Combustion Page 7

  As Bowen drives he brings Judd up to speed on The Atlantis 4 movie, or Atlantis 4 as it is now called, because apparently ‘it’s a much stronger title without the “The”.’ He then tells him how Fox is looking to commit to a sequel before the first movie is even released and want to talk money soon.

  Money. It’s never held much interest to Judd - if you want to be rich you sure as hell didn’t become an astronaut - but he is excited that a successful movie, or series of movies, might help the program win over the non-believers who think the NASA budget is an extravagance and the Mars mission frivolous. He’s happy to be involved in anything that will rekindle America’s love affair with the space program.

  Corey turns to Judd. ‘Mate, nearly forgot, the studio needs us to choose a song for the bit when my character swoops in and saves your arse at the end. We can have “Can’t Fight This Feeling” by REO Speedwagon or “Baby Come Back” by Player.’

  ‘Can we have something from this century?’

  ‘It’s meant to be nostalgic and ironic.’

  ‘I remember the “fight this feeling” one but how does the “baby goes back” one go again?’

  ‘Oh! I know!’ Corey puts up his hand, excited.

  ‘You don’t have to raise your hand, just sing it.’

  Corey puts his hand down and sings it: ‘Baby come back! Da da da da da da da and then something, something something something something - baby come back!’ He stops with a grimace. ‘That sounded horrible.’

  ‘I have even less idea now.’

  ‘Sorry. Anyway, download them and have a listen. We need to make a decision before Monday.’

  Judd nods and looks out the window as the dirty grey freeway whips past. He turns and takes in the skyline, notices sunlight reflects off the black glass windows of the distant CNN building, their destination this afternoon. Behind it, in the distance, his eye is drawn to a dark helicopter that cuts across the horizon. It’s one of the big ones they use for firefighting. What are they called again? That’s right - it’s an Air-Crane.

  *

  11

  Kilroy guns the Prius.

  The bridge of his nose stings like a bastard, the right side of his chest throbs from where the bullet hit the vest, but neither hurt as much as his pride. Alvy Blash, the geekiest of scientists, a tubby, pigeon-toed hairball, brought him down with a metal tray, stole his gun, shot him with it and then escaped.

  It’s so humiliating he can’t bear to think about it. He should have taken more care, shouldn’t have assumed Alvy would be an easy target. He could tell Bunsen was über-pissed about it, even though he barely said a word on the phone. And why wouldn’t he be angry? This is exactly the kind of distraction they don’t need today, of all days. Kilroy glances at his Tag Heuer. The Tyrannosaur will be airborne by now. He’ll need to be quick to get this mess cleaned up before Phase Two begins.

  Kilroy can see Alvy’s faded blue Corolla ten cars ahead as it navigates light traffic on Cosmo Street in Hollywood. He has no idea where it’s heading, just knows he must deal with it now.

  He can’t underestimate that chubby scientist again.

  *

  Alvy needs to lose Kilroy.

  He scans the road before him. Where’s a cop when you need one? He hasn’t seen a police station or a police cruiser since he made his getaway.

  He glances in the rear-view mirror, takes in Kilroy’s Prius, a good ten cars behind. He needs to warn the authorities about the Swarm, then get himself to a hospital, but he can’t do either with the ponytailed son-of-a-bitch on his six. He’s managed to escape Kilroy once today but he doesn’t like his chances of a repeat performance. He’s sure if he stops the car he’ll be dead before he gets out - though he might not have to worry about Kilroy killing him if he doesn’t get some medical attention ASAP. His head feels even lighter than before as blood pools on his seat from the wound on his thigh. He keeps pressure on it as best he can but it doesn’t stop the bleeding.

  A police cruiser. Driving on the opposite side of the road. Two officers inside. That’s it. That’s what he needs. He makes a decision.

  Alvy yanks the Corolla’s steering wheel, sends the vehicle careering into the opposite lane and braces for impact.

