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

I get jumpier the closer we get to the stadium. If I was the Zigzag Man, this is where I’d strike. I’m constantly checking in with my PK, checking if there’s anybody approaching. Alert for any freaky false positives my mind throws out, thanks to the meth.

Leo is still in view, about thirty feet ahead of us. “Do you think they’ll have cheeseburgers?”

“Let’s hope so,” Nic says.

“Maybe my dad’ll be there too. Come on!”

The last time I was at the stadium, it felt like everybody and their dog was trying to get inside. The crush of people outside the entrance tunnels was insane. They’ve left their mark. Windblown trash covers the surface of the parking lot, potato chip wrappers and coffee cups and plastic water bottles – so many plastic water bottles. There are more military vehicles here than last time, troop carriers and flatbed trucks and Humvees. A few National Guard soldiers standing around, looking bored. They glance at us as we approach, and I’m suddenly sure they’re going to order us to stop, that they know who we are and who Leo is.

But their expressions don’t change. We’re just another group of people looking for food. Fine by me. Right now, anonymity is what I want.

Nic asks one of the troops where we should go. He’s a youngish guy wearing wraparound sunglasses, despite the fact that it’s, you know, night. “Head through Tunnel K,” he says, waving in the general direction of the stadium.

We’re halfway across the parking lot before I think to check for Annie. She’s stopped dead a little way from the soldier we spoke to. Her hands are jammed deep in her pockets, head down, as if she’s thinking hard.

I’m prepared for her to be behind us, but I’m not prepared for her to be this far behind. I jog back to her, telling Nic and Leo I’ll catch up.

“Annie?”

She gives a quick shake of her head, still not looking at me.

I take a deep breath. “Look, I get it. Paul was—”

“Can’t do it.”

I thought there’d be a shouting match. Honestly? I could have handled that. It’s nothing I haven’t gotten from her before. What I didn’t expect was the hopelessness in her voice. Like she’s had the wind knocked out of her.

“We’re not gonna be here long. We’re just gonna get food and go. We won’t even go near where Paul…”

Another shake of the head. She’s actually trembling, like the temperature’s dropped.

“I don’t want to,” she says.

I’m about to argue with her, tell her to pull it together. But something about the way she says it – carefully enunciating each syllable, as if each word is a fragile egg that might crack from the slightest pressure – stops me.

Annie shakes her head again. “I thought I could do it, but I can’t.”

“OK,” I hear myself say, even though I don’t exactly know what I’m agreeing to. Is she going to stay here? Or—?

“I’ll meet you back down at the river,” she says. “At the bridge from before. The one you went crazy on.”

“Wait, what? The Main Street Bridge? It’s here?”

“Nearby, yeah.” She clears her throat. She still hasn’t looked at me, is still carefully stepping over each word. “Little way south. You can’t miss it.”

“Sure. Just look for the bridge that’s completely destroyed.”

Annie doesn’t even respond to the joke – which, now that I’ve heard myself say it, is sort of a relief. She leaves without another word, heading back the way we came.

I rejoin Nic and Leo, tell them where Annie plans to meet us. “Is that a good idea?” Nic asks.

“It’s a terrible idea, but you go make her come with us.”

“Dude.” He spreads his hands, gives me a pointed look.

“Fine, sorry, it’s been a long day. I’ll try to rein myself in.”

“Amazing,” he says. “You use sarcasm even while you’re promising me you won’t use sarcasm. It’s not helpful, man.”

“Whatever. Can we get some food? Please?”

God, this is why I don’t hang out with him any more. Having your deficiencies and fuck-ups pointed out to you again and again gets mighty tiresome after a while.

We make our way across the parking lot in silence. I was expecting more vehicles and people closer to the stadium, but there are actually fewer – as if nobody wants to get too close. It’s only when we finally spot Tunnel K – an easy job, thanks to the giant white K printed on the wall above it – that we actually see a larger group of people. Maybe ten or twenty of them, huddled in a loose line, waiting for the soldiers to wave them in. My stomach growls again, and I have to force myself not to start thinking of my favourite foods. I’m pretty sure the only thing they’ve got inside are cheese sandwiches and bottled water, but fuck it, I’ll take it.

“Are you guys in love?” Leo says.

I nearly trip over my feet. “I’m sorry, what?”

“No,” Nic says, not looking me. “We aren’t in love.”

“Are you sure? Cos—”

“Hold up,” Nic says, pointing. “Isn’t that…?”

He’s talking to me, not Leo. And as I follow his finger, my stomach drops three inches.

We’re maybe fifty feet from the line, in an open stretch of parking lot. The person Nic is pointing at is marching out of the shadows of the stadium wall, heading right towards us. Seven feet tall, fists like ham hocks. FBI windbreaker open, snapping in the breeze.

Africa.

TWENTY-SIXTeagan

Under the circumstances – a government agent kidnapping a child with abilities and going on the run from her secret agent crew – you’d think a little discretion would be called for.

But this is Africa we’re talking about.

“You think you can run from me?” he bellows.

The walls of the stadium shake. Car alarms go off. All the birds in a ten-mile radius shoot skyward with a panicked squawk. And every single person in the line, every National Guard soldier, all of them turn to stare at us.

Africa doesn’t notice.