‘It’s the only one going. Now, as soon as I have the hook you release the rope then get this thing in the air as fast and as high as possible. Then, if it detonates, we both don’t bite the big one. Hopefully.’
Corey nods unhappily, drops the chopper onto the walkway beside the weapon. And takes it in. It appears to be even bigger now that it’s not attached to the Air-Crane. And creepier, the black lattice metalwork gives it a particularly ominous aspect. The heavy impact has dug it into the grass beside the walkway, but it still appears to be in one piece. Corey turns to the astronaut. ‘I’ll wait for your signal.’
Judd shoots him a sharp nod. ‘Okay, I’ll see you.’
‘Not if I see you first.’
They share a grim smile then Judd slides out of the cockpit, scrambles under the chopper, grabs the hook at the end of the rope and thumps on the underside of the fuselage with his fist.
The Aussie hears it and works the winch. It quickly unspools every inch of rope, almost forty metres. Hook in hand, Judd crawls from under the chopper and points skyward.
Corey powers up and the Loach rises quickly. He looks down, makes sure he isn’t too high and there’s enough play in the rope for Judd to work with, then pulls the little chopper into a hover.
As the astronaut approaches the weapon a cloud of black smoke drifts across the walkway from the burning Air-Crane and obscures Corey’s view. The Loach is too high for its rotor wash to clear it. Corey holds position and waits for the signal, hopes to God that black lattice atrocity doesn’t explode.
Hook in hand, Judd surveys the weapon for a spot to latch on. The problem is the smoke from the crashed Air-Crane. It smells like death, stings his eyes, irritates his throat and cuts visibility to a few metres. He tries his best to ignore it as he searches for a place –
Click.
The fact he can hear the sound of a pistol being cocked above the throb of the Loach’s rotor blades means it must be very close. He turns.
It’s Handsome Guy.
Christ. He’s still alive? How did he survive that crash? He’s covered in black sludge but doesn’t seem to be injured. At all. He has a pistol in hand and aims it at Judd’s face.
‘Let go of the hook.’
Judd does it. It swings away, disappears into the smoke.
‘Now give me the counteragent.’
Judd points at his jacket pocket. ‘It’s in here.’
Handsome steps closer. ‘Slowly.’
Judd reaches inside his jacket with his right hand and very deliberately draws out the metal cylinder — then flicks it hard.
It extends. It’s not the canister, but the brass telescope from the Loach.
Judd springs forward and clubs the pistol from Handsome’s hand. It skitters across the walkway and disappears into the smoke haze.
Handsome charges the astronaut.
Judd swings the telescope.
And the battle is joined.
Clang. The heavy telescope slams into Handsome’s torso. He staggers sideways, stunned. He recovers his balance but Judd steps forward and swings the instrument again.
Clank. It clips Handsome across the jaw. He turns with the blow, then swings back with a right fist, cracks Judd in the mouth. The astronaut jolts back and he stumbles to the ground, rolls to his feet and swings the telescope once more.
Clunk. Handsome throws out a forearm to block the stroke and the telescope snaps in two, never designed for hand-to-hand combat. Judd drops it, then nails him with an uppercut to the chin. Handsome rocks backwards, then pivots and swings into a roundhouse kick, slams Judd in the solar plexus, knocks him off his feet.
Crunch. Handsome lands on top of the astronaut, jams a forearm across his throat. He might be shorter and lighter than Judd but he’s stronger than he appears. Judd whacks him in the cheek with a left jab but Handsome holds the forearm in place and searches his clothes—
‘Yes.’ He wrenches the canister from the astronaut’s jacket pocket, finds his feet, backs away, searches for the pistol within the smoke haze, scoops it up and aims it at Judd.
The astronaut freezes. Handsome steps towards him, nods at the bomb. ‘Two good men gave their lives to make this a reality. And now you will too. Congratulations, Judd Bell, you’re the first visitor to the new Ground Zero.’
He pulls the trigger.
Bam. The gunshot rings out.
Handsome staggers forward — then drops to his knees and slumps to the ground face first, a scarlet bullet wound in the middle of his back. The canister of counteragent falls from his hand, hits the ground with a clank and rolls to Judd’s feet.
‘What the hell?’ Judd is both shocked and relieved. He looks from Handsome to a figure that looms through the haze towards him.
Ponytail.
The old man limps, appears to be badly injured, his body streaked with a mix of blood and oil. He holds a raised pistol.
‘Oh, damn.’ Judd is still shocked but he’s no longer relieved. He pulls in a sharp breath and waits for the next gunshot. Ponytail limps towards him — then lowers the weapon, kneels beside Handsome and turns him over. Handsome weakly reaches for his jacket pocket but Ponytail gently pushes his hand away, reaches into the jacket pocket himself and pulls out a cigarette pack-sized black box that Judd thinks can only be the bomb’s detonator.
Shit! He starts towards Ponytail — but the old guy turns and throws the box into the middle of the tar pit. It lands with a splash and disappears below the surface.
Judd exhales, feels like his life just flashed before his eyes. ‘Thank you.’ He doesn’t know what else to say.
Ponytail doesn’t look up at him. ‘I didn’t do it for you.’
Kilroy turns to Bunsen and cradles his head, overwhelmed with grief. ‘I’m sorry.’
Bunsen stares up at him, confused. ‘Why?’ His eyes are glassy, his voice a low rasp.
‘I had to stop you. The city is on its knees.’
‘That was the point.’
‘I spent the best days of my life exploring this town with you.’
Bunsen smiles at the memory. There’s blood in his mouth.
‘I just — I couldn’t let it be destroyed. No matter what.’
The light fades from Bunsen’s eyes. ‘But it — will be —’
Kilroy is confused. Bunsen coughs blood, his voice little more than a croak. ‘The bomb — it’s on a timer — you must leave — now.’
Judd steps towards them. ‘Did he say the bomb is on a timer?’
Ponytail doesn’t answer, just stares down at Handsome.
‘How long? How long is the timer?’
Neither of them responds.
‘Answer me!’ Judd crouches down — then realises they’re not ignoring him, they’re dead. Both of them. He sees a gaping wound under Ponytail’s arm, the ground beneath him slick with blood.
‘Fuck!’ The astronaut stands, grabs the canister of counteragent, then searches the black smoke for the hook and rope which hang from the hovering Loach. He cannot see either, or the chopper. The haze is even thicker than before. ‘Where is it?’ he shouts into the fog, his frustration extreme.
He takes a breath, tries not to inhale too much smoke, fails — and coughs hard. People the world over think he is a hero. Well, this is where he gets to prove it. This is where the rubber meets the road. He has to get this right, right now, even if every fibre of his being tells him to leave this place and get away from this bomb as fast as possible.
He looks up, searches the sky, catches sight of the Loach’s rotors as they strobe through the haze. From its position he guesstimates where the rope might be and moves in that direction, fast—