Matt Hilton: Blood and Ashes

‘Maybe we shoulda took their radios,’ Rink said. ‘They’re shouting for help and that only lessens our chances of getting to Gant first.’

I was in agreement, but I looked up at the statue looming overhead. ‘This isn’t about revenge, or even Don and his family any more. This is about stopping an attack on the USA itself.’

‘So we gonna get on with it?’

‘Ready when you are.’

‘Let’s go, then.’

Going first, I jogged through a short passage and into a foyer of the large building. A barrier used for controlling the flow of visitors had been knocked over, but that was the only sign that something out of the ordinary had occurred here. I scanned the room, ignoring the exhibits, searching for movement. Using hand-speak I motioned Rink forward, and then went on into the room. Rink came in behind me, moving off at an angle, covering while I searched for a way up into the bowels of the building.

In a brick vault-work passage on the right, there was a way up. We were taking much on faith when we assumed that Gant had indeed continued upwards as the youth said, because there was no way we could follow normal procedure and clear each level as we went. I started up the stairs and heard the scuff of feet as Rink followed. Taking it in turn to advance then cover for the other, we worked our way up through the original fort to the statue’s pedestal and found another chamber where doors led out on to the promenade that once held gun platforms. We ignored them and went again for the next set of stairs. There was an elevator up to the top of the pedestal but neither of us wanted to confine ourselves in an enclosed space that could be hosed down by bullets at any of the stops.

We went up in absolute silence but for one time, when Rink was passing to take the lead. He whispered, ‘If we get out of this alive, I’m definitely renewing my gym membership. I suggest you do too.’

I didn’t reply; I was too busy sucking in oxygen. As Rink reached the next point, I headed up once more, legs feeling like I was wearing lead-soled boots. I came to a standstill when we found Jefferson, and saw that the man was beyond help. There was a new spring in my heels when I set off again.

Finally we came out into an area that took me by surprise. I’d never been in the statue before. Like a lot of people I expected that it was solid but found it to be a large empty space, sheets of copper over a steel frame. It was like standing under the vaulted ceiling of a cathedral, that same hushed sense of awe thick in the atmosphere. From somewhere overhead there came a dull clink, followed moments later by a shuffle of movement that was multiplied by the echoing effect of the massive bell-shaped construction. We searched above us for the source of the sounds, but the reverberation made that impossible.

Speaking was unworkable now. Even at a whisper our voices would carry to Gant. Our saving grace was the rain pattering against the outer shell of the statue, a drum roll to hide our advance up the stairs. Each step needed to be measured, and we kept our elbows clear of the rails of the spiral staircase. Its design, like those found in medieval castles, made it difficult for more than one of us to advance at a time, so I stayed in the lead. The way I saw it, I’d led Rink here, so if anyone should be shot first it wasn’t going to be my friend.

We’d made it almost to the top when the sounds emanating from the observation point in the statue’s diadem grew louder. There were a couple of clunks, some metal being dragged, a few more indistinguishable sounds, followed by a thunder of feet pounding downwards. The stairs beneath our feet shook under the tread and we prepared ourselves.

Rink, being the taller of us, could angle his arm over my shoulder without impeding my aim. I also levelled my SIG at the stairwell above.

It would have been different if the staircase had come with walls, we’d have easily ambushed Gant as he ran into our line of sight, but the stairs were open for the purposes of visitors marvelling at the construction from within. Above us Gant skidded to a halt. He swore savagely, leaned out over the railing and fired his machine pistol.

We had nowhere to go, so we stood our ground. We returned fire as bullets spanged off the railings and steps. The angle saved us, but ricochets were a dire threat. A couple of bullets bounced off the steps and punctured the copper sheeting like moths had holed Lady Liberty’s robes.

‘Get the fuck out of here. There’s a bomb up there and it’s gonna blow any second!’

Gant’s voice came to us as a shriek of panic, all thoughts of glorious martyrdom gone now that he’d been thwarted of a free run for safety.

‘Stop it, then!’ I yelled back. ‘You don’t have to let it explode.’

‘I can’t, goddamnit, I can’t!’ Gant let loose a further hail of bullets, then followed them part way down the next flight.

Angling my gun I fired at the steps overhead. The rounds flattened against the steel supports, but the loud bangs that accompanied them caused Gant to come to a halt.

‘You’re not coming down, you prick,’ I shouted. ‘If that bomb goes off, you’re going with it.’

‘That’s you, isn’t it, the bastard who shot me back in Pennsylvania?’

‘Yes, the name’s Joe Hunter.’ I pressed an elbow in Rink’s ribs, nodded down the stairs. Rink shook his head vehemently; he wasn’t going anywhere. Go, I mouthed. Then I motioned that I was planning to draw Gant down after me. We could get him when he came down. Either that or we’d pen him in and leave him for his bomb to kill. Rink slipped away, while I covered his retreat by shouting, ‘You hear me, Gant? You defuse that fucking bomb or I’ll be the man who kills you.’

‘Motherfucker, you won’t be killing anyone. Don’t you get it? If we don’t get out of here in the next few seconds we’re both going to die. I. Can’t. Stop. It.’

‘Then we’re both going to die.’ My voice was firmer than I expected. I didn’t relish being caught in the blast, but I wasn’t moving until the sounds of Rink’s descent faded.

Gant didn’t like the idea of being scorched to the bones; he came, shooting as he pounded down the stairs. The angle offered no protection now and I was woefully outgunned. I was forced to retreat, but that was OK, I had no intention of being immolated either. To slow Gant down, I fired, picking the shots so that they were just enough to make the man above slow in his descent.

Gant was roaring in frustration, his anger rising in pitch with every second, but he had good reason.

Several flights above Gant I saw the inner curves of the statue change hue, going from a muted green to blossoming orange. Then there was a pop and the world held its breath.

The explosion that followed was deafening, and the flash of light that followed caused Gant to scream and me to jam a crooked elbow over my eyes to avoid being blinded. But that wasn’t the end of it. There was much worse to come.

The rain had been such a feature of the last few days that I had grown familiar with it. But this rain was like nothing I’d experienced before. It was fire and brimstone flung from heaven to wipe out life. It came in droplets first, then in a molten curtain that spilled between the rails from above. Where it struck the steel structure, or the copper sheeting, it adhered to it and continued to burn, black smoke coiling everywhere. My coat, wet from the rain, wasn’t spared. Spatters of flaming petroleum set me on fire, and I ripped at my clothing to get out of it. I back-pedalled, slapping at another patch on my jeans, feeling the heat transfer to my palm as residue stuck there. I wiped my palm rapidly up and down a leg to put out the fire.