by Chris Ryan
Ben opened the throttle a little, then fished her phone out and slotted it into the dashboard cradle.
‘He’s on speed dial, under “Dad”.’
Ben pressed the navigation key. The picture of Kelly dangling from the power chute glowed briefly, then was replaced by her speed dial menu. He cursored down and dialled.
The response was the same: ‘Lines are busy …’ Ben cut the call.
Kelly checked over the instruments. ‘Bit more left rudder,’ she said.
Ben obliged — though he could see that her mind was elsewhere.
She voiced what they were both thinking. ‘Your mom and my dad were in the same place, so I suppose it makes sense that neither of them was contactable. We’ll try again in a while, huh?’ She winced as she talked.
‘We’d better get you to a doctor,’ said Ben.
Kelly looked down at the map. She had been leaning on it while the plane was throwing them around and now it was creased like a well-used cushion. She tried to smooth it down, having to use her elbows.
‘For sure. I just need to find somewhere we can land.’
Rikki stood at the window. She always liked to watch the racehorses from her tenth-storey apartment. That was why the block had appealed to her and her husband so much. Now the afternoon’s racing was part of her daily routine with her three-month-old son Josh. As usual, she fed him, changed him and walked around the living room with him on her hip, jogging him to sleep while she watched the 1.45 yearlings race.
But today she looked out of the window and got the shock of her life.
The stand was engulfed in a ball of flame. Black smoke boiled into the sky. The horses had started running before the gates had opened. They had dragged the entire structure out of the ground and were galloping caged inside it.
Right in their path were the people who had fled from the flames. They had no chance of getting away. The charging horses knocked them down like a monstrous war machine.
She couldn’t look any more and turned away. The baby picked up on her shock and started to cry.
Rikki had friends on the other side of the racecourse: Molly and Dan. Molly had a daughter the same age as Josh and usually tried to get her off to sleep by the 1.45 race. Could she see this too? Rikki sat down on the sofa, being careful to support Josh’s head properly, picked up the phone and pressed a speed dial.
While it was ringing, she glanced out of the window and got another shock. She couldn’t see the carnage on the racetrack any longer. Smoke obscured it all. The entire horizon seemed to be carpeted in black smoke and flickering orange flames. Blue lights flashed beneath the smoke as though travelling under black gauze.
As she waited for Molly to pick up the phone, another thought crossed her mind. Would the fire reach the flat? Surely not; it was ten storeys up.
But why hadn’t Molly answered yet?
Suddenly the line went dead.
The phone rang for a short time in Molly’s house, but she wasn’t able to reach it. She was trying desperately to open the window onto the balcony. Her baby, Emanuelle, was in a neoprene sling on her chest.
The security locks wouldn’t budge. Behind her, the sofa was on fire. The tapestry cushions and upholstery were nearly all consumed, and the bare frame was showing through the orange flames like a Terminator’s skeleton. Thick smoke poured from the foam interior. Outside the room the hall was a wreckage of burning rafters.
Molly had the key in the window lock, but it was stiff and she couldn’t turn it. Emanuelle was crying and coughing, her face scrunched and red. Hot smoke burned the inside of her lungs. It felt like she had sucked in boiling water. It must be even worse for her baby.
The key slipped out of Molly’s fingers. She gave a strangled sob of despair and fell to her knees. Once she was down on the floor, the smoke got even thicker. She coughed, but there was no oxygen, only the choking black smoke and the fumes from the sofa. She could hardly even see Emanuelle’s face barely inches away. She collapsed while the phone rang and rang.
The flames reached the phone cables, shrivelling them like burning hair. The ringing stopped and the LCD display in the phone station blistered in the heat.
By then the fire had spread to the building next door to Molly’s …
* * *
The pall of smoke drifted across the city. The botanical gardens, which Engine 33 had fought so hard to save, went up like a bonfire. Wanasri and her crew couldn’t save it now; they were tied up with other fires. Every fire engine in the city was out on a call, fighting flash blazes. They worked fast, but the fires travelled faster.
