Combustion Page 8

Wham. Bowen catches Corey’s hand. ‘I got you!’

  Terrified, Corey dangles over the gaping chasm, sixty metres above the ground. ‘But who’s got you?’

  The shattered floor beneath Bowen collapses and drops -

  Slam. Judd catches his hand. ‘I do.’

  Corey and Bowen dangle over the abyss and their weight wrenches on Judd’s shoulder. It feels like it’s about to pop its socket. ‘Jesus Christ, you guys are heavy—’

  The floor beneath Judd tips and he slides towards the chasm too.

  ‘Oh, damn …’

  *

  14

  Crunch.

  ‘Ahhh!’ Something clamps around Judd’s right shoe, stops him from sliding over the edge. He looks back.

  Spike.

  ‘Good dog!’

  The canine bites down on Judd’s foot. Surprisingly it doesn’t hurt that much because the shoe leather is thick. Spike pulls back with everything he’s got but still the weight of the two men drag him and Judd towards the edge.

  Shoulder screaming, Judd’s eyes find a metal rod, part of the cement floor’s reinforcement, which dangles a metre from the Australian. ‘Can you grab that?’

  Corey reaches for it, can’t quite get to it.

  ‘You can do it!’ Bowen’s voice is a terrified croak.

  Corey strains for the rod again, touches it - grabs it. ‘Yes!’

  It comes free in his hand.

  ‘No!’ They say it in unison, their disappointment profound.

  Judd slides towards the edge, can hear Spike’s paws rip at the carpet as he scrambles for traction.

  Corey looks up at the shattered concrete above him. ‘Got an idea.’

  Judd reaches the edge. ‘If you’re going to do something, do it fast!’

  Corey reaches up with the metre-long rod and jams it between two bent pieces of pipe visible within the broken concrete. ‘Here goes.’

  He lets go of Bowen, grabs the rod with both hands - and swings free. The pipes bend, but hold his weight. ‘Yes!’

  Instantly the pressure on Judd’s shoulder is halved and he drags Bowen up. The agent snatches at the shattered floor with his free hand, grabs a handful of carpet and pulls himself to safety.

  Judd’s eyes flick back to Corey. He holds the rod tight, but the pipes crack and buckle under the weight. He falls -

  Judd’s right hand shoots out, seizes the metal rod. But now Corey’s weight drags him over the edge again. ‘Oh, man —’

  Bowen grasps Judd’s belt, heaves him backwards, yanks Corey upwards too. The Australian grabs at the floor, clambers up and they collapse to the ground, pull in big air.

  Judd turns to Bowen. ‘Thanks.’

  Bowen nods as he catches his breath. ‘Just part … of the comprehensive service … we offer at Bowen & Associates.’

  They can’t help but smile. Corey shoots Judd a thumbs up. ‘Mate, owe you one.’

  ‘I had some help.’ Judd reaches back, pats Spike on the head. ‘Good dog. If I had a biscuit it’d be all yours.’

  The building shudders again. Judd looks to the others. ‘We gotta move.’ They don’t need to be told twice. They find their feet and rush for the fire stairs. Judd gets there first, drags the fire door open.

  They file inside and move down the stairs three at a time. Other office workers are in there too, but no one speaks. They all have just one focus: get out now.

  Creak. The sound echoes around them. The building sways to the right. The lights above flicker. Still no one speaks. They just increase their pace.

  It feels like an eternity before they reach the ground floor. Corey shoulders open the fire door and they burst outside - then stop dead.

  The city looks like a war zone.

  *

  15

  Heavy smoke drifts between the buildings, the smell of gasoline thick in the air. Explosions echo, some distant, others close. On the road before them every car, truck and motorbike is either on fire or a smoking wreck. There are bodies everywhere.

  Judd moves to an elderly woman who lies on the sidewalk. As soon as he kneels beside her he sees the left side of her face is missing. ‘Oh, Christ.’ On the ground beside her is a burning piston from a car’s engine.

  Judd glances back at the CNN building. It reminds him of the one that was bombed in Oklahoma in the 1990s. One third of it has collapsed and the rest leans at a profound angle. They were lucky to get out alive.