  Crunch. It’s much heavier than he expected. The police cruiser ploughs into the front of the Toyota and destroys its grille and bonnet, sends a shudder through the chassis that cracks the windscreen and triggers the driver’s airbag. It whacks Alvy in the face and he feels even groggier than before.

  He couldn’t be happier.

  The two police officers slide out of the cruiser, dazed but with guns drawn. One shouts at him: ‘Get your hands where I can see them! Now!’

  Alvy is more than happy to comply, though the act of raising his hands makes him extremely lightheaded. One of the cops opens his door, drags him from the vehicle and pushes him to the bitumen.

  ‘Jesus!’ The cop sees the blood, calls to his partner: ‘We need an ambulance, now!’

  ‘On it.’ The partner calls it in as Alvy looks back and tries to locate Kilroy’s Prius. He can’t see it, but then he can’t see anything because the world goes dark.

  *

  Kilroy watches the arrest unfold as he drives past. In spite of everything, he can’t help but be impressed by Alvy’s resourcefulness. Drive into a cop car and they’ll have no choice but to call an ambulance when they see your injuries. Clever boy.

  Kilroy pulls over and studies the scene in his side-view mirror. It’s clear Alvy is unconscious; he won’t be telling anyone anything in the short term, but how long will that last?

  Kilroy’s first thought is to walk over there and start shooting, take out Alvy, the cops and anyone with the bad luck to be rubbernecking. Then a second police cruiser and an ambulance pull up beside the crash site. There goes that idea. With four cops in attendance he is outgunned. He glances at his watch. Phase Two will begin in a matter of minutes. He needs to take care of this pronto.

  *

  12

  The Tyrannosaur slices through the beige smog cloud that hangs above Los Angeles.

  In the chopper’s cockpit Bunsen listens to those screaming plants on his headset as he glances at the Air-Crane’s altimeter. They’re at three thousand feet. He unplugs the headset from his iPhone, plugs into the aircraft’s console then turns to Enrico beside him. ‘How long until we’re in position?’

  ‘Two minutes.’

  Two minutes until the world has the motivation it needs.

  It’s incomprehensible to Bunsen that of the almost seven billion people on the face of the earth, not one has yet created an efficient mechanism to harness the sun’s power and unshackle the globe from its unsustainable reliance on fossil fuels. There is, he feels, an overwhelming lack of motivation for mankind to make the necessary change to clean energy.

  Well, today Bunsen will create that motivation - and it will not be gentle. He knows a carrot won’t work. He needs a stick - a big stick - and with the Swarm he wields the biggest stick since the dawn of the atomic age. Like the first nuclear weapons created during the Manhattan Project, the Swarm’s power will profoundly alter the way people think about the world.

  Enrico turns to him. ‘We’re in position.’

  ‘You know the route?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then let’s do it.’ Bunsen reaches for the small, red switch attached to the side of the chopper’s control panel, touches it, can feel his heartbeat through the tip of his finger. He takes a breath, tries to settle the butterflies that swirl in his chest, doesn’t succeed. Three years of his life and the better part of twenty million dollars have led him to this moment. He can’t quite believe it all begins now.

  He flicks the switch.

  Directly behind him he hears a faint whir as a spigot opens and a fine mist of the Swarm is released from a two-metre-long crop-dusting spray rail fastened to the bottom of the water tank. Bunsen looks back and watches the vapour fill the sky, then fall towards the Sa
nta Monica Freeway, the ugly ribbon of cement and bitumen gridlocked with traffic below.

  *

  13

  Ding.

  The elevator door opens onto the top floor of the CNN building. Corey steps out, Spike beside him, Bowen directly behind and Judd bringing up the rear. They enter a wide foyer, empty except for a pair of sleek, black leather sofas.

  Bowen speaks into his iPhone: ‘Yes, it was very funny. Really. I drank milk while I was reading it so I could have it run out of my nose every time I laughed - hold on a sec.’ He turns to Judd and Corey and points down the hallway to the distant reception area. ‘Hang here. I’ll find out when you’re on.’ He moves off, resumes his conversation: ‘Really? He’s doing the next draft? The autocorrect on my iPhone writes better dialogue than him.’

