Judd ignores the question, nods at the destroyed wellhead beside them. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Remember a couple of minutes ago, right after we met, when you asked exactly the same question, and I said “you’ll know very soon”?’
Judd nods.
‘I lied.’ Bunsen nods at Kilroy, who steps forward, aims his pistol at the back of Judd’s head and pulls the trigger—
Boom! The explosion is huge.
And no one expects it except Judd.
Handsome and Ponytail flinch as the blast wave hits and shrapnel rains down. Before they can regain their composure, Judd is in motion. He swings a knee, nails Ponytail in the gut and knocks him on his arse, then pivots, sweeps Handsome Guy’s legs and snatches the canister from his hands as he falls. ‘Wow, you’re terrible at this.’
Judd doesn’t have the time to bend and grab his pistol so he kicks it like a football. It flies ten metres and lands beside a reservoir tank. He sprints after it.
Ponytail recovers and swings his weapon towards the astronaut but he ducks behind the tank—
Ping. The bullet ricochets as Judd takes cover, glad he bought the chainsaw with him, happy no one heard it over the rasp of the chopper’s turbine before it exploded. He picks up the pistol.
Ping, ping, ping. Three more bullets strafe the tank. Judd pulls in a rough breath and moves fast, ducks low, weaves through the maze of pipes until he reaches a heavy door built into a cinderblock wall. He twists the handle. Locked. Of course! He sizes up the wall. It’s about three metres high. He steps onto the door’s handle, grabs the top of the wall, levers himself up, clambers over, drops to the other side — and lands at the edge of a beautifully manicured baseball diamond, the one he’d played on as a boy.
The matte-black Air-Crane looms before him like some kind of enormous, mutant grasshopper. It’s parked fifty metres away in the outfield. A man sits in the cockpit, but what draws Judd’s eye is the gigantic appendage that hangs from the centre of the chopper’s airframe. ‘Appendage’ is the only way he can think to describe it. It’s an oval shape and is covered in what looks like dark green camouflage netting.
What the hell is it?
He’s sure it’s important but he needs to get a closer look at it.
Judd sprints across the baseball diamond towards it, his feet kicking up red dirt as he goes. The guy in the Air-Crane’s cockpit sees him almost immediately and disappears from view. What’s he doing? Either hiding or arming himself. The astronaut’s finger tightens around the pistol’s trigger and prepares for a fire fight.
He approaches the appendage quickly. From twenty-five metres away he can make out what’s beneath the camouflage netting.
Christalmighty.
He realises ‘appendage’ is not the right word. Bomb is. And he could also add ‘giant friggin’ to that because it is the single largest weapon Judd has ever seen. It looks like three huge bombs — are they bunker busters? — have been welded together with metal pipes.
Judd runs on. If he can take out the Air-Crane with a bullet to one of its turbines then maybe he can end this thing now. He raises the pistol and aims—
Thud. The pain in his left thigh is horrendous. He falls and his elbow slams into the ground, jars the pistol from his hand. It bounces across the dirt in front of him. He looks back.
Gun raised, Bunsen steps through the door in the cinderblock wall then strides across the diamond towards him.
Judd turns to his pistol. It’s five metres away and out of reach.
He is screwed.
34
The song reverberates across the baseball diamond and momentarily drowns out the Air-Crane’s engines.
It’s a tune both old and familiar, summer ear candy from a more innocent age. White soul vocal harmonies float above the melodic tinkle of electric piano as an electric guitar gently shreds in the background. ‘Baby come back…’
‘That’s how it goes.’ Judd looks up to identify the source of Player’s 1977 number-one power ballad and sees a yellow shape punch out of the grey smog, fifty metres above, two hundred metres away.
It’s like something from a dream.
‘How is that possible?’ He must be hallucinating from the bullet wound. He blinks, then focuses again. It’s no dream. It’s a bright yellow, doorless Huey Loach, exactly like the one Corey flew in the Northern Territory. The song blasts from the speaker beneath its fuselage.
‘Blades!’ He lets out a delighted laugh. Two unrelated thoughts swirl through Judd’s mind. Where on earth did Corey get that chopper, and that song will be perfect for the Atlantis 4 movie.
The Loach swoops towards him. Fast.
Eyes locked on Judd, Corey kills the music. His mate is injured and lying in the middle of a dusty baseball diamond as some guy advances on him with a pistol in hand.
‘Drop the hook!’
Beside him Lola works the winch. The hook and rope plummet towards the ground. ‘It’s away. Will he know what to do?’
Jaw set and face grim, Corey’s eyes move from Judd to the gunman heading towards him. ‘I bloody hope so.’
Judd watches the hook as it hits the ground and drags along the dust, a hundred metres away and moving fast.
Gobsmacked, Bunsen sees the yellow chopper close in, then follows the rope to the hook that dangles below it. It takes a moment before he realises what’s happening.
He turns back to Judd Bell and raises the pistol. That prick cannot leave with the counteragent.
Lola sees it and points. ‘I guess you were right about them wanting to kill him.’
‘Change of plans. Hold on!’ Corey tips the Loach into a steep dive — directly towards the gunman.
Bunsen squeezes the trigger.
Whomp. A blast of dirt from the baseball diamond slams into him, knocks him sideways. He stumbles, just manages to stay on his feet.
The little yellow chopper thunders overhead, then banks hard left and swoops towards the astronaut. Bunsen recovers his footing, aims at Judd again — and can’t see him through the dust cloud. He fires anyway.
Judd doesn’t hear the bullet zip overhead because the sound of the Loach’s turbine is so loud. And he can’t see the hook because it’s lost in the dust cloud. He can see the rope, though.
Thump, thump, thump. The Loach skims over him with a metre to spare — then the dust cloud rolls in and he loses sight of the rope too. He guesses where it is and grabs at it.
He misses.
‘Do we have him?’ Corey drags the little chopper into a tight turn, its turbine wailing.
Lola hangs out the side of the cabin and stares down at the blanket of dust. ‘I can’t see anything! There’s too much dust!’
Judd reaches into the dust again—
Wham. His left hand catches the hook and it yanks him along the ground, his shoulder screaming blue murder. He reaches down with his right hand, snags the pistol and jams it into his belt. His hand is slick with blood from the wound on his leg and slips on the hook.
Corey’s heart is in his mouth. ‘Do we have him?’
Lola strains to see. ‘I can’t — he’s there! He’s holding the hook!’
Corey exhales in relief. ‘Okay, hold on.’