Once the fire had taken hold in the outskirts, it began to move towards the city centre.
In the main precinct the staff of the law courts were in the middle of an ordinary working day when they were alerted by the fire alarm. They filed down the stairs, some of them escorting bewildered clients. They assumed it was a false alarm or a fire drill — until they reached the street and saw the mushroom cloud of smoke against the sky.
The dentist’s practice next door was on fire. Firefighters were pumping water in through the upstairs windows; smoke and steam were pouring out. More firefighters ushered the solicitors away to the end of the street, where paramedics were holding a breathing mask over the face of a young woman. She had blood dripping out of her mouth and had obviously been in the middle of an extraction when the alarm sounded. The dentist and his nurse were trying to comfort her, their white coats spattered with her blood.
A woman in a fluorescent coat was evacuating another building. The people pouring out were bare-foot and wore loose, pyjama-like clothes. Some of them carried brightly coloured mats under their arms. They had been in the middle of a relaxing yoga class and looked as dazed as the dental patient to find themselves outside.
Not all the evacuations were so peaceful. In a pedestrianized street just a hundred metres away, the usual lunchtime crowds were enjoying a snack at the many cafés and bars, protected from the sun by fringed umbrellas. One minute they were discussing whether to go indoors because it had got windy. The next, they were enveloped in burning fabric as the umbrellas caught light.
The high buildings turned the precinct into a wind tunnel. As punters knocked over tables in their panic, a gale ripped through the burning awnings. Those who were still able to run were pursued down the streets by pieces of flaming fabric.
The promenade on the west side of town was a mass of people fleeing from the marinas, restaurants and hotels. They ran out onto the jetties, crowded into boats and pushed off into the bay. A pair of old women, their skin leathery from too much sun, were struggling with their boat. As one of them started the engine and the other tried to untie the mooring rope, three waiters wearing name badges from the nearby St Michael’s restaurant ran up and made for the rail. The woman at the helm screamed in fury and pointed a flare pistol at them, forcing the waiters to retreat to the quay. The second woman finally freed the boat and they set off, still keeping an eye on the waiters to make sure they didn’t try to climb aboard.
Soon the bay was bustling with flapping sails. The passengers in the boats looked back at the city in astonishment. Wherever they looked, from the hotels at the water’s edge to the hills away in the distance, were smoke and flames.
Chapter Eleven
At the conference centre, the public debate was scheduled to start in a few minutes.
The Oz Protectors were at the front of the queue. Timi, Amy and Joseph were first in through the doors, carrying their banner with the message: STOP SECRET US EXPERIMENTS. Timi had gone through a lot to be there. He was skipping classes at college and now he had lost his car. He felt pent-up and angry, looking to make somebody pay.
The two other members of the Adelaide branch were also cutting classes. Wez and his girlfriend Bo had been giving out leaflets in the centre of town since early that morning. They believed in their cause, and had ensured that a good crowd turned up. Soon that American major, colonel or whatever he was, would be
answering some hard questions on live TV. The Australian public would be horrified when they learned what had been going on out in the desert.
Banners had to be left in the foyer. ‘Just toss it anywhere, chum,’ said a security guard. ‘Nobody’s going to pinch the bloomin’ thing, are they?’
Timi propped the banner next to one showing an Uncle Sam skull, then guided his companions through a side passageway. He had done casual jobs as a bouncer when rock concerts were held at the conference centre and knew the short cuts to the best seats.
They claimed a front row position and sat down.
Amy looked around the auditorium. ‘I don’t see any TV cameras.’
‘They’ll be round the back setting up,’ said Timi. ‘That’s what they do when they record concerts. They park the outside broadcast lorry in the alley at the back and the cameras transmit to it—’
The rest of his words were cut off by the fire alarm.
Timi couldn’t believe it. ‘Of all the times to hold a fire drill …’
Amy looked around to see what everyone else was doing. ‘Do we have to go out? Maybe we can just stay here.’
