than me, with a shitty goatee and wild, bugged-out eyes – sees Africa coming.

  Put yourself in his shoes for a second.

  You’re a minimally trained National Guard soldier, deployed right in the middle of the biggest earthquake to ever hit the mainland United States, which means the biggest relief operation in our nation’s history. You’ve been going for twelve hours straight. Maybe longer. You are currently between two groups of very pissed off people: one trying to get inside the place you’ve been told to guard, the other trying to get out – or at the very least, getting mightily pissed off at not having enough food and water. You are almost certainly hopped up on whatever energy drinks they dished out to keep you awake, and the last time you spoke to your loved ones was so long ago you can’t even remember it.

  And now, here comes a seven-foot-tall gentleman with arms the size of tree trunks, pushing his way through the crowd towards you and shouting something about Come in.

  “Africa!” My words are lost in the din of the crowd. “Stop!”

  FORTY

  Teagan

  Africa doesn’t hear me, which means I need to use my PK to save him.

  But I can already tell that it’s not going to be fast enough. I’ve got the range, my PK is working fine… but I don’t have the reflexes. The guardsman’s gun is already coming, his finger tightening on the trigger.

  And at that second, a crackle in my ear. “—this is Reg—come in, over?”

  Africa lets out a whoop of joy, clutches his ear. And then, like an ocean liner steering away from an iceberg, he does an about-face.

  There’s a horrible moment where I think the guardsman with the goatee is going to shoot him anyway. But then the gun drops, ever so slightly.

  I almost collapse to the ground. I get as far resting my hands on my knees, shoulders shaking, like I just ran a marathon. Africa’s voice, thundering in my ear. “Boss! We are here!”

  “—Africa we—where are you?”

  By this time, Africa’s made his way back over to me. I interrupt his reply to Reggie by punching him very hard in the chest. He’s tall enough that I have to stand on tiptoe to do it. He’s lucky I didn’t decide to go for his balls.

  He goggles at me. “Hey, wha—?”

  “Don’t you ever, ever, ever almost get yourself almost shot again. I swear to God…”

  Then I hug him. Wrap my arms around his torso, and squeeze as hard as I can.

  “Not to interrupt or anything,” Mia says, pointing at her ear, “but aren’t you talking to someone?”

  “Oh, yeah. Shit. Right. Reggie, are you there?”

  It takes us a while to find them. They’re at the edge of the east parking lot, out of the crowds. Annie is carrying Reggie, and that horrible blank expression is still on her face

  “Hello!” Africa says, waving the second we spot them.

  “They wouldn’t listen to me,” Reggie says, the moment we get within earshot. “They kicked everyone out of the medical tent – all but the worst of the wounded. It’s gone to hell and back in there – we can’t even get near the command tent let alone find somebody who’ll let us talk to Moira.”

  I do my best to wade through the flood of her words. “You haven’t been able to get hold of Tanner?”

  “Not for lack of trying. Apparently being a government employee counts for nothing in modern-day America. Africa, who is this?”

  It takes me a second to realise she’s referring to Mia.

  I take a deep breath. “Reggie, this is Mia. Mia, Reggie. Mia works down at the Meitzen Museum, and Reggie is my boss at China Shop. Mia knows about my PK, by the way, and I’m really sorry but I’m not sorry that I showed her, because she knows about the boy – whose name is Matthew, by the way – and she knows where he’s going.”

  Give Reggie this: she is much better at dealing with a stream of consciousness than I am. She absorbs it all, pauses for a second, then says, “Tell me everything.”

  By the time we’re done, her mouth is set in a thin line. It must be my imagination, but it’s gotten quieter outside the stadium, as if everyone out there has suddenly realised what’s at stake.

  “You’re sure?” Reggie asks Mia. “About the ETS zones?”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “And you don’t know which zone he’d target.”

  “We need more information about what the roads are like up there. My guess is, it’ll be the one he can most easily access. I mean, if he’s just a kid…”

  “All right.” Reggie’s voice is way too calm. “You need to do that, and quickly. Teagan, Africa. It is imperative you get us a way to call Washington.”

