Wham. The chute explodes out of his pack and bites the air, yanks him to an almost dead stop as the giant orange flame rolls up to meet him. He wrenches the chute’s suspension lines to fly right and avoid the fire but its rudimentary circular design means it’s slow to respond.
The fireball engulfs him. All he sees is orange, all he feels is heat and all he smells is av-gas. He hopes the chute doesn’t catch fire. Or his clothes.
Judd punches through the flames.
The good news is that his clothes didn’t catch fire. The bad news is that his chute did. The canopy, the suspension lines, it all burns. Then the suspension lines melt and snap.
He falls.
Corey stretches for the parachute. The tips of his fingers scrape it but can find no purchase. He registers an enormous explosion that rolls into the sky from the tar pits, realises it’s the Loach. He has seconds until he suffers the same fate as that chopper.
He lunges towards the pack — gets a hand on it, pulls it towards him, jams his right hand through a shoulder strap, loops it around his elbow then reaches for the ripcord—
He can’t find it! He searches, grabs something, pulls it, hopes –
Wham. The chute explodes out of the pack, catches air, wrenches on his elbow. The pain is intense, but the chute is open.
Bam. He smacks into the tar, goes straight under.
It’s like swimming through Vegemite, except this thick, black ooze doesn’t taste any good. He should be happy because he’s alive, but he isn’t. The parachute is twisted around him and he can’t get free. It’s like he’s been wrapped in a blanket and dropped in quick sand.
He needs air but can’t breathe. He fights the chute but that just makes it worse. Jesus, he’s going to drown in this tar pit, like every other prehistoric animal that’s stumbled into it over the last fifty thousand years.
48
Corey’s head is light, his lungs burn.
He needs air, but he doesn’t even know which way is up.
He’s dying.
A hand seizes the chute that’s wrapped around him, wrenches him to the surface. He gasps air, blinks the tar from his eyes—
Lola.
He’s stunned. ‘Thank you.’
‘No wuckers.’ She grins, shoulder deep in the tar, helps him pull free of the chute, then takes his hand and leads him through the smoke haze towards the side of the tar pit. ‘Walkway’s over here.’
His arm is numb from when he opened the parachute but he doesn’t even notice that at the moment. What registers is that the hand at the end of his numb arm is holding hers. It’s the first time that’s happened and he couldn’t be happier about it. This happiness lasts for exactly three seconds, then he’s concerned. ‘Where’s Judd? Did you see him?’
Lola shakes her head. ‘I barely saw you through the smoke.’
He calls out. ‘Judd!’
There’s no response.
The haze still blankets the tar pits and surrounding walkway but it’s not as bad as it was before. They wade past the three large, life-sized mammoth models then reach the edge of the tar pit, climb the short embankment, scale the safety fence and drop down to the walkway.
Spike is right there, lets out a sharp bark. Corey kneels, pats him, is about to answer that yes, he did just destroy another perfectly good helicopter, but catches himself in front of Lola and instead says: ‘Good boy.’ He turns, looks round. There’s no one on the walkway. The place is deserted.
His eyes land on the burning remains of the Loach lying in the tar pit thirty metres away. He moves towards it, shouts again: ‘Judd!’
No reply.
Panic rises in his chest. ‘Where could he be?’ He turns to Lola again. ‘You didn’t see a chute?’
She shakes her head, her expression grave. ‘Only yours.’
‘Judd?’
No answer.
‘Jeez.’ Corey bends at the waist, puts his hands on his knees, distraught. ‘Judd Bell?!’ He says it again but there’s no power in his voice this time.
‘Just how many Judds do you think are out here?’ Judd ploughs through the smoke, straight towards him. He moves fast, or as fast as he can at the moment. He’s doing what looks like a painful limp-run and it’s not pretty. He’s streaked in tar though you can see his hair is singed, he has a vivid sunburn on his face and one of his shoulders doesn’t seem to be working the way it should. ‘Oh, and by the way, I saw you first.’
The Australian takes him in, couldn’t be more relieved that he’s in one piece. ‘Mate, you look shocking.’
‘I’d look a whole lot worse if I hadn’t landed in the tar.’ Judd smiles, thrilled to see the Aussie. ‘I’m so glad you’re not dead.’ He doesn’t stop, just limp-runs past.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To find Rhonda.’
The Australian falls in beside him, Lola and Spike right behind.
Corey looks across at the astronaut. ‘Is that a canister of counteragent in your pocket?’
Judd pulls it out and inspects it. It’s undamaged. ‘Yep, and it’s happy to see you.’ He doesn’t say it with any humour this time.
‘She’ll be okay, mate.’
Judd pockets the canister and nods tightly, hopes the Aussie is right, fears he’s not.
They reach the end of the walkway and run into the park. The smoke is heavier and visibility is low. They pass a section of landing gear torn from the 737’s undercarriage, then follow a deep gouge across the grass towards a large flickering light in the distance.
Heart in mouth, Judd increases his pace, pulls ahead of the others, ploughs through the fog. It burns his eyes and makes his chest tight but he doesn’t care. He hears the pop and crackle of fire, then the tail section of the jet looms out of the haze, tilted to one side and alight.
He stops and scans the park. There are no passengers anywhere. He limp-runs on, sees the nose section of the 737, fifty metres to the right. It lies on its roof and the nose section burns. He sprints towards it. ‘Rhonda.’
Boom. It explodes.
‘No-!’
The blast wave is enormous, lights up the park, knocks Judd flat, sends a wall of flaming shrapnel across the sky.
Thud.
‘Oh!’ Lola clutches the right side of her stomach. She looks at Corey, then her bloodied hand, horrified and confused. ‘What is that?’
The pain comes quickly and she collapses. Corey catches her before she hits the ground.
Judd pulls himself into a sitting position and watches the cockpit burn. The grief hits him like a sucker punch. He puts his head in his hands. He didn’t say it. He didn’t tell her he loved her.
He should have told her.
‘Dry your eyes. I’m not dead yet.’
Judd looks up.
Severson appears out of the haze.
‘Sev!’ Judd bounces to his feet. ‘Where’s Rhonda?’
‘Right here.’ Rhonda leads a large crowd of dazed but relieved passengers and crew. Judd’s relief is as overwhelming as the grief had been a moment before.
She runs to him and they embrace, hold each other tight. He pulls back and studies her soot-smeared face. ‘Welcome to LA.’
She smiles and gestures to the jet’s burning fuselage. ‘Sorry I’m late, parking was a bitch.’ He laughs and she takes him in. ‘Thanks for finding me the runway.’
‘Anytime.’
‘I’m guessing that big explosion was the bomb Severson didn’t tell me about?’
He nods. ‘Yeah, long story.’