Eye of the Sh*t Storm Jackson Ford (detective books to read txt) 📖

powerful that it feels like it’s going to burn my torso to ash. The headache is bad now, as bad as it’s been all day. It’s astounding that I’ve managed to keep going as long as I have.

And I can’t stop. There are still people here. A quick check with my PK shows at least two dozen wallets and cellphones and chains that just aren’t moving. Some abandoned, for sure… but how many are still attached to their owners?

Pop and the Legends still haven’t shown up. I don’t think they’re going to, either. My great plan came to nothing. I didn’t spend too much time on that call – perhaps no more than a minute. But when you only have around twenty or so to play with, a minute is a lot.

Unprompted, my PK latches onto something I can use to fly: a wooden pallet, leaning up against a scaffolding pole a few feet away. It has metal brackets, so I already know I can lift it, use it to levitate the safety. Still no sign of the flood. I make a mental note of where to find the pallet, telling myself that I’ll wait until the last possible second to use it. Then again: if I wait until the last possible second, if I’m still telling people to get the hell out of here, then it’s too late. They’re toast. Even if they head for the exit right then, they won’t be able to get there before the flood sweeps them away.

I have to survive this.

I can’t let Annie lock me out of her life. That shit is not gonna happen.

“Get it together, bitch,” I snarl at myself, pushing the thoughts away, and the headache with them. It works, a little, so I double down. “Cock womble. Asshole. Cookie Monster. Fuck.”

My motivational cursing session stops when the damnedest thing happens.

A van appears, a big white one, screaming down the storm drain towards the camp from the north.

My first thought is that the Legends have arrived, that they decided not to come on bikes. Except: I know that van. I should. I spend a lot of time in it during China Shop missions.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I murmur.

The van screeches to a halt a few feet from where the scaffolding starts, rocking on its suspension. The cabin is turned slightly away from me, the driver flailing his limbs inside, as if fighting with the seatbelt. A moment later, the door explodes open, and Africa levers himself out onto the concrete storm drain surface.

He’s still wearing that stupid, oversized FBI windbreaker over the dark suit and red shirt. The collar of the shirt has gone skew, sticking up like a flag caught in the wind. I have a sudden, half formed urge to hide, but I cannot convince my exhausted body to move.

Africa looks at me, looks away – and then his eyes snap back. He lifts a giant arm, levels a shaking finger at me.

“You!”

“Me,” I mutter.

He marches towards me, finger still pointed, like it’s a magic wand he can use to turn me into a frog. All the same, it’s a wary approach, his eyes flicking left and right. It takes me a second to realise that he is looking for Leo. Once electrocuted, twice shy, I guess.

“They’re gone, dude,” I say. “Reggie’s—”

“Where is he?” His eyes aren’t just darting, they’re practically rolling in their sockets.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Not here. Obviously.” I don’t have time for this.

He barks a laugh. “You lie. Of course he is here. You are here, so he must be.”

“Africa,” I say, with frankly a lot more patience than he deserves. “It’s just me. Reggie’s in trouble, and Annie and Nic—”

“I think you come here.” The arm sweeps to the side, gesturing at the camp. “I think, hmm, Idriss, if they are going south, what is the most direct route? And I see the river, and then I know. And of course, you would come here sooner or later. To the camp under the freeway.”

It’s then that he appears to notice just how chaotic the scene is, pick up on the dozens of people gathering their shit and getting the hell out.

His eyes swivel back to me, as if deciding that he has to stay on track. “Teggan, we must talk.” The outstretched arm falls to his side, sliding into the pocket of the windbreaker. I didn’t really pay attention to it before, but he’s exhausted, same as I am. Run ragged. A man at the end of a very long tether. “This boy is dangerous. He kill those people at the stadium. I know you want to help him, but please, you must listen to me.”

I’ve had enough of this. I take two strides towards him, and get right in his face.

“Here’s what’s happening,” I snarl. “Remember our little crash at the bridge? Well, turns out, if you put a lot of debris in a storm drain, there’ll be a flood. It’s gonna be here any minute, and if we can’t get these people out –” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder behind me “– they’re all going to die.”

“Teggan—”

“And Leo isn’t here. The kid. Neither is Nic, or Annie. You know where they are? They’re going to help Reggie, who has been kidnapped by… I don’t know who he is, but he has abilities too. There’s a lot of shit going on, and I do not have time to deal with you right now.”

He stares at me, horror falling on his face. “Reggie is in trouble?”

“Yes. But listen – there’s nothing we can do for her right now. If you want to help, then you need to get these people out.”

He’s shaking his head, as if he doesn’t believe me. And is that a distant hiss of rushing water I hear? I’m pretty sure it’s just my imagination, but…

“You wanna know what makes Moira Tanner’s dick hard?” I say. “The one thing that gets