  “What is Tanner gonna do when we tell her?” I ask.

  “Moira has more resources than we do, and she’ll understand the gravity of the situation. She can get manpower, set up road blocks, get troops to every one of these places if need be.”

  “This is really happening,” Mia says in wonder. “All of it.”

  What is Tanner doing right now? Knowing her, nothing. If she thinks we’re alive, she knows she won’t be able to do anything for us that the federal government aren’t doing already. She’ll be sitting back, waiting for us to make contact as and when we get a chance, unaware that Matthew the world-wrecker is already on his way to do even more damage. If she thinks we’re dead… Well, if she thinks that, she’ll still be sitting back and doing nothing.

  “Reggie,” I say. “Is there any other option here? What if we got you a computer? Could you—?”

  She gives a hollow laugh. “With what network, darling?”

  “Then we’ll take you back to the museum. They might—”

  “Might what? They didn’t listen to me in there, so they sure as hell won’t listen to me at the museum.”

  “But if you tell them—”

  “I’m not running China Shop any more, Teagan. I’m just a crazy lady yelling about the government. No goddamn use to anyone.”

  “Oh come on. That’s bullshit, and you know it. Annie – back me up here.” But Annie isn’t backing anyone up. Annie is off in her own little world. She’s still supporting Reggie, but she’s staring at nothing.

  “Mia – could you get us a phone?” I ask. “If we go back?”

  She bites her lip. But she doesn’t have to answer, because I can already see how this is going to go. One of the volunteers shows up with four random people who no one knows, demanding access to a phone. Maybe we get it – maybe I don’t have to show off my powers to convince people. But it’ll take time, which we are rapidly running out of, and there’s no guarantee of success. We may as well—

  Wait a second.

  Wait one goddamn second.

  “What about the gas in the ATVs?” Africa is saying. “Is there enough to try?”

  “I think so,” Mia replies. “They’re gonna be pissed when we get back though. Arnie wasn’t supposed to—”

  “We’re not going back,” I say.

  Africa frowns. “What do you mean, we’re not going back? You just asked me to… Why you smiling?”

  Why am I smiling? I’m smiling because I know exactly who can help us. He’s half an hour away, sitting in a parked plane on the tarmac at Van Nuys Airport.

  He won’t have left, not so soon after that insane landing his pilot pulled off, not when he still thinks he can do some good. He’ll be there all right, and that ridiculous private plane of his will have power, some food, a place to finally sleep… and a working radio. My smile cracks into a full-blown laugh.

  Jonas fucking Schmidt.

  “What are you laughing at?” Reggie asks pointedly. For some reason, that makes me laugh much harder, turning it into an insane cackle. Now they are all looking at me, even Annie.

  “OK.” I wipe my face, trying to get myself under control. “Mia, Africa: go get the ATVs. Annie: take Reggie for me. Reggie: start working on your boss voice.”

  “I’m sorry, w
hat are we doing?” Mia asks.

  “You ever been on a private jet?”

  “… Excuse me?”

  Reggie, fortunately, is quicker on the uptake. “Teagan, are you sure? Are you totally sure? We don’t have time to—”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I almost start cackling again, because it’s perfect. It’s fucking perfect. Technically, he even owes me a favour – I promised him I wouldn’t reveal he still had that list, and I’ve kept to that promise. “Africa, what are you waiting for? Get the ATVs.”

  He spreads her hands, gives me a confused look. “Teggan—”

  “You know how you were talking about being good at the job? Backing me up? This is it. This is how you do it. I’ve just figured out how to save the freaking day, and we do not have time for you to start in on me with how I never listen to you, or—”

  “I can’t get the ATVs.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” I get in his face. “I don’t believe this, Africa, of all the times you pick to—”

  “You twisted that plastic into the wheels,” Mia says. “Remember?”

  My finger wavers, drops. “… and they’ll absolutely still be there because it was a genius security measure, am I right? Reggie, Annie, follow me. I’ll go unlock our ride.”

  FORTY-ONE

  Teagan

  OK, half an hour was a little optimistic. I keep forgetting you can’t apply the rules of regular LA traffic to a post-earthquake wasteland.

