Combustion (20 page)

Spike barks.

‘Yes, I realise it comes after “phase two”, but what is it?’

Judd shakes his head. ‘No idea. Look at the next bit.’

‘Five p.m. MHS.’

‘Are you sure it says MHS?’

‘MHS. Yep. What’s MHS?’

‘Don’t know, but it’s familiar. They must have something planned there.’ He glances at his Ploprof. ‘In just over an hour.’

‘Is there some way you can send this document to your own phone? So you can see it more clearly?’

‘No, it’s in the calendar section. There doesn’t seem to be anything else on there that’s of much use.’

Corey passes the phone back. ‘Show it to the feds when we meet ‘em.’

‘Yep.’ Judd turns and points. ‘And that’s where we’re going.’ Behind a line of skyscrapers they catch a glimpse of the tall, boxy Federal Building, which could only have been designed and built in the 1960s. It houses everything from the Passport Office to the Office of the FBI. For anything related to the United States Federal Government, it’s a one-stop shop in LA.

Corey turns to Judd. ‘So what are we going to say to them? The Feds.’

‘The truth. We have two canisters of a counteragent to the virus that’s causing the explosions.’

‘Will they believe us?’

‘We’re half the
Atlantis
4. They’ll believe us.’

‘Mate, we don’t even know if the stuff works —’

They pass another skyscraper and see the Federal Building fully for the first time.

The left side of the building is alight, the flaming chassis of an exploded bus on the road in front of it the ignition point of the blaze. A small group of people mill about outside and watch the flames. There are, of course, no fire trucks in attendance.

The left side of the building collapses and slides onto the road below, scattering the group of people. There’s a pause - then a series of five explosions rock the structure. Windows blow out and the centre of the building collapses in on itself like a failed soufflé. There’s another pause - then a giant flame shoots out from the roof. It lights up the sky with a fireball that burns a vivid blue.

Corey and Judd recoil as the heatwave rolls over them. Even from a hundred and fifty metres away it’s like putting your head inside a pizza oven. They freewheel along Wilshire and watch the destruction unfold for a moment, then Judd turns to Corey. ‘So that didn’t turn out the way I hoped.’

‘Where to now?’

‘Good question.’ Judd consults his iPhone, works the screen for a couple of seconds, points down a side street. ‘This way.’

They make a hard right turn and ride fast.

~ * ~

‘There.’

‘Is this where they shot
Beverly Hills Cop?’

‘Yep.’ Judd and Corey cycle towards the Beverly Hills Police Station. Yes, the same one used in the Eddie Murphy movies, and countless TV shows. It’s surely the best-looking police station on the planet, with its handsome tower, Art Deco details and spotless appearance. It looks like it was built to be a palace, not a cop shop.

Judd takes it in. ‘And you know what I like most about this place? It’s not on fire.’

Corey grins. ‘How’d you know to come here?’

‘When I was a kid it had just opened when my mum - someone stole the tape deck, yes,
tape deck,
out of her car. We had to come to this station to file a report. Spent a couple of hours here. A cop showed me around. It was very cool.’

They cycle closer. There aren’t many people around. Judd was expecting the place to be packed with citizens in need of assistance but no, it’s all but empty. Odd. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Must be inside.’

They cut through the car park where half the police cruisers, almost ten by Judd’s count, are burned out, then ride up to the main entrance, dismount and push the bikes through the sliding doors, which open into a giant foyer.

Inside it is both gloomy and empty. There are no lights on and nobody around. They glance at each other.

Corey looks around. ‘Is it closed? Do police stations close in America? Is that wise with all the guns?’

They park their bikes by the door and Corey turns to Spike, forks his middle and index finger into a V, points them at his eyes, then the dog’s eyes, then the bikes. ‘Stay here. Anybody tries to take them, you know what to do.’

The dog barks.

‘No, I don’t think the police will need to take your statement.’

Corey and Judd turn and walk across to the reception desk.

There’s nobody sitting behind it.

Judd looks around. ‘What the hell is going on here?’

There’s a faint noise from the other side of the desk. They peer over. A young, dark-haired woman is huddled beneath it.

Judd’s instantly concerned. ‘You okay?’

She looks up at him and shakes her head, petrified.

‘What are you doing down there? Where is everyone?’

‘Are they still here?’ Her voice trembles.

Corey leans forward. ‘Is who still where?’

‘The men, with the machines. Are they still there?’

Judd looks around, even checks right behind him. ‘Men? I can’t see any men. Or machines.’

Corey pipes up. ‘There’s
us.
We’re men, but we don’t have any machines - unless you count our bikes, which aren’t really “machines”. Well, I guess you could make an argument that they
are
machines but - anyway. Sorry. So, what kind of machines are you talking about?’

The young woman rolls out from under the desk, finds her feet, sprints across the foyer and out the main doors. They watch her go.

Corey is confused. ‘Is she coming back?’

Judd shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so.’

They scan the list of offices on a large plaque bolted to the wall beside the reception desk. Judd points at the word
Detectives.
‘Third floor.’

‘Seems like a good place to start.’

They turn towards the bank of elevators and see no one is manning the security screening gate that visitors pass through before they can enter the elevators on the other side. They glance at each other and it hits home how peculiar this situation actually is.

Corey looks around. ‘Really, what’s going on here?’

Judd shakes his head. ‘Don’t know, don’t care. We just need to find a cop, pass on the counteragent and tell them about the MHS thing.’ He glances at his watch. ‘Whatever’s happening there is happening in fifty minutes.’

They reach the bank of elevators and Corey presses the up arrow.

‘MHS.’ Judd mumbles it to himself. He knows those initials. What do they mean?

Corey turns his head. ‘Hear that?’

