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

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say. “You have people sleeping in the sewers?”

“Look around you, man. Not a lot of space left here.” He waves a hand at the scaffolded mess of the interchange.

“The sewer tunnels are pretty wide here,” Grant says. “And there’re plenty of catwalks and storage areas you can find a spot on.”

“What about the smell?” Nic asks.

It’s Lucille who replies. “You get used to it. I was in there, for a while.”

“It’s good we can get in there,” says Alvin thoughtfully. “Lotta people here who can’t climb up on the scaffolding. Or don’t want to.”

“Hey.” Annie taps Lucille on the shoulder. “There a bathroom round here?”

“Nah. We just sort of find a free bit of ground and squat.”

Annie stares at her.

Lucille guffaws again. “I’m messing with you. We got the sewers, honey! It doesn’t smell great, but there are some spots in the tunnels with privacy. Even got toilet paper, and some bottled water to wash your hands. Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Can I come?” Leo says, getting unsteadily to his feet. “I wanna see.”

“No.” Annie gets to her feet, not looking at him.

There’s something about the way she says it, a vicious edge to her tone. Fucking amazing. After everything we’ve been through, she still thinks Leo is the Antichrist.

But this time, she surprises me. She makes herself look at the kid, take a deep breath.

“It’s more of a, uh… a ladies thing,” she tells him.

“But I wanna see the sewers!”

“Ah, it’ll be fine,” Lucille tells Annie. “I’ll watch him while you do your business. Give him the grand tour.”

Annie tilts her head, looking at Leo. It’s far too serious a look for something as everyday as a trip to the bathroom – even if that trip happens to take you into the sewers themselves.

“You know what?” she says. “Sure, what the hell. Come on.”

“Yes!”

I should probably use the bathroom too. But then I discover that I have no desire to stand up, or possibly move from this position ever again.

I watch them go, my mind returning to the build-up of water behind the collapsed bridge. Some of it was draining through, I’m sure it was – that would relieve the pressure. Maybe there won’t be a flash flood – or if there’s going to be, the people in charge of LA’s roads will actually have enough warning to get off their asses and do something before it happens. Even if they don’t, it’s hard to believe these folks wouldn’t get some warning. God knows what the flood will do to the camp itself, but at least they’ll be able to get out in time…

It takes me a few seconds to realise that I’m alone with Nic.

FORTYTeagan

He glances at me, then looks away, taking a swig from a bottle of water someone must have given him, staring into the distance. The conversation has drifted away from us, Alvin and Grant moving over to hover by the fire with Juan.

I clear my throat. “I’m glad we got to eat.”

He nods. “Mm.”

“That was probably the best steak of my life. Better than the one we had in Pasadena – you remember that one time?”

“I do, yeah.” He puts the water bottle down carefully, still not looking at me.

I close my eyes, irritated with myself. We’ve got a long way to go before we get Leo to safety, there’s already plenty of bad blood between Nic and me and trying to fake being friendly isn’t going to help. I should shut up, get some water of my own, rest and recharge.

That’s what I want to do. What happens instead is me leaning forward and saying, “Look, about earlier… I really didn’t mean it in a racial way. I’m super-sorry. I was just…”

“Just what?” He picks up the water bottle, toys with it.

Well, no point stopping now. “I was angry. I wasn’t thinking straight. And if you’d told me that you felt this way…”

“Told you?” Now he looks at me, anger flashing in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have to tell you not to treat people like that. Talk to them about fuckin’ laws.”

“… I’m sorry.”

“I’m not a spokesman for black people, Teagan. It’s not my job to explain race to you, or anybody. That shit gets exhausting real quick.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

Even I am smart enough not to answer that question. Problem is, I have no idea what to say next. It feels like every response is a hand grenade.

“Look, man,” Nic says, after a long moment. There’s no more anger in his voice – just weariness. “I know you’re not racist. I get that. I’ve seen how you treat other people. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t capable of racism, you know what I mean? Unconsciously. The background you come from, the privileges, there are certain things you just take for granted.

“I never had that. When I was growing up… I didn’t grow up in the hood or anything, but shit, even now, the law doesn’t treat me fairly. Me, and everybody like me.”

“I totally get that. I’ll be better. I promise.”

It sounds lame, even as I say it. And on the heels of it comes a flash of anger. Not at what Nic said, which is right on the money. It’s about what he did at Dodger, the way he intervened with Africa – how he got those National guardsmen killed when Leo went nuts. However dumb I was afterwards, how can he not understand that he screwed up?

Of course, I don’t have a clue how to voice this without coming off as a colossal asshole.

Fortunately, I don’t have to, because right then Nic says, “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Uh… OK?”

“I didn’t mean for all that shit to go bad. At Dodger. Africa was… I just thought that under the circumstances, I was doing the right…”

He trails off, drops his head, as if searching for the words.

“I didn’t mean for anybody to get hurt.”

The words come very slowly, carefully, as if one