by Alan Janney
“How do we do stall?” His voice was sad, already resigned to my fate, my march towards death.
“No idea! But I need every eye you got!”
I leapfrogged buildings, moving southwest and surprising henchmen at each landing spot. I broke weapons and tried not to permanently damage feeble bodies. The earth was only a distant concern far below.
Puck said, “Evacuations are ramping up. Apparently the explosions in the sky were unsettling.”
“I bet!” I called, landing on the City National Tower.
All three remaining Pave Hawk helicopters were now piloted by the enemy. One of them hovered just off the tower on which I landed. The attack began with a roar. Both miniguns blazed to life, rattling the edifice and pouring .308 shells into City National Tower windows. The surface exploded, filling the sky with thick glass fragments. Anyone inside would be killed within seconds.
This was happening too fast.
I dove off the ledge of the tower, headfirst. Not my brightest move, but I had abandoned reason. Some deep surging madness craved near-death adventure.
The Pave Hawk was ten floors below me, enough time to regret the free fall towards spinning razors. With both hands I brought the heavy rod down in a tomahawk chop that connected with rotor blades just milliseconds before my face did.
In that instant, two things happened.
The aluminum-composite blades were spinning so fast that all four connected against the impossibly-strong Stick of Treachery, and all four shattered. The noise hurt as much as the impact.
Also, the resulting crash hurled me through a gaping hole and onto the 41st floor. I went through office walls, skidded along a carpeted hallway, and came to a stop inside the women’s restroom.
My arms weren’t broken, but they were completely numb.
“Well,” Puck mumbled, “that didn’t last long.”
“I’m alive,” I coughed, spitting particleboard.
“Nope. Not possible.”
From without came the noise of a helicopter crunching heavily and noisily onto streets below. I staggered back to the destroyed ledge of the 41st floor and gazed at the city. My arms began to tingle. Painfully.
“But seriously,” he said. “How’d you do that?”
“Luck.”
“Maybe. But I prayed. So I helped too.”
Swinging and shaking my arms. “One helicopter down. Ten to go.”
“More like fifteen, dummy. The Chemist’s strike group has lifted off. Heading your way. Four minutes out.”
The City National Tower was geometrically all right angles. Everything square, including window sills. Climbing back to the top was simple, other than my leaden arms. I made it seven floors before Puck warned me, “You’ve been spotted! Second chopper, coming in fast!”
Pave Hawks have front-mounted miniguns operated by the pilot, and bigger .50 machine guns handled by gunners on the side. Fortunately I wasn’t facing trained war veterans. This pilot opened fire with his front-mounted weapon instead of allowing his gunner to mow me down.
I shoved off the tower, floated over the six-hundred-foot abyss, and grabbed onto a refueling probe protruding from the helicopter’s nose.
“I can’t see you. I hate this! Where are you??”
Dangling, one hand on the gear, the other holding the heavy rod, I hacked at the belly of the cockpit, burrowing deep inside machinery and mechanics. Sparks and oil sputtered in my face and the aircraft started to whine. Bingo!
I swung off the extended probe like Tarzan and landed hard against tower windows with an “Ooff!” as the Pave Hawk lost control and altitude. It was going to land hard.
“Two down!” I called. “I bet Dad is freaked.”
I climbed and Puck kept updating. “Chemist forces have arrived on foot, swarming over the Ten and moving into the Fashion District. Both Beale and Edwards Air Force bases have scrambled F-35 Lightning fighters that should arrive within the hour.”
“The hour?! Not good enough! This thing will be over in fifteen minutes!”
“The Army is inbound with surface-to-air launchers, but they might not have enough. They’re being transported on civilian vehicles and encountering heavy traffic.”
I reached the crest and collapsed on the lip of the roof. I let my feet dangle while sucking wind. In the distant southern haze, I could see a large force of aircraft advancing. They’d reach the Aon Tower soon, and Apaches would release Stinger and Sidewinder rockets. That many helicopters could collapse multiple towers.