  We can’t use the freeways – obviously. We cut up through the Hollywood Hills into Studio City, doing a kind of weird zigzag up the map. Once again, Mia and Africa do the driving. Annie takes Reggie, wedging her between herself and Africa on one vehicle, arms wrapped around Reggie’s midsection. I’m on the other ATV with Mia, doing my best to stay conscious. I almost fall asleep again, jerking awake a split-second before I tumble off.

  This is the part of town where you live if you produce Marvel movies. The houses in the hills are mostly intact, and a few of them even have power, unseen generators clattering away. But there are other dwellings that paid for their precarious perch on the hillsides, and which are now so much kindling in the valleys below.

  The Hollywood Sign… well, what do you think happened to the Hollywood Sign?

  Since we left Dodger Stadium, my certainty about Schmidt’s plane has gotten a little bit shakier. What if he has left? What if they made him take off again, sent him somewhere else for… reasons? I’m going to end up looking stupid, and then Matthew will probably set off the biggest earthquake in human history. Nothing major.

  As we pass through the Valley, I drift into a kind of waking doze, where I have just enough awareness to not fall off the ATV, but I’m not actually paying attention to anything. It’s not nearly as much fun as it sounds. It feels like a weird dream, a nightmare I don’t known how to wake myself up from.

  The next thing I know, we’re crossing onto the tarmac at Van Nuys Airport. Guess nobody’s too bothered about making us put our shoes through the X-ray machine.

  In the darkness, the airport doesn’t look any different to when we left. The fire in the terminal building has burnt out, and the control tower still reminds me of a broken tooth. Then again, the time we were last here is a total blur anyway. In that part of the day, we didn’t know how bad the damage was – not really. In that part of the day, Paul was still alive.

  Africa comes to a stop as we reach the runway, Mia coasting in alongside her. “Where do we go?” he asks. Reggie and Annie both look zoned out, almost unconscious.

  I squint into the darkness, trying to find Schmidt’s plane. When he dropped me off, we were on the side of the runway. If the terminal building is behind us, then that means…

  No. He wouldn’t just chill by the runway – when he dropped me off, he was still quite a ways from the terminal building. If he wanted to help, like he said, he’d get closer.

  Surprisingly, it’s Annie who speaks first, pointing towards some glimmering lights at the other end of the runway. “Hangars. Let’s try there.”

  And his plane is in one of the hangars. It’s in the second one we check. Thank God. Also Buddha, and the Flying Spaghetti Monster, and whoever else happens to be listening. I almost shriek for joy when we see it.

  The jet is in the centre of the floor, parked at an angle. I expected it to be surrounded by people, the relief effort, the National Guard, something. I expected to see supplies getting handed out, radio communications set up, orders being barked. What I didn’t expect was to see Jonas Schmidt sitting on the steps of his plane, smoking a cigarette and looking bored. The hangar is dark, the only light coming from the interior of the plane.

  He glances up as we pull into the hangar, a relieved expression on his face. The relief turns to confusion when he sees who we are, and when he spots me, his eyebrows shoot up. He stands, flicking the cigarette aside, as we come to a stop in front of him. He’s wearing the same T-shirt, with the geometric tattoo visible from underneath his right sleeve.

  Mia and Africa cut the engines. For a few seconds, nobody says anything. Then I give Schmidt a little wave. “Hi.”

  “Hello again, Mister Germany,” Africa booms.

  Schmidt inclines his head, a small smile on his face. “I am guessing you are not the National Guard.”

  It’s funny. All the shit that’s happened today, and I’ve still found myself thinking about him at odd moments. Seeing him now, remembering our conversation on the plane, before the quake hit…

  Honestly? I thought I’d never see him again. I figured our paths just wouldn’t cross. Seeing him here – healthy, alive, smoking a cigarette for fuck’s sake – makes me more relieved than I can say.

  His eyes flick over to the others, and the smile drops from his face. When he looks back to me, his expression is hard. “What do you want?”

