Judd slides through the last of the vegetation, Corey right behind him, Spike bringing up the rear. They vault the cement retaining wall and land on the shoulder of the freeway. They’re about fifty metres down the road from where they entered the undergrowth.
Corey turns to Judd and whispers: ‘It worked!’
Judd looks at Corey, presses his index finger to his lips and speaks in a very low voice: ‘When you whisper it’s louder than when you speak normally. Keep it down.’
Corey nods apologetically, mouths: ‘Sorry.’ He knows the last thing they need is for the ponytailed guy to know they’re out of the brush.
Judd turns, searches for options, takes in the overpass above, then looks to the opposite side of the freeway and the emergency stairwell near the far pylon, the one the schoolkids used earlier. It seems a long, long way away, at least twenty seconds at full speed, but it’s the only place that offers them an escape or, at the very least, cover. Judd points to it. There’s no argument from the Australian. Those stairs are the only game in town. They go, sprint for it.
Judd takes in the freeway as they run. It looks worse than it did even a couple of minutes ago: packed with burning vehicles for as far as he can see, countless pillars of dark smoke swirling skywards. In the slanting afternoon light he notices the smoke has a purple tinge. What did that guy say? It lives in the smog.
Judd hears the brush thrash behind them.
Ponytail.
Christ.
Judd glances back at the undergrowth. He sounds close. It won’t be long before he’s out. They need to be at the stairs before that happens. Judd glances at the Aussie. ‘Must run faster —’
Boom. The loudest explosion yet spanks the air. It sounds like the end of the world. Judd and Corey flinch involuntarily but keep running, unsure what just happened. Judd scans the freeway, searches for the source of the sound.
‘Look up.’ Corey sounds both frightened and amazed.
Judd looks up — then wishes he hadn’t.
It’s not good news.
A kilometre away a large airliner — he can’t see if it’s an Airbus or a Boeing — lists sharply to one side and veers directly towards the freeway — and them — a burning stump where its left engine used to be. A blanket of burning debris, pieces of that lost engine, tumble to earth behind it.
They keep running but Judd’s not sure what good it will do. That large airliner is going to belly-flop onto the freeway right in front of them and destroy everything in its path for kilometres — and it’s going to happen in about fifteen seconds.
He glances back as the brush thrashes and Ponytail emerges, pistol in hand. He clocks Judd and in one smooth movement raises the weapon and aims at the astronaut. Judd’s eyes meet his — and then he does the only thing he can think of.
He points at the doomed airliner.
It is Judd Bell.
Kilroy squeezes the trigger, can’t quite believe he’s about to kill one of the Atlantis 4—
What’s he doing? He’s pointing at something. Kilroy’s first thought is that it’s a ruse, the oldest, simplest ruse in the book actually, pointing at something ‘over there’ that doesn’t exist, the guy hoping Kilroy will look at it so he can escape. Kilroy won’t fall for that — yet there’s something about the expression on the guy’s face that tells him it’s no trick, that Kilroy should, in fact, turn and look. He decides to do just that, as soon as he shoots him.
Kilroy’s finger tightens on the trigger—
It’s not the man that makes Kilroy turn and look, it’s the noise. He does it involuntarily because the sound is so loud and terrible. Kilroy’s surprised to find it comes from the turbofan of a large airliner, which drops towards the freeway he is standing beside. By Kilroy’s rough calculation its left wing will land on him within the next ten seconds.
‘Shit.’ He pivots and launches himself back into the brush, to put as much space between him and that wing as possible. So it was a ruse, and it worked perfectly. Props to Judd Bell. Not only is he a national hero, he was clever enough to save his own life by sparing Kilroy’s.
It’s a shame he must die.
Judd can’t believe pointing at the jet worked, though he’s not sure he can classify it as a success as it may have only extended their lives by a couple of seconds. Instead of being shot by Ponytail they’re about to be crushed by a very large airliner.
They sprint towards the stairwell but it doesn’t seem to be getting any closer. Christ, it feels like they’re running on the spot. Judd glances up at the jet and is shocked by how close it is. The only positive thing is that he can now see it’s a Fed Ex Boeing 777 cargo jet so there are no passengers on board, just an unlucky flight crew who are surely wondering why one of their engines just exploded and why the remaining engine sounds like it’s devouring itself from within.
Corey sprints hard, but knows they’re not going to make it to the stairs in time. They’re about to die and he has just one regret: that he won’t see Lola again, even as ‘friends’. In spite of everything that happened last night he hopes she’s okay.
Corey glances up one last time.
The jet fills his world.
18
The 777’s right engine detonates, ejects flaming chunks of metal in every direction, including straight up, into the wing. There’s a pregnant pause — then the av-gas inside the wing’s fuel tank explodes and the aircraft vaporises in a vivid starburst.
For a fleeting moment a second sun hangs in the sky above Los Angeles. Then it dissipates and Judd and Corey slow to a jog as they realise the jet no longer exists in any meaningful way.
A burning section of the tail is the only part that isn’t vaporised and it cartwheels into the brush where good old Ponytail took cover. A moment later the brush bursts into flames.
Judd wonders if he survived, hopes he didn’t, but doesn’t want to take a chance if he did. ‘Come on, gotta keep moving.’ Corey nods and they resume running. They reach the stairs then climb to the overpass.
First order of business for Judd is to call Rhonda. He’s sure she’s airborne, but just maybe she isn’t, so it’s worth trying to warn her about what’s happening here. He pulls out his iPhone, dials — and it goes straight to voicemail. He leaves a message for her to call him urgently, then turns to Corey: ‘The guy said 1138 South Carmelina, right?’
Corey glances at him. ‘What? Which guy?’
‘The dead guy.’
A blank expression from the Australian.
‘From the ambulance?’
‘Oh. Yeah. 1138.’ Corey takes a moment, then regards Judd suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘It’s just — I know South Carmelina. It’s right off Santa Monica Boulevard. I was thinking we should go there.’
‘Why in all the world would we do that?’
‘To find the counteragent.’
‘What counteragent?’
‘The one the guy was talking about.’
‘Which guy?’
‘The dead guy! From the ambulance.’
‘Oh, right. The “counteragent” to “stop the explosions”. That’s “hidden in his freezer”.’ Corey makes air quotes as he speaks. ‘You actually believe all that?’
‘Well, not when you say it with air quotes.’
‘So tell me, is it behind the cookie dough ice-cream or the rum and raisin?’
‘He was right about the ponytailed guy.’
‘That guy could have been anyone. His girlfriend’s ex, an angry bookie, a bloody debt collector.’
‘Then why did he try and kill us?’
‘I don’t know! Because he’s a dickhead? Because we know he topped that guy? Because Americans are always shooting people they’ve never met?’