Tiny trails of cars and pedestrians were retreating from the metropolis. I was still out of breath but I climbed to my feet anyway. “Any good news?”
“There is a Destroyer in the Pacific battle group that can intermittently lock-on to targets with guided anti-air missiles, but the helicopters are too low to the ground. Plus they could accidentally hit civilian structures.”
“Puck, how do you know all this?”
“I’m filtering a dozen military and police frequencies. I can absorb and parse a lot of information. But all cameras are pointed your way.”
I stood quietly for a moment, watching the world move in slow motion, summoning energy for round two. For this instant in time, all was quiet. A calm before the storm.
“That was super legit, by the way. Can’t believe you destroyed two helicopters.”
“I just interfered. Gravity did most the work.”
“Still. You’re the coolest. I’m so sad you’re about to die.”
“Thanks bud. I’m glad you’re here. At the end of all things.”
He sniffed. “I think I saw that in a movie once.”
“Or a book. Katie would be proud of me.”
“Whoa! You’ve got company! Rising straight up from below.”
Another helicopter. I was SICK of them. Although this machine was civilian. Below my feet and rising fast.
“I can’t tell,” Puck grumbled. In my mind’s eye, PuckDaddy was sitting in a computer lab somewhere and squinting at a monitor, watching the live feed, nose inches from the screen. “Looks like a news helicopter?”
“Yep,” I confirmed. “But it’s not being flown by a news team.”
The helicopter was white with a blue television logo painted on the tail. The passenger-bay door was slid back, and the Chemist himself stood there, holding onto the bulkhead with one hand and his staff in the other, a madman grinning crazily at me across the thirty-foot gap.
A young girl about my age was aiming the vehicle’s television camera at me. I found out later the news channel was streaming video live around the world.
But what caught my attention was Carla. She was strapped to the outside, a gruesome and haunting sight. Her arms were pulled backwards by chains, pinning her against the fuselage, the vehicle’s nose pressing painfully into her back. Her mouth was gagged, and her feet dangled freely into space.
“Welcome, son,” the Chemist hailed me. He appeared unnaturally gaunt, a walking corpse. “To my shock and awe campaign!”
“Stop this, Martin!!”
“Soon we shall have the planet’s full and undivided attention, my boy. And our wishes will be law!”
“Let Carla go!”
“Oh!” he cackled. “She is there of her own free will. This was the punishment she chose!”
I pulled the stick free from my vest. If I hit those chains hard enough, they’d break and release Carla. But I’d only get one chance…
“Carter is gone,” he called, sounding disappointed. “Told me himself. It’s just you now. All alone, on the wrong side of this war.”
“I think it’s always been that way! Carter’s as screwed up as you are.”
He roared in delight. “YES! Finally, after decades! One of his minions sees the truth. I welcome you with open arms!”
“Very well,” I growled, crouching.
“Don’t miss, dear child! You make life worth living!”
I Jumped. A powerful leap, straight and true. Carla’s eyes widened.
&n
bsp; The pilot was ready. He pulled up sharply and banked out of reach. I streeeeeetched and missed the landing gear by inches.
“No!” Puck cried.
There was nothing below me.
Nothing. For nine hundred feet.
As quickly as I could in the buffeting zephyrs, I squirmed my gloves into wing grommets, shot arms forward and SNAP! My wing-suit filled with a crack, hardening into solid surfaces and thrusting me forwards. I also connected leg-webbing to provide stability.
“Ohmygosh,” Puck sucked in air. I did too. “I can’t take this.”
I couldn’t locate the Chemist’s chopper. High above me…somewhere.
I was aimed south, sailing away from the towers and directly into the teeth of the enemy armored regiment pushing north, bristling with weapons and bringing death. My altitude was nine hundred feet and falling. Theirs was three hundred feet and climbing. Fast.
Puck said, “Chase, you have to fly straight at those attack helicopters.”
“I do?? Why?”
