Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford (that summer book .txt) 📗

Which is when I realise I just killed our only source of light.

Oh, this is going well.

“Is it broke?” Leo says.

“Something like that. Sorry, dude. You’re not scared of the dark are you?”

“No,” he says, in a small voice. Then: “I’ve got one.”

“Got one what?”

There’s the click of an unlocking phone, and more torchlight blinds us. At that moment, there’s a footstep from behind my back.

I whirl, sucking in a startled, horrified breath. In that instant, I know what I’m going to see. It’s an image so clear in my mind, that I don’t doubt it, not for a second. I’m going to find Jeannette there. Africa’s girlfriend. Here, somehow, leering at me through a mouthful of rotting, brown teeth, reaching for me—

There’s nothing. No Jeannette. No anybody. An empty corridor, with nothing but flickering shadows.

“Are you OK?” Leo asks.

I can’t unclench my fists. “Fine,” I say, barely aware I spoke. The meth comedown… it’s making me see things that aren’t there, I know it is. So why can’t I shake the idea that there really was someone there? That even now, they’re waiting to strike?

“It’s my dad’s phone,” Leo says, dropping the light. “He gave it to me to play Dr Panda Town.”

“Is that right?” I say, still distracted, running my finger over the sticker on the phone case, a unicorn smoking a massive joint. A long time ago, my phone got stolen, right in the middle of me being framed for murder – yes, this is the kind of life I lead. Africa found it, and he knew it was mine because of the sticker.

God, I miss the old Africa. Before he was part of China Shop. Before he became obsessed with the job.

I pocket the phone. It’s dead, beyond even the best tracking Reggie can deploy, but I have no intention of leaving it for anyone to find. I pocket the comms earpiece too.

Most of the police presence is on the opposite side of the building, near the road. That’s where all the black-and-whites are. Of course, the cops aren’t stupid. They’ve got people watching the doors, back and front. In theory, nobody gets in or out of this building.

Which is a good strategy, if you assume that whoever you’re watching for will actually be using a door.

I echolocate, throwing out a wave of PK. It doesn’t take me long to find what I’m looking for.

With Leo in tow – still eerily silent – I walk over to one of the storage lockers close to the stairs. I can tell from my PK that there isn’t much inside this one, and I quickly pop the lock with my mind, rolling up the door. The locker is almost empty, with just a couple of dusty boxes stacked against one wall. On one of the boxes, in big black Sharpie letters, is the word: TOYS. Which would be fine, if someone hadn’t drawn a ;-) next to the word.

Honestly, I’d rather not know.

“In here,” I whisper to Leo, ducking underneath the door. I sound pretty calm, given the insanity I’m currently involved in. He says nothing, not even a little woah at me using my powers. Then again, the first time he met me, I was on a magic carpet. And he grew up with kids who could move the earth around at will, along with God knows what else.

Once we’re inside the dark locker, I close the door behind us. Nothing I can do about the snapped padlock – I’ll just have to hope nobody notices. Instead, I concentrate on the exterior wall, feeling my way along it. “Please be cheap,” I mutter. “Please, please, please be—”

Yes. Just as I thought. Big Green Storage are cheapskates. Their walls are prefab, with no insulation: just outer cladding, and a layer of concrete maybe half a foot thick.

We think of concrete as uniform. An impenetrable surface. In reality, it’s uneven, rough, filled with weak spots and pressure points where the mix wasn’t quite right – especially in cheap-ass buildings like this one. Finding those weak spots with my PK is easy, even when I’m not operating at what I’d call peak capacity.

I do a quick burst of echolocation, throwing it out as far as I can in the direction of the fence – no people on the other side of the wall, and yes, there are a couple of dumpsters close by.

“Are we gonna hide in here?” Leo stage-whispers.

“No. Hey, watch this.”

The concrete groans. Shudders. Starts to crumble inward. The air fills with thick dust – Jesus, I hope this shit isn’t toxic. Too late to worry about that now.

In seconds, there’s a big hole in the wall, a rough semicircle of about four feet, exposing the cladding behind it. Daylight floods in, sending a lance of pain right through my eyes, so sharp that I have to squeeze them shut.

I pause for a second, waiting for the sound of cops shouting – or Annie and Africa figuring out what I’m doing. Nothing.

I let out a breath, and punch through the exterior cladding. It’s synthetic, and it’s even less trouble than the concrete, splintering and snapping. Somehow, even that little move is enough to make the comedown worse, amplifying the headache.

“How about that, huh?” I say to Leo, through gritted teeth.

He just blinks back at me. Then he looks at the hole I made. “What if it was stronger?”

“Huh?”

“The wall. Could you still make a hole?”

“Of course.” I smile at him – or try to, anyway. “I’m pretty strong.”

“OK.”

“What?” I say. “I am!”

“Are we gonna be with my dad soon?”

“We… Sure, I… Yeah, yes, we are, we’re gonna find him now, come on.”

I duck through the gap, my cheeks feeling weirdly hot. Did this kid just throw shade on my ability? Does he not know that I moved an entire broken bridge only a few hours ago? I have a sudden urge to tell him, but clamp down on it. Now is not the time.

We come out between two dumpsters.