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

pain explodes across my face. I jerk back, yelping, blinking back acid tears. The rest of the meth in my palm scatters into the air, and I almost drop the whole bag.

I make a sound that is halfway between ugh and argh. Hell, my entire face feels halfway between ugh and argh. I shake my head, snorting, like a horse shooing away a fly. God fucking dammit. Wow, I am not doing that again.

I take a deep breath, hoping that maybe I’ve been sucked into that parallel universe where I’m a famous chef and not trying to stop a flash flood in a storm drain. No such luck. The water is closer now, a boiling mess of froth and debris.

I’m still terrified, still exhausted… but the burning in my sinuses acts a little like a slap in the face to a drunk, clearing things up for a minute. I stuff the rest of the drugs back in my jacket, hating myself for doing it, but knowing I might need them.

I send out my PK in a wide arc, looking for any phones pointed in my direction. I can’t find any, and the phones that I do find get a quick crunch on the internals. When the meth kicks in, I’ll have to do a wider sweep, just like I did when I fought off the Legends. I’m under the cover of the freeway, out of sight, so I shouldn’t have to worry about being spotted – although there are probably a few people still in the camp who are going to get one hell of a shock.

I have to be ready. I flex my fingers, focusing on my PK. I think it’s stronger, but if so, it’s not by much.

“Come on,” I whisper. “Hit me.”

It doesn’t. The flood keeps coming, and my PK stays very much as it always has been. The front edge of the flood is a rolling nightmare, and the concrete underneath my feet is starting to vibrate.

“Any minute now…”

Shit, what if I didn’t take enough? I’ll have to do another dose, and even then it might not kick in before the flood gets here.

I would give anything right now to reverse time. Fuck my conscience, fuck anybody stupid enough to still be in the storm drain with the flood coming down on them. If I could turn back the clock, I’d throw that fucking bag of meth as far as I could and get the hell out of here. I wouldn’t let this poison anywhere near me. But I did, and it’s inside me now, and I put it there. This is one little doodle that can’t be undid.

I need another hit. I paw at my jacket pocket, hating that I have to do this, knowing that there’s no choice. I’ll have to hope that there’s time for—

Oh.

Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiii

FIFTY-ONETeagan

I exhale.

It takes a thousand years.

My PK range doubles. Triples. Quadruples. Goes further than it’s ever been. I’m at the centre of a sphere of burning, clean, white light. A light that burns away fear, my doubt, everything. A light that leaves nothing behind but stillness.

The air tastes of damp wood, burning trash, the sour tang of urine. Bad smells all – but strangely, they don’t bother me. I note them, acknowledge them, let them be.

I can move anything with my PK. Anything. Organic, inorganic, it doesn’t matter. Right now, in this moment, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.

I take a few hundred years to appreciate the sensation. Letting it wash over me. There’s no pain any more. No hollow stomach. How could I have wanted to take this back? I can’t even remember what I was scared of. It’s miraculous.

Slowly, oh so slowly, I turn my eyes to the flood.

Three hundred feet away now. Maybe thirty seconds from impact. Carrying so much debris that the water itself is boiling up the sides of the channel, tendrils of raging white froth reaching out for me.

I smile. It’s lazy, easy-going, like I’m strolling through the park and have come across a piece of litter on the ground, one that I can pick up and dispose of without a second thought.

Park. Wasn’t Reggie in a park? Wasn’t that where Annie and Nic went? Wasn’t Reggie in some kind of trouble?

It doesn’t matter. When I’m done here, I can go save her.

I roll my shoulders, take another gentle breath. Stare at the giant torrent coming to sweep me away. It’s two hundred feet away, closing fast.

A sound reaches my ears from behind me. That’s what it feels like – a noise that swims through the air, languid and easy, alighting on my ears with the softest touch. Engines. More specifically: motorcycle engines.

I look over my shoulder, and smile.

The Legends are here.

There are four of them, winding their bikes through the maze of scaffolding. There’s Robert, on one of the biggest bikes I’ve ever seen, a monster Harley Davidson with handlebars you could do pull-ups on. He’s with two goons I don’t know… and Pop.

She’s not riding a bike. She’s riding a gigantic, four-wheeled ATV that looks like a runty monster truck, painted bright green. She is staring in absolute horror at the approaching flood, her mouth open.

A second later, she locks eyes with me.

I have a sudden urge to yell that I’m high on meth – and not just any meth. Her meth. Instead, I give her a little wave. I’m glad she’s here. I don’t need her, because I’m going to stop the flash flood all by myself, but she might come in handy later on. I don’t think she’s going to shoot me – not now, not when she actually sees what’s happening here. And if she does, so what? I’ll stop the bullet in mid-air.

I turn away, and Pop and the Legends fall from my thoughts.

Wait. What if there are people on the other side of the flood barriers? That’s where the water is going to go, after all. But a quick check with