Combustion (36 page)

Time speeds up.

He turns and sees his parachute tumble end over end as it ricochets away from him. He’s astonished, didn’t think he’d see it again. He looks down. The tar pits come up fast, but there’s still time before touchdown.

The pack is only three metres away and he needs to fly over to it. He’s jumped out of planes twice before so he knows the basics of skydiving. Forward motion is generated by - he can’t remember!

Extend the legs!
That’s right! If you straighten them against the airflow and keep your arms back it propels your body forward. He straightens his legs, jams his arms by his side, points himself at the pack - and flies backwards.

~ * ~

Lola looks up at the sky and watches it all unfold, open-mouthed.

The relief she felt at seeing two moving human figures drop through the smog cloud, having not been vaporised in the explosion, quickly disappeared as one of them opened his parachute only to have it snag on the remains of the burning chopper while the other frantically tries to grab something which, she can only presume, is a parachute.

A few moments ago she felt both dread and giddy euphoria. Now it’s just dread.

~ * ~

Corey flies forward.

He has it down now, realises he needs to keep his arms right back if he doesn’t want to go backwards. This time he veers to the left and is as far from the pack as when he started.

How does he steer?

Elbows!

Right elbow down, turn right, left elbow down, turn left.

‘Come on!’ He does it, pushes his arms and legs to the side of his body, drops his right elbow and curves towards the pack.

~ * ~

‘Whoa!’ Judd swings around and around, feels dizzy and sick.

He pushes his left hand across his chest, releases the drogue.
Twang.
Its suspension lines fly free and instantly slap against the Loach’s underside.

Whump, whump, whump.
The chopper spins towards him. Judd tries to get out of its way so he can open his main chute in clear air -

Bang.
The Loach slams into him.

Flat on his back, Judd is pinned to the bottom of the chopper’s fuselage by air pressure and centrifugal force. Together, Loach and astronaut spiral to earth in a crazy aeronautic dance.

Time slows.

Judd watches that smoking, oozing expanse of La Brea approach. He’s not scared - yet. If a pilot has time, he has hope. He needs to get away from this chopper and open the damn chute. With all his energy he attempts to overcome the forces at play and roll towards the edge of the fuselage.

He can’t do it, can barely move. The air pressure is too great.

Time speeds up.

He has seconds until impact. If he can’t move his whole body then maybe he can move part of it. With all his strength he pushes his right arm past the edge of the fuselage, jams it into the blasting stream of air -

‘Goddamn!’ His arm is wrenched back at the elbow, feels like it’s going to snap off. He grits his teeth, ignores the pain, holds his arm within the airflow, tries to alter the aerodynamic balance just a little. Buffeted by the wind he pulls it forward. His shoulder screams in protest.

Absolutely nothing happens.

‘Come on!’ He jams his right foot sideways, pushes it into the airflow too. The chopper tips to the right slightly - and releases the air pressure. He pushes off the fuselage and flips away.

Freedom. He looks down. The tar pit is
right there.
He yanks on the ripcord. The chute zips out of his pack -
and doesn’t open.
It just licks at the air behind him. After everything that’s happened today his
goddamn chute won’t open.

The chopper drops past him towards the tar pit below.

Boom.
It lands upside down and detonates in an immense fireball. Judd plummets directly towards the flames.

Wham.
The chute explodes out of his pack and bites the air, yanks him to an almost dead stop as the giant orange flame rolls up to meet him. He wrenches the chute’s suspension lines to fly right and avoid the fire but its rudimentary circular design means it’s slow to respond.

The fireball engulfs him. All he sees is orange, all he feels is heat and all he smells is av-gas. He hopes the chute doesn’t catch fire. Or his clothes.

Judd punches through the flames.

The good news is that his clothes didn’t catch fire. The bad news is that his chute did. The canopy, the suspension lines, it
all
burns. Then the suspension lines melt and snap.

He falls.

~ * ~

Corey stretches for the parachute. The tips of his fingers scrape it but can find no purchase. He registers an enormous explosion that rolls into the sky from the tar pits, realises it’s the Loach. He has seconds until he suffers the same fate as that chopper.

He lunges towards the pack - gets a hand on it, pulls it towards him, jams his right hand through a shoulder strap, loops it around his elbow then reaches for the ripcord -

He can’t find it! He searches, grabs something, pulls it, hopes –

Wham.
The chute explodes out of the pack, catches air, wrenches on his elbow. The pain is intense, but the chute is open.

Bam.
He smacks into the tar, goes straight under.

It’s like swimming through Vegemite, except this thick, black ooze doesn’t taste any good. He should be happy because he’s alive, but he isn’t. The parachute is twisted around him and he can’t get free. It’s like he’s been wrapped in a blanket and dropped in quick sand.

He needs air but can’t breathe. He fights the chute but that just makes it worse. Jesus, he’s going to drown in this tar pit, like every other prehistoric animal that’s stumbled into it over the last fifty thousand years.

~ * ~

48

Corey’s head is light, his lungs burn.

He needs air, but he doesn’t even know which way is up.

He’s dying.

A hand seizes the chute that’s wrapped around him, wrenches him to the surface. He gasps air, blinks the tar from his eyes -

Lola.

He’s stunned. ‘Thank you.’

‘No wuckers.’ She grins, shoulder deep in the tar, helps him pull free of the chute, then takes his hand and leads him through the smoke haze towards the side of the tar pit. ‘Walkway’s over here.’

His arm is numb from when he opened the parachute but he doesn’t even notice that at the moment. What registers is that the hand at the end of his numb arm is holding hers. It’s the first time that’s happened and he couldn’t be happier about it. This happiness lasts for exactly
three seconds,
then he’s concerned. ‘Where’s Judd? Did you see him?’