“Right now you’re a tiny bullseye. They probably can’t even see you. If you turn, you’ll be a much bigger target. They’ll kill you for sure if you expose your profile.”
“That’s nuts.”
“Fly straight at them. Like stealth mode. Hopefully you’ll sail past and they won’t shoot you.”
“Probably going to happen anyway. But. May fortune favor the foolish, right?”
We’d intersect beyond the Downtown boundary, outside the cluster of high-rises and in the open air somewhere above Santee.
Below me, an eternal distance away, gunfights raged between terrorists and police.
The world was mad.
“I can barely see you,” Puck called. It was difficult to hear him over the wind. “You’re just a speck inside an infinite sky.”
“That’s kind of beautiful, Puck. And sad.”
I plunged straight at the oncoming might of the Chemist’s armada. Just a fool floating without armor or weapons, a lonely moth fluttering into the volcano.
“You’ll tell Katie I love her?”
“I will. I promise.”
Our plan didn’t work. The first gunship fired. Others followed. Angry whining invaded my airspace as I flew into the broadside.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Monday, November 1. 2018
Samantha Gear
Carter’s black Toyota ground to a halt on gravel just off the tarmac. He and the Shadow climbed out.
“Well?” I called. I was standing beside the rolling stairway which led onto the privately chartered Lear Jet. Carter spared no expense on travel. I still wore my backpack, but I wasn’t climbing aboard until I knew Chase would too.
“He’s coming,” Carter said.
Oh thank god. Relief flooded my body. Chase would be safe.
And also…something else. My relief was tinged with disappointment. Deep down, I think I wanted Chase to stay. And I wanted to stay with him.
I wanted Chase to be strong enough to resist Carter, to do the right thing, to ignore the odds, glare at Death and not blink. There should be someone in the world brave enough to face the Chemist and defy him. I wanted to follow that person into battle. Our dark world would be better for it.
I wasn’t disillusioned with Chase. That wasn’t fair; he was only a nineteen-year-old kid. Too young to be a savior.
But our future looked bleak. If Chase wasn’t strong enough to resist, who was?
Carter pushed past me and mounted the steps. “He’ll arrive at takeoff. Has to say goodbye to the girl.”
I nodded and followed him. “That sounds like Chase.”
The jet’s storage compartments were crammed with our gear. Enough firepower to make the FAA’s eyes pop out. I sat in the rear of the lush passenger cabin with Croc. There were only ten wide chairs and a few tables. Plenty of room for standing and moving.
Carter and Russia were in the front, speaking in hushed tones. I couldn’t hear them due to the hissing air vents. No idea where the Shadow went; he’s like that. The door was still ajar, permitting the hubbub of airstrip activities to fill our cabin.
“Where’s the kid?” Croc asked.
“On his way.”
A long silence. I tried settling into the plush cushions. Our departure wasn’t for thirty-five more minutes.
Why was I so agitated? That’s easy. Because I’m a hypocrite. Because I was flying away while brave men and women fought for what they believed in. Men like Richard.
“We shouldn’t be leaving,” I said finally, chewing on my nails. I was feeling punchy, ready to fight. Just the virus talking. And my anxiety.
“Hows’at?”
“This city needs our help. We shouldn’t just…retreat.”
“Say the word, love. I’ll follow you anywhere.”
I smiled. “Thanks Croc. You’re sweet. But say something helpful instead.”
“The kid’s tagging along, right?”
“That’s what Carter told me.”
“Stick to the plan, I say. No reason to kick a hornet nest.”
“Yeah,” I nodded, forcing myself to relax.
“Live to fight another day.”
“Right.”
Ten more long minutes. Croc was reading an article about cattle insemination, of all things. His beautiful face, for the moment, looked slack and tired.
“Croc, I’ve never asked. How old are you?”
“Dunno. Lost track. Guess fifty-five?”
“Do you have a guess about Carter’s age?”
“Dunno that either. He’s an old cracker, though. One-fifty, maybe? One seventy-five?”