  His attention moves to a car that turns onto the road. Since he exited the building it’s the only vehicle he’s seen that’s not on fire. It’s an LAPD cruiser which drives fast and swerves between the burning wrecks. There’s a young cop behind the wheel. He looks terrified.

  Judd points to the rear of the cruiser. Its exhaust is a light purple colour. ‘What’s that?’

  Corey sees it too, shakes his head. ‘Don’t know, but it doesn’t look right.’

  Judd waves at the young cop to pull over but he accelerates past, the cruiser’s V8 engine thundering. The exhaust turns a darker purple.

  Bowen sees it too. ‘What’s going on there?’

  As he says it the engine note changes from a deep throb to that of a cement mixer filled with gravel. It’s a terrible sound, like the engine is eating itself -

  Boom! The cruiser detonates.

  The explosion is so bright it’s like a star going supernova. The blast wave picks up Judd and slams him against the side of the CNN building, the sting of shrapnel hot on his face. His ears ring like a five-alarm fire as he opens his eyes and sees nothing but swirling smoke and dust. He blinks, tries to find his bearings, staggers to his feet. ‘Corey?’

  There’s no answer.

  The dog barks but he sounds a mile away.

  ‘Mate? You there?’ It’s Corey, his voice groggy.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘She’ll be right. Where’s Matt?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Matty!’

  There’s no response. The dog barks again, closer this time. Judd follows the sound through the wall of smoke and dust - then sees Bowen lying on the sidewalk, Corey kneeling beside him. The agent has a shard of metal embedded in his throat and blood pours from the wound. Corey tries his best to staunch it with his hands.

  It doesn’t work. Bowen stares up with wide, stunned eyes, his breathing fast and rough. He opens his mouth to speak but no sound emerges. ‘We’re going to get you some help, mate. Just gotta stop this bleeding.’

  Judd pulls off his jacket, a heavy cotton Carhartt, and presses a sleeve against the wound. Corey pulls Bowen’s iPhone from his breast pocket and dials 000.

  Judd watches. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Calling emergency.’

  ‘000 is in Australia! 911 in America!’

  ‘Oh, bugger! That’s right.’ Corey hangs up, dials 911.

  It’s busy. He tries again as he looks back at Bowen. ‘It’ll be okay, mate.’

  The jacket’s cotton sleeve is already soaked with blood. Judd replaces it with the other sleeve. ‘You just have to hold on.’

  Bowen smiles weakly - then stops breathing.

  ‘Matt!’ Corey checks his pulse. There isn’t one. ‘Come on, mate. Come on.’ Corey pumps his chest, checks again. Nothing. He pumps his chest again, keeps at it.

  Judd puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Corey.’

  The Australian stops and his chin drops to his chest, stricken. A moment passes. ‘I didn’t know him very long but he was always really nice to me —’

  Craaack. The sound shakes the street. Corey looks around, confused. It wasn’t an explosion. It sounded different, sharper somehow. ‘What was that?’

  Judd’s eyes flick to the CNN building that looms above. It teeters, then lurches towards them. ‘We’ve gotta move!’ He scrambles up, drags Corey to his feet.

  The Aussie points at Bowen’s body. ‘We can’t just leave him —’

  ‘Now!’

  Corey looks up at the building and suddenly understands the gravity of the
situation. ‘Oh Christ! Spike! We’re going!’

  They turn and run.

  The building falls.

  *

  16

  The sound is a thundering, biblical roar, like the world is coming to a conclusion.

  Judd runs as fast as he can, the only escape route straight ahead as there are buildings to the left and right. Corey is three metres ahead, Spike in front of him and pulling away.

  The roar behind Judd grows louder. He glances back as the building’s wall of black windows smash into the street like a tidal wave breaking on a beach. The torrent of concrete and steel and glass rolls over Bowen’s body and surges onward. If they’d tried to move him they would not have survived.

  The rubble keeps coming, seems to gather speed. Judd turns forward, tries to lift his pace. He doesn’t think he can outrun it, doesn’t think Usain Bolt could outrun it.

  He can’t see Corey or Spike. Where the hell are they? The roar is deafening now. He looks back again, wishes he hadn’t. The rubble is right at his heels. He can’t outrun it -

  A hand yanks him left, into the recessed entrance of a car park as the river of debris thunders past like a runaway train, the noise echoing off the buildings. It goes on and on - then stops abruptly.

