Combustion

by Steve Worland

  He rounds a three-metre-tall reservoir tank and sees a man in the distance. He studies the remains of a destroyed wellhead. On the ground in front of him a stream of oil flows out of a five-inch-wide pipe. He turns, kneels and from a long grey bag pulls out what looks like an aluminium baseball bat, but is in fact a three-foot-long, three-inch-wide cylinder with a two-inch-wide propeller at one end. He works his iPhone’s screen and the propeller spins up. He then slides the cylinder down the pipe and it disappears.

  The man consults his iPhone for a moment, grins, then zips up the long bag, slings it over this shoulder and turns to leave -

  Judd stands in front of him, points the pistol at his chest. ‘What are you doing?’

  The man stops. He is, Judd realises, movie-star handsome. He is also surprised but not unhappy to see the astronaut. ‘Well, well, Judd Bell from the Atlantis 4. I heard you’d been gumming up the works today.’

  Judd steps forward, aims the pistol at his chest. ‘I said, what are you doing?’

  ‘You’ll know very soon.’

  Click. A pistol is cocked. Judd glances left, sees Ponytail aim a 9mm pistol directly at his temple. ‘Drop it.’

  Judd takes a moment - then reluctantly complies.

  Handsome Guy steps forward and studies Judd, surprised. ‘Wow, you’re terrible at this.’

  *

  Bunsen takes in the astronaut with a keen interest. ‘I was expecting you to be taller.’

  Judd glares at him. ‘Why did you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Release the Swarm.’

  ‘So Alvy told you what it’s called?’

  ‘Is he the guy -?’

  ‘Husky fella. Frizzy hair. Multiple bullet wounds. You met him in the ambulance.’

  Judd nods. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘The short answer is that I did it for motivation. To jump start the use of renewable energy so mankind no longer chokes this planet to death with greenhouse gas. That’s also the long answer.’

  It’s not what Judd expected to hear. ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. It’s better than your idea. I saw you on TV a while back, I think it was Nightline. What did you say?’ Bunsen tries to remember. ‘Something about colonising Mars because, once Earth is uninhabitable, we’ll need to go somewhere else and start again.’ He looks at Judd. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

  Judd just stares at him.

  ‘I’ll take your blank gaze as a yes. So we agree on the problem. We just differ on the solution. I think mine’s better than yours, though. At least I want to save the planet. You just want to abandon it. And that, to me, is crazy.’

  ‘What you did today is not a solution.’

  ‘Actually, it is, and it’s a pretty good one, even if I do say so myself.’ Bunsen moves toward Judd, pushes a hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out the canister of counteragent. ‘There it is.’ He shows it to Kilroy with a smile. ‘Wasn’t so hard to find after all. Now all we have to do is locate the Australian.’ Bunsen turns to Judd. ‘Any idea where he might be?’

  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.’

  He powers up.

  *

  The Loach rises quickly. ‘Whoa!’ Judd’s yanked skyward and his left hand slips off the hook -

  Wham. His right hand grabs it.

  *

  From the rear cabin of the Tyrannosaur, Bunsen pulls out the long black bag, unzips it, extracts the two sections of an SA-7 Grail man-portable, shoulder-fired, low-altitude surface-to-air missile (SAM) and snaps the warhead into the firing canister. With a high explosive, one-and-a-half-kilo warhead and passive infrared homing guidance system, the Russian-designed rocket has more than enough firepower for this job.

  This SAM and four others just like it were stolen from Gaddafi’s personal weapons depot in Libya after he was overthrown and Bunsen bought all five, at a million bucks apiece. Yes, they were expensive, but they were just the insurance policy he needed after the RPG’s range proved ineffective when he stole the bunker busters. He knew the SAMs would come in handy, though the fact he’s firing one at a world-famous astronaut as he dangles at the end of a rope beneath a canary yellow Huey Loach, is quite a surprise.

  He hefts the weapon to his shoulder and aims at the rising chopper.

  *

  ‘What is that?’ Lola peers down at the man on the baseball diamond. ‘There’s a guy down there with a - is that - he has a rocket launcher!’

  Corey scans the surrounding area, takes in a cluster of skyscrapers to the far left and nods to himself.

  Lola looks at him. ‘Why are you nodding?’

  ‘Because I have a plan.’

  ‘Did you hear me when I said the thing about the rocket launcher?’

  ‘That’s why I have a plan.’

  Lola’s eyes flick back to the baseball diamond. ‘The guy he’s, he’s – oh - he fired it!’

  Horrified, she watches the missile zip low across the baseball field, trailing thick white exhaust behind it. Then it changes direction abruptly and shoots upwards, directly towards the Loach. ‘It’s coming straight at us!’ Her voice cracks in terror.

  Corey glances in the side-view mirror and sees the missile approach. ‘Fasten your seatbelt and hold on.’

