Adam Baker - Impact

‘Get in the damned car,’ shouted Trenchman. He ran, grabbed them both by the shoulder and propelled them towards the limo.

They tumbled into the rear passenger compartment.

Quick glance:

MORGAN.

AKINGBOLA.

Sweating, terrified kids.

‘What happened to you guys?’ asked Trenchman. ‘How the hell did you miss the chopper?’

‘Manning a tower. Didn’t realise what was going down until it was too late.’

‘Don’t shit your pants. I’m not kidding. Combat stress. Clench, for God’s sake. We could be in here a while.’

Osborne took the wheel.

The limo pulled away, swung a wide arc and headed down the runway towards the burning figures. Cadaverous creatures reached for the automobile, got flipped across the hood, slammed aside by the fender. A cop went under a wheel, got balled up and jammed in the well. Bone-snapping disintegration, thick-tread tyre spraying fabric and flesh chunks like slurry.

Osborne ran screen-wash and wipers.

They drove through the fuel fire. Brief flurry of smoke and flame beyond the windows.

They accelerated down the runway, headed for the collapsed section of perimeter fence.

Jolt across the kerbs of Vegas Boulevard. Trenchman and the two grunts thrown around.

The vehicle lurched across the grounds of the Bali Hai Golf Club. Headbeams lit ghost figures stumbling aimlessly across the fairway.

They joined the two-one-five and headed out of town.

Trenchman relaxed on the bench seat. He turned to Osborne.

‘Either put out that damned cigar or raise the partition.’

Osborne cracked the side window for air. He opened the glove box, scattered CDs on the passenger seat. He found Cypress Hill and fed it into the dash.

Trenchman tapped a booted foot to ‘Ain’t Goin’Out Like That’ .

Osborne shouted over his shoulder:

‘Looks like The Luxor is burning pretty good.’

Trenchman glanced out the window. The great bronzed glass pyramid. Infernal glow from deep within the structure. Flames licked from the broken apex. It looked like a volcano.

‘Sin City,’ he murmured. ‘Abandon all hope.’

They headed down the interstate.

Salt flats gave way to dunes. The limo lurched across sand. Heavy tyres cut deep chevron tracks.

Osborne, Morgan and Akingbola sat in the rear, rocking on a bench seat, sipping Diet Cokes.

Trenchman had the wheel.

‘Doing okay so far,’ he shouted over his shoulder, ‘but if the terrain gets worse, might have to park and walk.’

Morgan leant over the driver partition.

‘I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but maybe this rescue mission isn’t such a good idea. After all, we’ve got finite gas.’

‘Crew of the Liberty Bell are out here, somewhere. They’re counting on us. For our own peace of mind, we’ve got to do whatever we can.’

Noon. Tinted glass and air con shielded them from the worst of the sun. Osborne swigged pretzels from a bag and looked out at unbroken desolation.

‘They must have bailed out the plane, right? Some kind of engine fault.’

‘I guess.’

‘Wouldn’t want to find myself alone in this fucking place. Dead as the moon.’

Akingbola contemplated the shimmering heat-haze horizon.

‘Hate to say it, but if we don’t find these guys within twenty-four hours, well, this little rescue party will become a burial detail.’

The limo rolled to a halt, parked amidst an endless vista of sand.

They got out the car. Fierce heat. Fierce light.

Morgan climbed the ridgeline and looked around

Akingbola took a piss.

Trenchman and Osborne leant against the car. They contemplated the dunes a while.

Trenchman licked his academy ring and squirmed it from his heat-swollen finger. He threw it as far as he could. It arced out of sight.

He climbed onto the hood, then stepped up onto the roof.

He tuned his radio.

‘This is Colonel Trenchman, US Army, calling the crew of Liberty Bell , anyone copy, over?’

No response.

‘ Liberty Bell , anyone out there, over? Anyone hear my voice?’

No response.

Suddenly tired, suddenly angry. Maybe Morgan was right. Perhaps he should have stayed aboard the Chinook, pushed the ’copter’s range to reach somewhere defensible like Alcatraz instead of risking his neck prosecuting a futile rescue mission.

He rubbed his eyes.

‘Come on, guys, talk to me. This is Trenchman, acknowledging your Mayday. I need your grids. If you can’t manage verbal communication, switch to transponder.’

Dead channel static.

Frost, alone on the flight deck.

She set the camcorder on the pilot console and pressed REC.

‘First night in the desert. It’s cold. Damn cold.’ She exhaled, watched her breath steam in chill air. ‘My fingers are numb. But I got to relish every second because, few hours from now, the sun will rise and we’ll burn in hellfire all over again.’

She rubbed her eyes.

‘It all happened so fast, you know? World fell apart so damned quick. Entire cities wiped out in a matter of weeks. Shit, by the time we realised we had a fight on our hands, we were already beat.

‘Must admit, I didn’t pay much attention when the outbreak began. Safe on an airbase. Whole thing: Not My Problem.

‘Spokane. Barely made the news. Some poor bastard found a half-melted lump of space junk out in the woods. Guy was some kind of survivalist. Headed into the forest with his bug-out bag to snare squirrels or some shit. Fucking ironic, right? Doomsday, end-of-the-world guy brings on Armageddon. Seems he came across a bunch of toppled trees and a smoking crater. Chunk of Soyuz buried in the soil. Remains of a fuel tank coated in some kind of carbonised residue. Dug it up thinking it might be worth a buck or two. Drove it to town strapped to the back of his pick-up. Posed with his boot planted on the thing like he was some big game hunter standing over his kill. Day later, he was quarantined in an ICU oxygen tent. FEMA locked down the hospital, taped the windows, the doors. TV crews and their satellite vans ringed the perimeter. Footage of trucks pulling up outside, guys in biohazard suits getting scrubbed in decon showers. National Guard rolled out concertina wire, set up searchlights and gun posts. Nobody in or out.

‘Know what? Looking back, they could have stopped it right there. Sacrificed the town. Dropped a nuke. Sterilised the region with a well-placed airburst. Would have killed the virus dead. But they dithered. And the moment passed.’

She sighed, looked down at her hands a while.

‘Guess that’s all it took. A few hesitations, a few bad judgement calls, cost the world.’

She hit OFF.

The lower cabin.

Noble pulled a quilted insulation blanket from the wall.

Ducting. A cluster of aluminium pipes.

He traced one of the pipes to an overhead vent.

‘This one. Air con.’

Hancock handed him a wrench.

He rapped the pipe with the wrench. Hollow chime.

‘Empty?’

‘Hard to tell.’

Noble adjusted the wrench and began to unscrew a bolt joint.

‘Ready with that canteen.’

He pulled the pipe from the wall. Metal squeal. Hancock held out the canteen and caught a brief piss-dribble of moisture.

‘Guess that’s all she’s got.’