  Judd and Corey turn to the large window that offers a panoramic view of Los Angeles. Judd takes it in. He lived here, briefly, as a boy. His father was in the army and the family moved all around the country. Judd doesn’t remember much about their stay in LA, it was only for eight months or so, but he does remember one thing: this city is the reason he became an astronaut.

  Most people think astronauts choose their career for the rush of being strapped to a vehicle travelling faster than a bullet. Not Judd. He became an astronaut because, as a thirteen-year-old, he had an epiphany. It happened on one of the rare Saturdays his father wasn’t working and they could spend the day together. It was a strange day, a day of two halves. In the morning they visited Disneyland for the first time, a pristine, magical place, the ‘happiest place on Earth’ as the motto trumpeted. Judd was the perfect age, not too old to be jaded, but big enough to go on all the rides, Space Mountain being his favourite.

  Near the end of their stay an older man in his sixties stepped off the Big Thunder Mountain roller-coaster and fell over, dizzy after the ride. A swarm of people ran to his aid, including Judd’s father. Medical attention was quickly forthcoming and the man was stretchered away, Judd’s father staying with him until he was loaded into the ambulance. The old guy was fine at the end and the episode just added another element of excitement to an already exhilarating day.

  That afternoon Judd accompanied his father to visit an old army buddy of his on San Pedro Street, in Central City East, a place, Judd realised years later, also known as Skid Row, the most economically depressed area of the city at the time. Simply, it was the polar opposite of Disneyland. If it had a motto, ‘the unhappiest place on Earth’ would have been spot on.

  As Judd and his father walked along the desolate street, searching for his father’s friend’s apartment, a man who had ‘fallen on hard times’, they approached a young guy lying unconscious on the footpath. Judd remembers two things. The first was that, unlike Disneyland, no one stopped to help, including his father. Instead they stepped over the young guy and walked on. The second thing Judd remembers is how tightly his father gripped his hand as they did it.

  As they walked away his father turned to him and said: ‘One day you’ll understand.’

  Even at thirteen Judd knew he didn’t want to. Why didn’t anyone, including his father, a good man, a good soldier, not stop to help the young guy? Years later, Judd realised the young guy was probably drunk or on drugs, but still, how did the world get to the place where it was okay to ignore it? Or accept it? Why was the world like that? Why didn’t it work the way it should?

  Judd was a clever boy and once he was aware of this schism he saw examples everywhere. Inequality between the haves and have-nots, between the sexes, between the races. He saw how the environment was being destroyed through stupidity and greed and how religious superstition created division and ran roughshod over scientific fact.

  So how did a young boy fix this world, make it work the way it should? He quickly realised he couldn’t, but as a man he could find another world, a red planet where the human race could start over with a new set of rules, where the environment was respected, where religion was a personal choice with no role in government or science, where equality and fairness, no matter who you were, was guaranteed because everyone would be Martian. It would be a place where no one would ever step over you.

  Something in the urban sprawl below catches Judd’s eye. ‘What’s that?’

  Corey turns to him. ‘Hmmm?’

  Judd points. ‘That. What’s that - down there?’

  Corey follows the direction of his ringer and takes it in. ‘Oh.’ He looks closer, surprised. ‘I don’t - I don’t know.’

  A giant orange fireball silently rolls skyward from the Santa Monica Freeway five kilometres away, the sound too distant to register. In quick succession three more explosions blast into the sky.

  ‘Christ.’ Judd can’t see what’s causing the explosions, but he remembers reading about a multi-car pile-up on Germany’s autobahn years ago. It killed ten people, caused dozens of fires and destroyed fifty cars. Was something similar happening here? Another two explosions punctuate the skyline, one with the flaming shell of vehicle within it. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  Matty Bowen’s voice echoes as he approaches along the hallway and talks into his phone: ‘No, it’s so bad my DVR refuses to record it. I’m not saying his style of writing is old-fashioned, but I just saw it out shopping for a single-level house because its kids have left home and it doesn’t want to climb the stairs any more. Yeah, we’ll talk later.’