  Judd turns, sees Corey, then Spike between them. The astronaut exhales, relieved beyond all measure. ‘Thanks, man.’

  Corey grins his crooked grin. ‘We’re even.’

  *

  A solid cloud of grey dust hangs over the road as Judd and Corey emerge from the car park entrance. Judd holds his hand over his mouth and nose, remembers how dust from the Twin Towers made so many sick after 9/11. Corey follows suit.

  They turn back to where the CNN building once stood and see a thick column of the same grey dust rise in its place. Judd looks up at the sky. The usual smog that hovers above the city is darker now, fed by columns of black smoke. It dulls the sun, casts an eerie orange pall across the city.

  People emerge from surrounding buildings, scared, stunned and confused. Something strikes Judd as odd. Usually, if this happened in the middle of a major city, ambulances and fire trucks and police cruisers would quickly converge on the scene with engines roaring and sirens blaring. But there are no emergency vehicles to be seen and no sirens to be heard. The only sounds are the regular thud of explosions, some distant, some close, which are, he is sure, vehicles detonating. Something terrible is happening in this city, something that makes the collapse of a large office building almost inconsequential.

  Corey turns to him. ‘Why is this happening?’

  Judd thinks it through. ‘It’s the engines, isn’t it? Before that police cruiser exploded it sounded - strange, and its exhaust was purple, right?’

  ‘Yeah. As it accelerated it got darker, turned black right before it blew up.’

  ‘That must have something to do with it —’

  A flash of yellow to the right. Judd turns, notices a school bus fifty metres away. He looks closer. There are children on board. Lots of them. It turns down Sunset Boulevard. Judd shifts position, focuses on its exhaust.

  It’s a light purple colour.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What? What’s “No”?’

  ‘We’ve got to stop that bus.’

  ‘Bus? What bus?’ Confused, Corey turns, follows Judd’s eye line, catches sight of the school bus - and sees its purple exhaust. ‘Oh, that bus.’

  Judd takes off after it and Corey follows, Spike just behind. They circumnavigate the debris field and sprint towards Vine Street.

  It is horrifying.

  The street is littered with the twisted, flaming hulks of vehicles which loom through the smoke haze. Worse, there are burned bodies everywhere, many still alight. The bus swerves past a series of blazing wrecks, then slows as it reaches a bottleneck where two abandoned cars almost block the road. The bus noses into the gap between them.

  Judd runs towards it. Blistering heat radiates off the burning cars, forces him to duck his head and shield his face. He keeps moving, focuses on the bus’s exhaust, which he can’t quite see through the haze. Corey and Spike are right behind him.

  The dog barks.

  Corey looks at him. ‘I don’t care if you’re tired, there’s no time to have a rest!’

  Judd glances back. ‘Is that exhaust black?’

  Corey peers at the bus. ‘Can’t really see it properly.’

  ‘No, not the bus, that!’

  Thirty metres away Corey sees an old Mercedes pull out of a parking station. Its exhaust is dark purple, very dark purple. ‘Almost.’

  Judd veers towards the car, shouts at the top of his lungs: ‘Turn it off! Turn off the car!’ The young blond guy behind the wheel takes in the destruction on the street, stunned, then sees a shouting man run towards him, clunks the car into reverse and backs up.

  ‘No, no! Don’t do that!’

  The Merc’s engine note shifts to a sound that resembles gravel in a cement mixer and its exhaust turns black.

  ‘Turn! It! Off!’

  Boom. The explosion is even bigger than the police cruiser. The parking station protects the street from the full brunt of the blast but the gush of hot air slaps Judd and Corey to the ground.

  A moment passes. Dazed, they pull themselves up. Judd looks at Corey unhappily. ‘He didn’t turn it off.’

  The Australian turns, sees his dog lying on the road. ‘Spike!’ He scrambles over to the animal, kneels beside him, heart in throat. The dog’s eyes are closed. ‘Mate, you okay?’

  There’s no response.

  ‘Oh God.’ Terrified, Corey puts a hand on Spike’s chest, feels for a heartbeat, looks for an injury. The heartbeat is there - and there’s no sign of an injury. Corey leans closer, confused. ‘You all right?’