Conference centre officials appeared at the doors, wearing fluorescent vests and armbands. They beckoned people towards the fire exits.
A voice came over the tannoy: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we respectfully request that you vacate the building. The public debate will take place at another time.’
Timi felt like spitting with rage. Amy and Wez pushed him along towards the door.
‘I haven’t been breaking my ass all morning for the debate to be cancelled!’ Timi’s English was slipping again as he became angry. He lapsed into a torrent of angry-sounding Korean.
‘It’s a conspiracy, mate, is what it is,’ reckoned Wez. ‘They don’t want us to be heard. The Pentagon will have made some calls and they’ve got these blokes here jumping through hoops.’
They reached the corridor, but as the crowd turned right, Timi, Amy and Wez hung back to wait for Bo and Joseph.
Bo touched Timi’s arm and pointed behind them.
Coming down the corridor from the other direction was a petite woman wearing a slightly crumpled safari suit, with a determined expression and straight red hair. She was talking to the American army guy.
Wez bristled. ‘There he is, about to get away scot-free.’
‘No he isn’t,’ said Timi. He strode up to Bel and Major Kurtis. The others followed.
‘Dr Kelland? Major? I know a quicker way out. Go back the way you came.’
The major hesitated, but Bel turned round immediately and quickly set off down the corridor. The major could barely keep up with her.
Following behind Timi, Amy bit her lip. What was he up to? she wondered.
Timi directed Bel and the major into the maze of passages behind the stage. After a few turnings he pulled open a door. ‘Stop, stop,’ he called. ‘You’ve overshot — it’s this way.’
Bel followed his instructions: like most forthright people, her first assumption was always that others were telling her the truth. Major Kurtis and the Oz Protectors hurried along behind her.
But then Bel realized where they were and looked round. ‘I think we must have taken a wrong turn. This is the janitor’s office.’
Timi stood in the doorway, blocking her exit. ‘No we haven’t taken a wrong turn, Dr Kelland.’ He nodded at the others. ‘We need to get the major.’ Then he grabbed Major Kurtis and pinned his arms behind his back. Although uncertain, Wez stepped forward to help; he was as tall as the older man and could subdue him easily.
The colour drained from Bel’s face. ‘What is this?’
Timi ignored her. ‘Major,’ he said in a dangerously calm voice, ‘I must ask you to come with us.’
Bel’s words came out as a rasp: ‘What do you want?’
The fire alarm was still ringing. ‘Let’s get out,’ said Joseph. ‘Shall we take her as well?’
Bel spoke through white lips. ‘Are you kidnapping us?’
‘We don’t need to take her,’ said Bo. ‘Shall we let her go?’
Wez shook his head. ‘She’ll raise the alarm.’ His eyes were wide behind his glasses. Caught up in the sudden turn of events, following Timi’s lead, he had a fanatical look.
Timi decided: ‘We’ll bring the major out here. Lock her in.’
Wez frogmarched the major back into the corridor, then Bo shut the door on Bel, dragged a chair across and jammed it up against the door, under the handle. The door thundered as Bel’s fists pounded on it. The handle jerked up and down, but with the chair under it she couldn’t turn it. And with the noise of the fire alarm no one would hear her.
‘We can’t leave her here …’ said Amy uncertainly, looking back at the door as she followed the others out.
‘Once the fire drill’s over somebody will soon find her,’ said Bo. ‘Come on, Ames.’
The corridor led to the back entrance, where the TV crew would be parked. Timi grabbed the major’s pinioned arm and jerked it forwards. ‘Walk. You’re going to tell the nation about those experiments you’ve been doing.’
The major did as he was told, but said nothing.
Amy ran ahead. ‘I’ll go and tell the TV guys we’re coming.’
Bo joined her and the two girls sprinted down the corridor. They pushed open the double doors at the end and went out onto the metal gantry of the fire escape.
A moment later they came back.
‘There’s no news crew here,’ called Bo.