  Shit. He thinks I’m about to sell him out – that I’m about to ditch the little arrangement we made about the list. He probably thinks the Annie and Africa and the rest are my backup, although given that this also includes Reggie and a very puzzled-looking Mia, he probably thinks I should have chosen more carefully.

  “This isn’t about before,” I say quickly. “Forget that. We don’t even care anymore.”

  He pauses for a moment, weighing my words, then nods. He looks like I feel, haggard and drained. But his eyes land on Africa, and a tired smile flickers on his face. “Mein Herr. How are you and your colleague –” he nods to Annie “– enjoying your job at the Transportation Security Administration?”

  “Right. You don’t know who anybody is.” I point to the crew. “That’s Africa. Reggie. Annie. Mia, who isn’t really part of China Shop but is kind of helping us out…”

  “A pleasure.” He bows his head slightly. “China Shop… I assume this is the name of your spy outfit?”

  Shit. I don’t think I mentioned our outfit’s name before. I should slow down.

  His gaze lands on Reggie, who is still being carried by Annie. “You are hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” she says. “I’m a quadriplegic – happened before the earthquake.”

  “Dude,” I say to Schmidt. “Kind of a life or death situation here. Does your plane have power at all?”

  He looks at the bright light coming from the open door, then back at me. “Yes.”

  “You know what I mean. Do you have comms? Radio, sat-phone, anything like that?”

  “Again, I believe we have discussed this before. There is limited local radio contact, and a satellite phone.”

  It takes everything to stop my legs from just collapsing. Finally. Fucking finally.

  “Perhaps this is a conversation best carried out on the plane.” He strides over to Reggie. “May I take you on board?”

  “Annie can carry me.”

  “Please, I insist.” To Annie, he says, “You must have been carrying her for some time. Allow me.”

  “We’re fine. I’m fine.”

  “My grandmother occupied a wheelchair for the last dec
ade of her life. I am used to assisting in situations like this.”

  “I’m not a grandmother,” Reggie mutters. But she lets Schmidt scoop her out of Annie’s exhausted arms.

  “Mikhail!” he shouts. “Wir brauchen hier Hilfe.”

  I’m about to follow him when a sudden thought stops me in my tracks. I grab Mia’s arm – she’s mid-stride, not expecting it, and as a result nearly falls on her ass.

  “He doesn’t know,” I hiss.

  “What?”

  “He doesn’t know about my ability. The psychokinesis.”

  “Isn’t it telekinesis?”

  “No – psycho. Trust me, I’ve been through that before. But look, I don’t have time to explain this right now, but he doesn’t know. And you cannot tell him.”

  “Uh… sure.” She looks towards the plane, a strange look dawning on her face. “Wait – Jonas Schmidt?”

  “Yep.”

  “As in, the Jonas Schmidt?”

  “Again, yep.”

  “As in, CEO of—?”

  “How many other Jonas Schmidts with private planes do you know?”

  “Oh my God.” She tugs at a strand of hair, as if trying to neaten herself. “I follow him on Twitter! I—”

  “Good for you.” I jog towards the stairs leading onto the plane, trying to bite down on a sudden burst of jealousy. Mikhail appears in the doorway, blinking in astonishment as he sees me. I flip him a salute.

  “Thought you were planning to help out survivors and stuff,” I say, as I catch up to Schmidt.

  “And we have been waiting to offer it. Our last radio contact with the National Guard was over six hours ago. They said they would be sending groups here. Gerhard and the others have gone to see if they can find any in the immediate area.”

  “Nobody’s come through?”

  “Nein.” He ducks into the plane’s body. “It is of no consequence. We will remain at their disposal here, if we are required.” He lowers Reggie into a seat, barking more orders at Mikhail, who starts fetching pillows from around the cabin.

  The inside of the plane is a mess. Empty food containers, a lot of beer bottles, a messy stack of what look like first aid kits. Blankets bundled up on the seats, as if Schmidt and company have been catching Zs when they can. From the snoring in the cockpit, it appears the pilot is doing just that. Annie and Africa have entered behind me, and Mia is goggling at the luxurious cabin.