Judd and Corey ride along Wilshire Boulevard. Fast. Spike lopes along just behind.
To the Australian there seem to be fewer people on this road than Santa Monica Boulevard, and fewer burning and abandoned vehicles too. Even so, he stays focused, keeps his hands firmly on the handlebars and his eyes locked on the road. In spite of everything that’s happened today, he’s happy to have picked up the riding thing so quickly.
He glances over at Judd and realises he shouldn’t get too cocky. Judd’s hands aren’t on the handlebars and his eyes aren’t on the road. Instead, he swipes his way through Ponytail’s iPhone, occasionally glancing up to check if anything is ahead. When he does need to alter direction he casually leans to one side or the other.
‘Can you read this?’ Judd lifts his head from the screen, veers across the bitumen towards Corey and holds out the phone.
The Australian takes it. He makes sure the road ahead is clear, then studies the small portion of the screen in the lower right-hand corner that isn’t burned. ‘Phase — Phase Three? What’s Phase Three?’
Spike barks.
‘Yes, I realise it comes after “phase two”, but what is it?’
Judd shakes his head. ‘No idea. Look at the next bit.’
‘Five p.m. MHS.’
‘Are you sure it says MHS?’
‘MHS. Yep. What’s MHS?’
‘Don’t know, but it’s familiar. They must have something planned there.’ He glances at his Ploprof. ‘In just over an hour.’
‘Is there some way you can send this document to your own phone? So you can see it more clearly?’
‘No, it’s in the calendar section. There doesn’t seem to be anything else on there that’s of much use.’
Corey passes the phone back. ‘Show it to the feds when we meet ‘em.’
‘Yep.’ Judd turns and points. ‘And that’s where we’re going.’ Behind a line of skyscrapers they catch a glimpse of the tall, boxy Federal Building, which could only have been designed and built in the 1960s. It houses everything from the Passport Office to the Office of the FBI. For anything related to the United States Federal Government, it’s a one-stop shop in LA.
Corey turns to Judd. ‘So what are we going to say to them? The Feds.’
‘The truth. We have two canisters of a counteragent to the virus that’s causing the explosions.’
‘Will they believe us?’
‘We’re half the Atlantis 4. They’ll believe us.’
‘Mate, we don’t even know if the stuff works —’
They pass another skyscraper and see the Federal Building fully for the first time.
The left side of the building is alight, the flaming chassis of an exploded bus on the road in front of it the ignition point of the blaze. A small group of people mill about outside and watch the flames. There are, of course, no fire trucks in attendance.
The left side of the building collapses and slides onto the road below, scattering the group of people. There’s a pause — then a series of five explosions rock the structure. Windows blow out and the centre of the building collapses in on itself like a failed soufflé. There’s another pause — then a giant flame shoots out from the roof. It lights up the sky with a fireball that burns a vivid blue.
Corey and Judd recoil as the heatwave rolls over them. Even from a hundred and fifty metres away it’s like putting your head inside a pizza oven. They freewheel along Wilshire and watch the destruction unfold for a moment, then Judd turns to Corey. ‘So that didn’t turn out the way I hoped.’
‘Where to now?’
‘Good question.’ Judd consults his iPhone, works the screen for a couple of seconds, points down a side street. ‘This way.’
They make a hard right turn and ride fast.
‘There.’
‘Is this where they shot Beverly Hills Cop?’
‘Yep.’ Judd and Corey cycle towards the Beverly Hills Police Station. Yes, the same one used in the Eddie Murphy movies, and countless TV shows. It’s surely the best-looking police station on the planet, with its handsome tower, Art Deco details and spotless appearance. It looks like it was built to be a palace, not a cop shop.
Judd takes it in. ‘And you know what I like most about this place? It’s not on fire.’
Corey grins. ‘How’d you know to come here?’
‘When I was a kid it had just opened when my mum — someone stole the tape deck, yes, tape deck, out of her car. We had to come to this station to file a report. Spent a couple of hours here. A cop showed me around. It was very cool.’
They cycle closer. There aren’t many people around. Judd was expecting the place to be packed with citizens in need of assistance but no, it’s all but empty. Odd. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Must be inside.’
They cut through the car park where half the police cruisers, almost ten by Judd’s count, are burned out, then ride up to the main entrance, dismount and push the bikes through the sliding doors, which open into a giant foyer.
Inside it is both gloomy and empty. There are no lights on and nobody around. They glance at each other.
Corey looks around. ‘Is it closed? Do police stations close in America? Is that wise with all the guns?’
They park their bikes by the door and Corey turns to Spike, forks his middle and index finger into a V, points them at his eyes, then the dog’s eyes, then the bikes. ‘Stay here. Anybody tries to take them, you know what to do.’
The dog barks.
‘No, I don’t think the police will need to take your statement.’
Corey and Judd turn and walk across to the reception desk.
There’s nobody sitting behind it.
Judd looks around. ‘What the hell is going on here?’
There’s a faint noise from the other side of the desk. They peer over. A young, dark-haired woman is huddled beneath it.
Judd’s instantly concerned. ‘You okay?’
She looks up at him and shakes her head, petrified.
‘What are you doing down there? Where is everyone?’
‘Are they still here?’ Her voice trembles.
Corey leans forward. ‘Is who still where?’
‘The men, with the machines. Are they still there?’
Judd looks around, even checks right behind him. ‘Men? I can’t see any men. Or machines.’
Corey pipes up. ‘There’s us. We’re men, but we don’t have any machines — unless you count our bikes, which aren’t really “machines”. Well, I guess you could make an argument that they are machines but — anyway. Sorry. So, what kind of machines are you talking about?’
The young woman rolls out from under the desk, finds her feet, sprints across the foyer and out the main doors. They watch her go.
Corey is confused. ‘Is she coming back?’
Judd shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
They scan the list of offices on a large plaque bolted to the wall beside the reception desk. Judd points at the word Detectives. ‘Third floor.’
‘Seems like a good place to start.’
They turn towards the bank of elevators and see no one is manning the security screening gate that visitors pass through before they can enter the elevators on the other side. They glance at each other and it hits home how peculiar this situation actually is.
Corey looks around. ‘Really, what’s going on here?’
Judd shakes his head. ‘Don’t know, don’t care. We just need to find a cop, pass on the counteragent and tell them about the MHS thing.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Whatever’s happening there is happening in fifty minutes.’
They reach the bank of elevators and Corey presses the up arrow.
‘MHS.’ Judd mumbles it to himself. He knows those initials. What do they mean?
Corey turns his head. ‘Hear that?’