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

“We know the way to your uncle’s house.” Reggie gets the sense that Nic is not even talking to Leo now, that he’s just talking to keep himself sane. “We’re gonna head straight there after this, find your dad, figure this all out.”

“Don’t listen to them, Leo,” the woman says. “Your dad’s with me. We’ve already found him. He’s waiting for you.”

Leo comes to a halt. Looks up at her.

“He’s with you?” he says.

The woman nods. “He’s in a safe place. He wants me to bring you to him.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Reggie understands that instantly. Leo tilts his head, biting his lower lip.

“He hates you,” he says.

A half-smile crosses the woman’s face. “Maybe he does. But I don’t hate him, and I certainly don’t hate you. Now come on.”

“Where’s my dad?” Leo says quietly. “Really?”

All at once, Reggie doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to hear it.

“Like I said.” The woman sounds irritated now. “He’s nearby. Somewhere safe.”

“No.” Leo actually stamps his foot. “He wouldn’t go with you. He wouldn’t.”

There’s a sudden rumble from the dark clouds above them – a rumble that goes on far too long. Lightning flashes in the clouds, leaving glowing afterimages.

“Leo.” Nic starts moving towards him, his eyes huge, ignoring the anger on the woman’s face. “Buddy, listen to me, you have to control it. Don’t do this.”

Reggie sucks in a horrified breath. The lightning strikes at Dodger Stadium.

“Get back,” the woman spits at Nic, her voice nearly lost in another boom of thunder.

“Where is he?” Tears are rolling down Leo’s cheeks. “What did you do to my dad?”

“Leo, take it ea—” Nic gets out.

And then the world fills with white.

It’s a flash so bright that it sears itself into Reggie’s mind, obliterating all thought. It’s followed a split-second later by a massive, cracking bang, and a shockwave that rumbles up through her body.

The lightning struck twenty feet from them, not far from Nic and Annie. The woman sprints towards Leo, dives for him, just as Nic does the same thing. But right then, a second bolt hits the ground. Reggie actually gets a look at this one: a jagged spear etched in a white so bright it’s almost yellow. It lands between her and Nic, and although it doesn’t hit him, he staggers sideways, losing his balance. Leo is screaming, his face raised to the sky, mouth open in a terrified little boy howl.

Annie sidesteps around Nic, lunging forward. And at that moment, the lightning strikes for a third time.

It hits right next to Annie.

No more than two feet from her.

And in the frozen moment of the strike, Reggie sees the electricity leap to her body. Crackling across it in jagged, spitting arcs, moving up her legs and chest and jaw.

Annie’s arms fly out. Her back arches, her head snapping up. It makes her look like a dancer, contorting herself in mid-air. The edges of her jacket are smouldering.

The bolt of lightning vanishes, and Annie crashes to the ground.

This time, it’s Reggie who screams.

FIFTYTeagan

There’s a great meme that did the rounds online a few years back. It’s called “The Last Great Act of Defiance”.

As memes go, it’s pretty simple. It’s a drawing of a mouse, standing on hind legs, watching as a voracious, razor-beaked owl dives down on it, talons outstretched. The mouse is sticking an exhausted middle finger up at the owl.

You can probably see where I’m going with this.

Problem is, as the flash flood grows on the horizon, filling the storm drain from end to end, I don’t have any strength left to raise a middle finger. I just stand there, shoulders sagging, watching the end creep closer.

My brain, however, is a goddamn hornet’s nest. I’ve got to everybody out. Now. Right fucking now.

But what if the flood gets here before I can? And it will, because that thing is moving at ten feet per second, and I have four or five minutes before it hits. If that.

OK. Just think. What if I… fuck, I don’t know, got everybody still here onto a big platform and levitated them out of here? It might work – but it might just as easily go horribly wrong. People might fall off. They might freak out – and I do not have time right now to explain who I am and what I can do. They might simply refuse to get on the platform, which means we’ll still be arguing when the wave hits us. That’s if I have the PK energy to lift that much weight.

And – oh, shit – that’s not even the biggest problem. There are still some people downriver, looking for an exit. The China Shop van is probably still in the storm drain, Africa hunting for an exit. Ditto for the Legends. When the flood hits the homeless camp, it’s going to sweep everything away. All that scaffolding, everything not nailed down. The wave will obliterate it all.

The distant radio-static hiss has gotten much louder, even in the thirty seconds or so since I spotted it. It’s deeper, more thunderous, and that little line of water on the horizon has grown. It’s bigger now, big enough that it isn’t just a little line of water. It doesn’t look that high – six feet, maybe eight – but it’s violent, a massive, boiling mess of dirty white foam.

It’s not just water. There’s debris, too. I can’t make the details out from here, but I have a good idea of what’s in there. Concrete and rubble. Wrecked cars. Trash. Bamboo stalks.

The LA River is taking revenge on us for hiding it. For lining it with concrete and pretending it didn’t exist. For building on it and pissing in it and trying to prove that we were better. It’s an absurd thought, pointless and stupid. But as I watch the torrent approach, as the sheer rage of it becomes clear, it’s a thought I can’t get rid of.

And it’s raining hard now.