  She does up her belt then looks around the cabin. ‘You keep saying “hold on” except there’s nowhere to hold on to except the doorframe —’

  Corey wrenches the controls and the Loach tips into a steep dive.

  ‘Ohsweetbabyjesus!’ Lola grabs the doorframe and grits her teeth.

  *

  ‘Faark!’ Judd holds the hook tight as the rope swings him back, then jolts him forward. It’s like he’s riding a flying fox from hell.

  He sees the missile hiss towards him. Man, it’s quick. It’s like he’s watching it in fast forward. He points the pistol at it and fires.

  Bam. It has no effect whatsoever. He jams the gun into his belt and seizes the hook with both hands as the rope swings him back, then jolts him forward again.

  The roadway rushes up to greet him.

  ‘Oh, damn.’

  *

  Corey yanks on the controls, pulls the chopper up just twenty metres above the road.

  *

  Which means Judd is only five metres above the ground at the end of the rope. He hurtles towards a burning fire truck that’s directly in front of him. ‘What the hell? Pull up! Pull up!’

  *

  Corey can’t hear or see him. His eyes are locked on the rear-view mirror and the missile that follows. It’s close, just thirty metres away.

  Spike’s head is pushed out the rear of the pilot’s door and he looks down. He barks.

  ‘What?’ Corey looks forward and sees the fire truck below. ‘Judd!’ He pulls the chopper up and tips it hard left.

  *

  ‘Yaah!’ Judd is jerked right and swings out like he’s at the end of a pendulum. He pulls his legs up so they don’t spank the burning fire truck, can feel the heat as they pass through its flames.

  *

  ‘Is he okay?’

  Spike looks down and barks.

  Corey lets out a relieved breath. ‘Good.’

  The Loach shoots along a narrow street, fifty metres above the ground, skyscrapers towering on either side.

  The Aussie glances in the side-view mirror. The missile is still there, fifty metres away and closing. Fast.

  Spike barks.

  ‘I see it!’

  Oh, damn. Corey realises he’s been talking to Spike. He glances at Lola to see her reaction, but he’s sure she didn’t hear anything. She’s hunched over, her eyes are jammed shut and her face is drained of colour, one hand clamped to the doorframe and the other gripping her seat.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘I’d like to go home now.’

  ‘It’s going to be fine.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’

  ‘You’re already doing it. Now come on, eyes open! I need you to navigate. I don’t know these streets.’

  *

  In the short time she’s known him, Lola’s never heard Corey speak like that. His tone is gentle but tough and compels her to snap out of it. She takes a breath, opens her eyes and nods stoically. He shoots her a reassuring wink. It’s incredibly corny and completely genuine and makes her feel better.

  ‘Find me a tall building.’

  ‘How tall?’

  ‘Biggest you got.’

  She nods, thinks about it for a moment. ‘Take the next left.’

  On the street below, an intersection quickly approaches.

  ‘This one or the next-?’

  ‘This one!’

&nb
sp; He yanks on the controls and the chopper tilts hard right, makes the turn down a narrow road.

  *

  ‘Ohmijeez!’ Judd swings out - holds on for dear life as a building brushes past his feet just a metre away. He’s almost horizontal to the ground, hangs there for what seems like an eternity - then swings back down.

  He looks up the rope, realises the higher up he is the better his chance of not being thrown off, or hitting one of these buildings. He puts his right hand above his left and hauls himself upward.

  *

  Corey stares at the missile in the side-view mirror. It’s not as close as it was.

  ‘Where now?’

  ‘Third street on the right.’

  The missile closes in and he loses sight of it. ‘Need a visual on that rocket. It’s in my blind spot.’

  Spike and Lola both look back. Spike barks as Lola says: ‘Twenty metres away.’ Corey hears the information in stereo.

  The Loach thunders past the first street.

  ‘It’s getting closer!’ Lola’s voice rises as she says it.

  Corey tries to increase power but the chopper is already at its maximum speed. ‘If this bloody thing was any slower it’d be going backwards.’

  ‘Really close now!’

  ‘Does it have to be the third street?’

  ‘The third!’

  Corey looks in the side-view mirror again. The missile hoves into view, fills the mirror.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Absolutely!’

  They pass the second street.

  The missile surges closer.

  The third street approaches fast.

  *

  Judd heaves on the rope, drags himself up, then again, gets his feet on the hook. He feels as secure as he can considering the situation. He looks back.

  The missile is so close he can see the rivets on its casing. It’s just five metres away now. They won’t outrun it. It’s only a matter of time before it -

  The Loach jinks hard right, turns down another street. The missile turns too but not as fast. Suddenly it’s twenty metres behind again.

  ‘Whoa!’ Judd grips the rope white-knuckle hard as he swings out again, even wider than before, more than horizontal this time - hangs there like he’s in suspended animation -