Timi grabbed the major’s arm and pushed him the rest of the way up the corridor and out of the door. He stood on the metal gantry by the goods entrance, looking around in disbelief. The alleyway was full of smoke, and there was no sign of a TV crew.
‘Oh my God.’ Joseph pointed upwards and the others followed his terrified gaze.
The entire sky had changed colour. It was filled with boiling clouds of black and orange. Sirens wailed and, at the end of the alleyway, a fire engine roared past, its blue lights cutting through the smog like bolts of lightning.
Amy realized that people were running past in the street. ‘We’d better get out of here,’ she said.
‘No,’ snarled Timi. ‘We’re going to do the interview ourselves. Bo, get out your phone.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Tim,’ said Amy. ‘We should go.’
Bo was looking at the display on her phone, lining up the shot. ‘Ready. Timi, you get in there next to the major.’
Timi looked the major full in the eye. ‘Your listening station in Coober Pedy. What’s really going on there?’
Major Kurtis kept his face impassive. He spoke patiently and calmly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Wez tightened his grip on the major’s other arm. ‘You’re lying.’
Timi kicked the major in the shin. He winced at the pain.
‘So why is the population out there getting so ill? What are you messing with? Is it biological warfare? Radioactive fallout?’
The major let out a long, slow breath, composing himself. He looked away from Timi, directly into the camera. ‘This is a free country. If you have a reasonable objection you can make it democratically. You don’t have to do it with violence.’
Timi had had enough. ‘You lying bastard.’ He pulled something out of his pocket. A long blade glinted in his hand. A flick knife.
Amy, Wez, Joseph and Bo gasped in horror. The major stiffened with shock. Wez momentarily loosened his grip on the major’s arms, but the man was surrounded so he wasn’t going anywhere.
Timi grabbed the major’s lapel and pressed the blade against the skin of his throat. ‘You think you can keep a thing like this covered up, you arrogant bastard? I’ll tell you what I’m going to do; I’m going to make you talk.’
Bo looked at Amy. Her eyes were fearful and brimming with tears. Amy reached her hand towards Timi’s arm, but didn’t dare touch him. Wez tightened his grip on the major again. Joseph looked as though he wanted to run away
.
The major swallowed. His Adam’s apple went up and down his throat, making the gleaming blade rise and fall. ‘I will offer no resistance,’ he said. The words sounded like a standard phrase learned on some military course.
‘You’re damn right,’ snarled Timi. ‘Now, tell the camera — what’s going on in Coober Pedy?’
The major looked at his captor. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that.’
Bo gave a sob and buried her face in Amy’s shoulder. Amy put an arm around her and looked at the major, pleading: ‘Just tell him, for pity’s sake!’
The janitor’s room was small and windowless — it was really just a large cupboard. The only light came from a row of glass bricks in the top of the wall and there was no ventilation.
Bel rattled the door handle, but there was something against the door stopping the handle from turning all the way.
Then she realized that she could smell smoke — it was drifting in under the door.
So it wasn’t a fire drill. Bel felt herself starting to panic, but her iron will took control just in time. After a minute of shouting at the top of her voice she slumped against the door, exhausted.
The fire alarm continued to ring and she could hear sirens. A lot of sirens.
Were all those fire engines for this one building? What on earth had happened?
A sturdy broom was propped up inside the door. She pulled the head off it so that she was left with a long wooden pole. She slipped the pole under the door and wiggled it around. She felt it hit something but she couldn’t tell what it was. Bashing it a couple of times failed to dislodge it.
Pulling the broom handle back in, she looked around the room for inspiration. Was there anything else she could use? The room contained a table with a kettle, some mugs and a portable CD player.
Bel picked up the CD player and snapped it open. Inside was a disc. She hurried back to the door and slipped her hand underneath, angling the shiny side of the disc. The image wasn’t as clear as a mirror but it was just enough to show her why the door wouldn’t open. The Oz Protectors had wedged a chair under the handle.