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

Blood. That last one is blood. My nose… it’s gushing, and I don’t know if it’s from the meth I snorted, or the raw energy flowing through me.

As the flood inches closer, as more water slips through the cracks, I start to scream.

Not in pain, or terror. It’s a scream of rage: a furious, determined howl that comes from the very deepest part of me.

It builds and builds and builds, and with it comes another surge of PK, an explosion of it, the most energy I’ve sent out at once, ever. It hits the wall of water like an invisible fist, punching a hole in the flood, pushing it back.

But every action has an equal and opposite reaction. And this time, the opposite reaction is like nothing I’ve ever seen.

The concrete around me cracks, the fissures spiderwebbing out in a dozen directions. The cracks form a loose circle around me, leaving me standing on a small, whole section. And that section…

With a crunching, grinding sound, that section tears loose of the concrete around it. Lifting itself, and me, into the air.

I don’t even know how it’s happening. I could swear I’m not controlling it with my PK – it’s just flying, all by itself, like it’s defying gravity as a side effect. I waver, struggling to keep my balance, as I rise before the flood.

Dark lights flicker at the edge of my vision. I’m going to black out. I’m still screaming, and as my throat contracts in agony, the concrete slab I’m on tilts towards the flood, like I’m on a seesaw, the front dropping while the rear rises upwards. I have to bend my knees to stay upright. The surge of PK energy starts to fade.

Get out of here. Get above the water!

But I can’t. At any second, I’m going to lose my hold completely, and then I won’t even have solid ground to stand on.

Holy fuck: my blood. Droplets of it float into view, hovering in the air in front of me.

I go to one knee on the concrete, driven there by the raw power. In desperation, I throw a hand out, like I can direct my energy, channel it. But it’s never worked in the past, and it sure as hell doesn’t work now. There’s a cascade of water bucketing down from above, more and more of it flooding the camp, and I am going to lose. I am going to be swept away.

I claw at my pocket for the meth, but it won’t work. By the time the extra dose kicks in, it’ll all be over. No matter what happens, I’m not going to have enough energy to make it out of here. I’m trapped.

The concrete beneath me starts to drop. Somehow, I am still screaming, but it’s no longer a human voice. It’s something raw and jagged, an animal sound, and I’ve got almost nothing left. There’s no extra surge of PK coming this time. I am about to drain the tank for good.

The flood rears over me like a striking tiger, held in place by the very last dregs of my PK. I close my eyes, and rise up off my knee, onto my feet.

In the last instant available to me, I’m expecting to see my friends. Annie. Nic. Africa. Reggie. They are what I want to hold onto. Instead, it’s my sister I see: riding ahead of me, through the woods, looking over her shoulder and laughing.

And I find, at the very end, that I want to hold onto that, too.

FIFTY-THREEReggie

As the lightning rains down, as the world fills with noise and thunder and searing light and drenching rain, Reggie does the only thing she can think of.

She reaches out, stretching as far as her body will allow. She forces herself to keep her eyes open as she wraps an arm around Leo, and pulls him in close.

He almost gets away from her. He’s squirming in shock and terror, little legs lashing out. But somehow, Reggie keeps hold of him. She grips him as tight as she can, his back against her side, the lower half of her face nestled in his hair.

“It’s all right,” she whispers. Leo’s screams drown out her words. She has lost track of Annie and Nic, can’t see her captor. All she can do is hold the boy close, whisper calming words to him.

“Easy, baby.” She can’t rock him back and forth, it’s beyond her – her torso and hips just don’t have the ability. His eyes have rolled back, the whites showing under fluttering lids. Reggie doesn’t even know if he can hear her, but she keeps talking anyway. “I know you’re scared, but you have to stop, please, baby, just ease up. It’s all right. Everything’s going to be all—”

A bolt of lightning strikes so close to her that Reggie is certain she’s been hit. It leaves a burning trail in her vision, and it’s followed by a dozen other strikes, the boy’s rage climbing.

Everything in her wants to push the boy away, make herself smaller, protect herself from the onslaught. The terror of being struck is as raw as an exposed nerve ending.

“And it’s nowhere as bad as her fear that her captor might be hit. Her, and her bomb trigger. The backpack under Reggie’s body feels like it’s made of a super-dense material, a metal from a distant star with a giant gravitational pull, sucking everything towards it.

And still, Reggie keeps talking, because there is absolutely nothing else she can do. “Shhh, baby. Shhh. I know you’re scared, but you have to listen to me. We’re going to finish this together, we’re not done yet, we have to keep going…” Tears are pouring down her cheeks, but Reggie barely notices. “You and me. All you have to is breathe, and we’re not done yet. It’s OK.”

The boy’s screams have turned to sobs. His legs are still kicking out, but the kicks are different now – more like heavy muscle