  He hangs up and Corey turns to him. ‘Matty?’

  ‘Guys, you’re on in fifteen —’

  ‘Look.’

  Bowen turns and looks where the Australian points.

  Another giant orange fireball rips skyward from the freeway. The agent takes it in, unperturbed. ‘They must be shooting the new Transformers down there —’

  The dog barks.

  Judd and Corey turn to Spike as he raises a paw and points at the Hollywood Freeway on the other side of the city.

  It bursts into flames. At the point where the freeway crosses Vine Street, a series of explosions launch giant fireballs into the sky. Unlike the distant Santa Monica Freeway this one is less than half a kilometre away so they can see and hear everything clearly.

  ‘Migod.’ Even though Judd looks directly at it he can’t quite process what is happening. He blinks, to make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks, then refocuses. Cars and trucks and motorcycles explode - but not because they’re part of an accident. No, they just - blow up, like they’ve been filled with explosives then detonated. He glances at Corey. ‘What’s happening?’

  The Australian shakes his head as he stares at the flames, dumbfounded. ‘Never seen anything like it. Looks like a bloody terrorist attack. Could it be a film shoot?’

  Judd doesn’t know the answer. It doesn’t feel like a film shoot, but why would terrorists attack a freeway? Granted, if you were going to do it LA was the place, but if you wanted to do some serious scar-the-country’s-psyche damage in this city surely you’d take out the Santa Monica Pier or the Universal Studio Tour - or Disneyland.

  Spike barks.

  Corey turns to him. ‘I reckon the safest place is right here, mate—’

  Boom. The explosion on the street directly below them flashes white and the building shakes, the noise like thunder. The window-pane directly in front of them cracks from side to side.

  ‘Jeez-us.’ Judd recoils, then looks down at a roiling ball of flame which kisses the side of the building as it races past, turns the world orange for a split second.

  Bowen’s voice trembles. ‘What was that?’

  Judd studies the road directly below and takes in the twisted remains of a burning vehicle. He’s pretty sure it used to be some kind of van. His eyes move, find a shiny silver Caltex tanker truck that trundles to a stop just near the wreck.

  The first question that pops into his mind is whether or not the gleaming tanker is full of fuel. The second question is what kind of damage it would do if it exploded while full of fuel -

  Ka-boom! The tanker explodes and Jud
d has his answers. The first is ‘absolutely’ and the second is ‘much more than you could imagine’. The initial flash is brighter than the sun, burns a ghost image into his retinas.

  ‘Get down!’ His words are cut off as the brutal shockwave punches in every window. The three men duck for cover. Judd shields his head with his arms but feels the sting of glass on his face. Corey drops to his knees and covers Spike as he is showered with debris. Bowen ducks and crouches, hands over his face as what appears to be the truck’s engine block crashes through the roof, bounces once and slams into the wall between the twin elevators.

  A deep groan cuts across the soundscape. Corey glances at Judd. ‘What the hell was that?’

  The building twists beneath them - then lurches to the right.

  Bowen looks extremely unhappy. ‘Guess they’re not shooting Transformers after all.’

  Corey finds his feet. ‘We need to get out of here.’

  The building leans to the left and they fight to keep their balance, stumble towards the elevators - and realise the engine block has destroyed the button pad.

  ‘Fire stairs!’ Judd jabs a finger in the direction of the green EXIT sign twenty metres away. As one they turn for it -

  Shwump! Metal shears and cement shatters as the left side of the building falls away like a giant, terrible curtain, revealing a sheer drop and the sprawling city beyond. They all sprint for the fire stairs but now they’re running up an incline as the floor beneath them tips and slides towards the open side of the building.

  Spike leads, Judd behind him and Bowen behind him, and Corey at the rear. The floor beneath the Australian collapses.

  ‘Corey!’ Judd pivots to grab him but he’s too far away. He falls -