  The dog’s eyes blink open and he lets out a sharp bark.

  ‘You’re having a rest?’

  Another bark.

  ‘I don’t care if you told me you were tired. Get up!’

  Judd focuses on the bus as it scrapes between the two burning cars. ‘We have to go.’ He takes off after it. He’s a little unsteady at first but quickly finds his balance. Corey and Spike follow.

  They close in on the vehicle. Judd can see its exhaust is darker. Three kids, two girls and a boy, no older than ten, look out the back window. Too scared to cry, they stare out in horror at the destruction on the street - and the two strange men with a dog who follows them.

  The bus turns sharply onto another street and heads east. This road is not as congested as the last, only a few burning vehicles which don’t block the way. The bus picks up speed.

  So do Judd and Corey. Judd’s chest is tight from inhaling smoke but he ignores it, keeps moving.

  The bus rides up onto the sidewalk, knocks over two garbage bins and takes a sharp turn to the left.

  The boys follow it, cross a parking lot, reach another street. It’s untouched by explosions, save the burning motorcycle flopped over in a driveway next to the remains of an unlucky dude in a helmet.

  They glimpse a flash of yellow in the distance, run on, duck down an alleyway, overgrown with brush, pass a row of single-storey houses, then emerge onto a narrow street.

  Directly below is the Hollywood Freeway. Its eight lanes are peppered with burning vehicles but it’s not impassable. Cars, trucks and motorcycles zip past, swerve around anything that’s stationary.

  ‘They’re all purple.’

  Judd looks closer. Corey’s right. Every vehicle’s exhaust is a shade of purple. He turns, takes in an overpass that crosses the eight lanes, scans the freeway. He can’t see the bus -

  Corey points. ‘There!’

  It heads down an on-ramp towards the freeway, takes to the grass verge to avoid a burning van, then drives directly towards them. Judd can see its exhaust is dark purple.

  ‘Come on!’ He moves fast, reaches an embankment, looks over the railing at the freeway below. There’s a steep, fifty-foot slope of dirt and gravel that runs down to the s
houlder of the roadway. Corey arrives beside him. ‘So what are we going to do - oh Jesuschweppes!’

  Judd vaults the guardrail, plummets to the embankment five metres below and roll-thumps to the bottom. He finds his feet beside the freeway and swings around to stop the approaching bus.

  Honk! A Mack truck fills his world and careers straight towards him as pitch-black exhaust blasts from its stack. It’s barely thirty metres away when the sound of its thundering engine mutates into that horrible noise Judd now knows too well -

  Boom, The truck’s cab vaporises in a vivid fireball and its tanker jack-knifes, flips over - and rolls directly towards him.

  ‘Oh faark!’ He turns and sprints, the giant flaming rolling pin right behind him and closing fast. To the right a burning vehicle blocks his path so he veers left, towards the metre-high cement divider that separates the left and right lanes of traffic. He vaults it and lands in the middle of the next lane -

  Honk. A Corvette roars towards him from the opposite direction. Judd pivots left and it brushes past with an inch to spare - then ploughs into the rolling tanker as it crashes over the cement divider -

  Boom. The explosion is huge. The shockwave throws Judd to the bitumen. His eyes flutter open and he staggers to his feet, shields his face from the wall of fire that dissects the road, and searches for the school bus.

  It punches through the flames just thirty metres away. Judd sprints towards it. Its engine sound changes and his eyes flick to the exhaust. It’s pitch black. He yells at the top of his lungs: ‘Stop the bus!’

  Ka-boom. It explodes and the fireball is enormous. The blast catapults Judd back over the cement divider and into a pylon. He crumples to the ground, his ears ringing, his face numb.

  He failed, and all he can think about are those three children, staring out the back window, too scared to cry.

  A distant voice floats to him:’ —andy—’

  Andy? Who’s Andy?

  ‘Mandy!’

  Oh! Mandy. That’s right, it’s my nickname.

  Judd’s eyes blink open as Corey kneels in front of him. ‘You okay?’

  Judd takes a deep breath, nods dully.

  ‘Mate, when you hit that pylon I thought it was curtains. It looked really painful.’