‘What?’ Judd listens, then notices a very distant buzzing sound.

Ding.

The doors to the elevator in front of them slide open and they step inside. The large elevator is wood panelled, has a mirror on each wall and a button panel on both sides of the doors. A jaunty muzak version of ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ plays from a speaker above. The boys don’t really notice any of those details, though. What strikes them is the pungent smell. Corey knows what it is straight away. ‘Gasoline.’

Judd looks down. There’s a small pool of liquid on the dark marble floor. He crouches, touches it, smells it. ‘Yep. Why would that be here?’

Corey shrugs. ‘Jeez Louise, it’s strong. Want to take the next one?’

‘Nah. It’s only three floors.’

Corey nods and hits the button for the third floor. The doors slide together and the elevator rises. As it does the buzzing sound recedes into the distance.

Ding.

The doors slide open.

The third floor is empty.

They step out, look around. There’s no one there. Judd’s baffled. ‘That’s just - strange, don’t you think?’

Corey nods. ‘It’s actually weird, mate. I reckon we should head down to the lockup.’

‘The what?’

‘You know, where they put the crims when they’re brought in. That plaque thingy downstairs said it was on the lower ground floor. There’s got to be someone down there who can tell us what’s going on.’

‘Let’s do it.’

They step back inside the elevator and Judd presses the LG button. The doors slide shut and the elevator descends. ‘The Girl from Ipanema’ continues to play.

The buzzing sound returns, and becomes louder. Judd can hear it clearly now. ‘What is that?’

‘Sounds like a leaf blower or something.’ Corey glances at the liquid on the ground. ‘Why would there be gasoline in the elevator?’

Judd thinks about it. ‘What did that woman say? About the men?’

‘That they had machines.’ Corey stares straight ahead, lost in thought. ‘And machines run on gasoline.’

‘And what’s been happening to machines that run on gasoline today?’

They look at each other.

Ding.

The doors slide open.

~ * ~

The throbbing buzz-scream of a chainsaw echoes across the large room.

Fifteen metres away a man dressed in black and wearing a white hockey mask rises from behind a booking counter, swings his arm high and hurls a chainsaw across the room.

Engine screeching, it spirals through the air, then drops like a brick, slams into the ground, bounce-rolls across the cement floor and slams into a barricade of three office desks, behind which three uniformed cops take cover.

Judd’s eyes flick to the chainsaw’s exhaust. It’s dark purple, then turns black, its engine note rough, like rocks in a blender. ‘Take cover!’ Judd and Corey roll behind the elevator’s button panels -

Ka-boom!
The chainsaw detonates like a Claymore landmine -but worse. It sends a blast of white-hot shrapnel in every direction, the soundwave deafening.

Smash, thud, crash.
The shrapnel slams into the elevator, shatters the mirror on the rear wall. The office desk barricade is obliterated, the police officers behind it slump to the blackened floor.

Corey glances at Judd. ‘Guess we know what the buzzing sound is now.’

Judd scans the lockup, stunned. It’s strewn with bodies - every one a police officer. At least twelve that he can count. They’ve stumbled into the middle of a siege. He jams his thumb onto the door-close button. Nothing happens. ‘Won’t shut.’

Corey tries the button on his side. ‘Not happening! The explosion stuffed it.’

Still crouched behind the counter, Hockey Mask shouts at a man fifteen metres behind him. ‘How long till it’s open?’

This guy has no shirt on his heavily tattooed back but wears large safety goggles over his eyes. ‘Thirty seconds!’ He trains a flaming welding torch on the lock of a holding cell door, egged on by three prisoners inside. On a small cart beside him are the cylinders of oxygen and acetylene that feed the torch.

One of the uniform cops, stunned by the explosion but still alive, drags himself across the ground towards a 9mm pistol.

Hockey Mask dives his hand into the open, oversized duffle bag beside him, drags out another chainsaw, yanks the ripcord to start it and hurls it across the room. It spirals through the air, engine screaming, and lands a metre in front of the police officer. He reaches out, grabs it to throw it back -

Ka-boom!
It detonates and blows the poor bastard to pieces.

Smash, thud, crash.
Judd and Corey take cover as another wave of shrapnel slams into the elevator.

Judd winces. ‘Oh, man. Really wish I hadn’t seen that.’

Hockey Mask and Safety Goggles turn to see Judd and Corey in the elevator. And Judd and Corey see them.

‘Damn it!’ Corey jams his thumb into the door-close button again and keeps it there. ‘Come on!’

Nothing happens.

‘Continuing to push it isn’t going to make it work!’

‘You got a better idea, I’m all ears.’

Safety Goggles draws a pistol and swings it towards the elevator. The prisoners in the holding cell cheer him on.

‘Jesus!’ Corey turns to Judd. ‘Use the gun.’

‘The what?’

He points at Judd’s back. ‘The gun! Use the bloody gun!’

‘Oh Christ, that’s right!’ Judd had forgotten all about Ponytail’s pistol. He drags it from his belt, aims it out the elevator’s doors and fires once.

The bullet slams into the oxy-welder’s acetylene cylinder.

Boom.
It detonates. The explosion isn’t as big as either of the chainsaws but it’s big enough, smacks Safety Goggles flat to the ground, knocks him out cold. The deflated prisoners in the holding cell let out a disappointed groan.

Hockey Mask takes in what just happened, then disappears behind the booking counter again. It’s silent for a long moment - then a buzz-scream cuts across the room.

Judd and Corey watch Hockey Mask rise from behind the booking counter and hurl a chainsaw towards them.

Time slows.

Corey turns to Judd. ‘We gotta close the doors!’ He grabs the door on his side and pushes it shut as Judd does the same on his side. They slide towards each other - slowly.