“Do you miss your ranch?”
Finally he put the magazine down and scrutinized me. “You’re a chatty Kathy. What’s got you ruffled?”
I shrugged and peered out the window beyond him. “We don’t get to have friends in this business. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Nah. Don’t miss the ranch. Gets lonely. Might not go back.”
“You’re kidding. It’s worth millions.”
“Yeh,” he nodded. “Rooms full of the stuff. But nothing to do with it.”
“Chase thinks we should stay with him. Stop hiding. Come clean about our illness, and make our lives that way.”
“Hah. And a child shall lead us.”
The lone stewardess pulled the swinging door shut and the jet taxied forward.
“Hey!” I called. “We’re not leaving yet.”
The stewardess glanced at Carter and replied, “No ma’am. Traffic control requested we remove to a different tarmac.”
I didn’t like it. I stared angrily at the small airport sliding by.
Croc’s preternatural instincts picked up the deception first. He saw through the lies in Carter’s posture, the stewardess’s anxiety, the tone of her voice.
“Samantha, my love,” he said quietly. “He’s told you a corker.”
“What?”
“Lied. Carter lied. The Outlaw isn’t coming.”
My blood ran cold. That sounded like something Carter would do. From my backpack, I retrieved a nasty surprise and hung it on the chair, within easy reach but out of Carter’s line of sight. Croc’s eyes widened. I stood up. Immediately so did Carter. Our stares crackled along the aisle.
“Where’s Chase?”
“He’ll catch the next flight,” the evil bald man barked.
“Then I will too.”
“You’ll sit back down.” He half-turned to the flight attendant. “Get us in the air. Now.”
“Yes sir.”
“Carter, stop this plane. I’ll wait here for him.”
“He’ll meet us there. We stay together.”
Croc stood up, glancing unhappily between the two of us. “Carter, my old mate. Open the hatch. I’ll keep her company until the Outlaw shows.”
“No deal, Mitch.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll have to trust me.”
Russia stood up too. His pudgy hand reste
d on the seat-back, gripping a pistol. His wintery eyes were empty; he’d kill us without hesitation.
The four of us glared at each other, an uneasy stalemate, as the jet advanced to the runway.
“He never said he was coming,” I spit in fury. “You lied.”
“I lied. You do not possess the ability to contend with his influence. It’s clouded your judgement. I made the choice for you.”
We all swayed as the engines surged. The jet was taking off.
“Chase will try to stop the Chemist. By himself.”
“I know.”
“You’re leaving him here to die!”
“I am.”
“Carter,” I seethed, “I’m going to kill you.”
Russia’s pistol came up without him moving a muscle. “Pretty little girl should try.”
Carter and I shouted over each other as our wheels left the runway. We were airborne in this floating palace.
Enough.
I grabbed my nasty surprise. A grenade.
With a flick of my finger, I sent the safety pin clattering onto the jet’s cushioned aisle. Carter stopped shouting. Russia blinked and his pistol wavered.
“I’m getting off this damn plane, Carter. One way or the other.”
“Samantha,” Carter stammered. His complexion turned two shades lighter, and he held up his palms. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to blow a hole in the fuselage and force an emergency landing if I have to.”
“Mitch, old friend, reason with her. It’ll take over an hour to turn this plane around and land, if we even get clearance.”
“Got a better idea, mate. Samantha and I are leaving. Right now,” Croc said.
“How’s that?”
“I’m wearing a parachute. We’ll leave and you go on your merry way.”
I glanced at him, stunned. He was wearing a parachute backpack. When had he…?
“We can leave one of two ways, Carter. She can release the safety lever, toss the tarter your way, and then Sammy-girl and I’ll go out the gigantic hole in the side of aeroplane.”
Russia looked terrified. Wonder if he was afraid of heights? If he fired his gun, I’d release the lever and we’d all almost certainly die.
“Or,” Croc continued, “she and I can go through the emergency hatch.”