Lola shakes her head. ‘I barely saw you through the smoke.’

He calls out.
‘Judd!’

There’s no response.

The haze still blankets the tar pits and surrounding walkway but it’s not as bad as it was before. They wade past the three large, life-sized mammoth models then reach the edge of the tar pit, climb the short embankment, scale the safety fence and drop down to the walkway.

Spike is right there, lets out a sharp bark. Corey kneels, pats him, is about to answer that yes, he
did
just destroy another perfectly good helicopter, but catches himself in front of Lola and instead says: ‘Good boy.’ He turns, looks round. There’s no one on the walkway. The place is deserted.

His eyes land on the burning remains of the Loach lying in the tar pit thirty metres away. He moves towards it, shouts again:
‘Judd!’

No reply.

Panic rises in his chest. ‘Where could he be?’ He turns to Lola again. ‘You didn’t see a chute?’

She shakes her head, her expression grave. ‘Only yours.’

‘Judd?’

No answer.

‘Jeez.’ Corey bends at the waist, puts his hands on his knees, distraught.
‘Judd Bell?!’
He says it again but there’s no power in his voice this time.

‘Just how many Judds do you think are out here?’ Judd ploughs through the smoke, straight towards him. He moves fast, or as fast as he can at the moment. He’s doing what looks like a painful limp-run and it’s not pretty. He’s streaked in tar though you can see his hair is singed, he has a vivid sunburn on his face and one of his shoulders doesn’t seem to be working the way it should. ‘Oh, and by the way, I saw you first.’

The Australian takes him in, couldn’t be more relieved that he’s in one piece. ‘Mate, you look shocking.’

‘I’d look a whole lot worse if I hadn’t landed in the tar.’ Judd smiles, thrilled to see the Aussie. ‘I’m so glad you’re not dead.’ He doesn’t stop, just limp-runs past.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To find Rhonda.’

The Australian falls in beside him, Lola and Spike right behind.

Corey looks across at the astronaut. ‘Is that a canister of counteragent in your pocket?’

Judd pulls it out and inspects it. It’s undamaged. ‘Yep, and it’s happy to see you.’ He doesn’t say it with any humour this time.

‘She’ll be okay, mate.’

Judd pockets the canister and nods tightly, hopes the Aussie is right, fears he’s not.

~ * ~

They reach the end of the walkway and run into the park. The smoke is heavier and visibility is low. They pass a section of landing gear torn from the 737’s undercarriage, then follow a deep gouge across the grass towards a large flickering light in the distance.

Heart in mouth, Judd increases his pace, pulls ahead of the others, ploughs through the fog. It burns his eyes and makes his chest tight but he doesn’t care. He hears the pop and crackle of fire, then the tail section of the jet looms out of the haze, tilted to one side and alight.

He stops and scans the park. There are no passengers anywhere. He limp-runs on, sees the nose section of the 737, fifty metres to the right. It lies on its roof and the nose section burns. He sprints towards it. ‘Rhonda.’

Boom.
It explodes.

‘No-!’

The blast wave is enormous, lights up the park, knocks Judd flat, sends a wall of flaming shrapnel across the sky.

~ * ~

Thud.

‘Oh!’ Lola clutches the right side of her stomach. She looks at Corey, then her bloodied hand, horrified and confused. ‘What is that?’

The pain comes quickly and she collapses. Corey catches her before she hits the ground.

~ * ~

Judd pulls himself into a sitting position and watches the cockpit burn. The grief hits him like a sucker punch. He puts his head in his hands. He didn’t say it. He didn’t tell her he loved her.

He should have told her.

‘Dry your eyes. I’m not dead yet.’

Judd looks up.

Severson appears out of the haze.

‘Sev!’ Judd bounces to his feet. ‘Where’s Rhonda?’

‘Right here.’ Rhonda leads a large crowd of dazed but relieved passengers and crew. Judd’s relief is as overwhelming as the grief had been a moment before.

She runs to him and they embrace, hold each other tight. He pulls back and studies her soot-smeared face. ‘Welcome to LA.’

She smiles and gestures to the jet’s burning fuselage. ‘Sorry I’m late, parking was a bitch.’ He laughs and she takes him in. ‘Thanks for finding me the runway.’

‘Anytime.’

‘I’m guessing that big explosion was the bomb Severson didn’t tell me about?’

He nods. ‘Yeah, long story.’

She pulls him close, looks at him with nothing but affection. ‘I love you, baby.’

‘Wow. You’ve gone the full lovey-dovey twice in one day.’

‘And I’m gonna keep doing it from now on.’

‘Fine by me - and I love you too.’ They kiss - and the passengers break into a round of applause. Rhonda and Judd part, embarrassed.

Severson leads the applause and addresses the crowd. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our captain, the woman who just landed an airliner without engine power in the middle of a tourist attraction and saved every one of our arses, the one and only, Ms Rhonda Jacolby!’ He sweeps a hand towards her and the applause morphs into a cheer. Severson grins. ‘And, yes, I taught her everything she knows.’

Rhonda nods to him and mouths: ‘Thank you.’

He returns it. ‘Anytime, Nagatha.’

~ * ~

Twenty-five metres away Lola lies on the grass. Corey kneels beside her, studies the pencil-sized shard of metal that protrudes from the right side of her stomach just above her hip. ‘I’m going to pull it out now.’

‘That sounds
really
painful.’

‘You ready?’

‘Not really but do it anyway!’

He gently takes hold of the shard. She muffles a scream.

‘Okay. On three.’

She nods. ‘On three.’

‘One —’ He pulls out the shard.

She screams: ‘What happened to
three?’