Eye of the Sh*t Storm by Jackson Ford (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

just run my ass ragged so you could hang around and not drive these people out of here.” I nod downriver. “Go.”

With a lingering look back at me – a look filled with doubt and worry and desperation – Africa climbs behind the wheel. The van roars to life, the engine straining as Africa accelerates. I catch his eyes in the side mirror one last time, and then the van lurches forward, wheels screeching. It almost collides with one of the scaffolding poles, just misses, nearly hits a second. Africa gets it under control, and the van rumbles away, heading out into the open air beyond the camp. I have a sudden, desperate urge to run after it, climb on the back somehow, leave this mess behind.

Instead, I straighten up, ignoring my aching muscles and the pounding throb at the base of my skull and the bone-weary, leaden exhaustion. Almost there. Two dozen people left, maybe even less. Ten minutes should do it. Ten minutes, and I can get the hell out myself.

Which is when I hear it.

An almost inaudible hiss. The sound of a radio in another room, tuned to a dead station. The sound of someone exhaling directly on a microphone, the soft breath distorting and crackling ever so slightly.

Very slowly, I turn around, and look upriver.

I don’t have ten minutes. I may not even have five.

The flood has found us.

FORTY-NINEReggie

Reggie spots Annie first, crossing the field at the bottom of the slope. There’s a man walking next to her – with a start, Reggie realises it’s Nic Delacourt, Teagan’s old… crush? Friend? She still isn’t sure, and she’s even more confused about what Nic is doing here. Teagan must have called him, or…

A tiny figure emerges from behind them.

Objectively, Reggie knew that the boy couldn’t be more than four. And yet, seeing him here, she’s struck by how small he looks. Like a strong breeze could simply lift him away.

Behind her, the woman gets to her feet. Silent. Waiting. The seated man continues to chant.

Reggie has a sudden urge to shout a warning, tell Annie and Nic to stay away. But her strained, trembling diaphragm won’t push the words out.

There’s a long moment where the world holds its breath. There’s no sound but the distant rumble of thunder in the north. The very slight rustle of fabric as the woman who holds her captive shifts from foot to foot. The clouds have covered the sky above them now, dark and heavy. Reggie has already felt one or two tiny, spitting droplets on her forehead.

How much pressure on the trigger would it take to set off the bomb? It’s all too easy to imagine the sudden kick in the small of her back, the searing pain, the bright light obliterating everything, wiping her from existence.

The approaching trio are close enough that Reggie can pick out more details now. Annie’s shoulders are tense – her upper body hardly moves at all as she walks, her arms barely swinging. Nic is a little looser, but not by much, and his face is pinched with worry.

The boy between Annie and Nic is Asian, with a black fringe and enormous, terrified eyes. He wears a dirty, sodden T-shirt over torn jeans. Reggie feels a renewed surge of hate for her captor – how can she treat this boy, this child, like a tool? Like a weapon?

Then again, he’s not just a boy. He has the ability to call down the lightning.

“Reggie?” Annie calls out, when she’s around twenty feet away. Her voice is as tense as her shoulders.

“I’m all right,” Reggie says. Or tries to. It barely carries, nothing more than a croak. A wave of shame rolls through her, at Annie seeing her like this. A pawn in a bigger game.

Reggie has always thought of hostage negotiations as taking place on a larger scale – a building surrounded by strobing blue and red from patrol cars, the FBI getting ready to breach, even though she knows it’s an image taken from the movies and that most stand-offs are nowhere near as dramatic. But this feels like it’s gone too far in the opposite direction – it’s too calm, too quiet. The insanity of the situation is at odds with the calm soccer field, the distant basketball court, the hillside with the grass hissing gently in the breeze.

“That’s close enough,” the woman says. Then: “Hello, Leo.”

Leo flinches, and Reggie expects him to step behind Nic. He doesn’t. He holds his ground – trembling, but steady.

“I wish you hadn’t run away,” the woman says. “If your father—”

“My dad hates you.” Leo’s voice is tiny, but still carries. “I hate you, and the Zigzag Man too.” He cuts a look at the seated figure, rocking back and forth.

Reggie does too. Zigzag Man, she thinks, and shivers.

Nic’s eyes meet Reggie’s. He looks drawn and tired, like it’s been weeks since he slept. The last time Reggie saw him was during the incident with Jake, the other psychokinetic.

She has a sudden urge to apologise to him, tell him she’s sorry he got mixed up in this. What was the saying? I wish we could have met under better circumstances.

“Don’t come any closer,” she says. This time, her voice carries. “There’s a bomb.”

In half a second, Annie’s anger goes from simmering to boiling. Her eyes dart to the shape underneath Reggie, then back up.

There’s another rustle of fabric – the woman lifting the detonator, no doubt. “You see this, Leo? No games now. If I let go, or squeeze too hard—”

“I know.” The boy sounds exhausted too, his voice that of someone much older.

“This is going to be very simple,” the woman says. She sounds reasonable, even gentle. “You’re going to come with us. I’m going to give you something – a little jab, just like a flu shot. It won’t hurt, I promise, and it’ll make you sleep.”

Leo nods. He looks sick.

“Look at me, bitch.” It’s as if Annie rolls the word