Complete Independence Day Omnibus, The

by Molstad, Stephen

  *

  Jasmine opened the door and stepped onto the asphalt. She was in the fast lane on the old Pasadena Freeway. Traffic on her side of the road was jammed solid, crawling along at one mile per hour. Just over the guard rail, things were moving much faster. Drivers pushing to get north out of the city had taken over the empty southbound lanes. Just ahead was the mouth of a tunnel cut into the side of a steep hill. The idea of being inside a tunnel while the ship was overhead gave Jas the creeps.

  Frustrated, she got back into the car. As soon as she was beyond the tunnel, she told herself, she’d find some way to get across the center divider and make some time, even if she had to ram her way through the guard rail. At the rate she was going, she wouldn’t make it to El Toro until next month. Dylan and Boomer were both starting to get bored and restless. Jasmine switched on the radio for another traffic report.

  “…authorities have called for a complete evacuation of Los Angeles County. Motorists are being urged to avoid the freeways wherever possible and take surface streets instead. You’ll make much better time that way.”

  “Now he tells us,” Jasmine looked over at Dylan and shook her head in exasperation. The boy just shrugged his shoulders. Traffic advanced another thirty feet.

  *

  The president and his entourage were moving fast. At the bottom of the stairs, they met an aide who had brought Patricia out to meet them. From there it was out onto the lawn and into the waiting helicopters. The twenty men and women, all looking sharp and polished despite being in their twenty-first consecutive hour of work, jogged across the lawn, up the stairs, and into the big blue-and-white choppers with the presidential seal emblazoned upon the door.

  General Grey had already boarded and was on a telephone when the president entered. “Is my wife in the air?” The edge in the chief executive’s voice told Grey the answer had better be yes.

  “She’ll be in the air at any moment. They’re loading right now.”

  Connie was the last one in the door. She looked confused and she was. The Marine guards controlling access to the helicopter had stopped David and Julius behind the cordon. They couldn’t come along. There were a couple of unoccupied seats on the chopper, but the president had his nose buried in a fax from the State Department and Connie couldn’t imagine asking him to bring David along with them. Besides, it was too late. The ground crew was closing the door and the Air Force pilot was revving the blades up to liftoff speed. Somehow, David and Julius would have to make it out of the city by themselves. Connie knew if David’s theory about the countdown were correct, they only had about ten more minutes to do so.

  “Tom…” The sound of the voice surprised her, even though it was her own. When President Whitmore wheeled around to face her, Connie found herself at a loss for words. Instead, she pointed out the window to where the Marines had detained David and Julius.

  As soon as the president saw them standing out there, he stood up and moved to the door, pushing it open again. Over the roar of the copter blades, he yelled something to the men outside. One of them immediately turned and ran across the lawn, bringing the Levinsons back with him. As the two of them came up the stairs and into the cabin, the expression on Whitmore’s face let them know they were expected to sit down and shut up. That’s exactly what they did. Finding seats next to Connie, David had his laptop up and running before the copter lifted off. Looking over his shoulder, Connie could see the display on the computer screen ticking down.

  11:07 11:06 11:05…

  As the helicopter lifted quickly away, Connie looked out the window, watching the people below on the White House lawn. None of them looked like people about to die. They were all so busy, so focused on properly executing their individual responsibilities. Somehow, Connie felt, their concentration made them seem safe, protected. They still had so much work to do. For a moment, she thought she was watching a scene like the one she had imagined taking place at the gates of heaven: some were allowed to pass toward salvation while others were left outside to perish. She shook it off. Certainly, these people, these hardworking background players she had worked side by side with for the last three years would be there as always when the chopper returned.

  11:01 11:00 10:59…

  *

  She was lifted up the last several flights as if by magic, drawn upwards toward the sounds of the party raging above. At last, she pushed open the fire door and stepped into the open air. Hundreds of laughing, shouting, drinking people were dancing to the blaring cacophony produced by three competing stereo systems. Some were waving signs, others lighting fireworks. A group of women who looked like secretaries had dressed themselves up in “alien suits,” white body stockings with tall cone head caps strapped under their chins. One couple, taking themselves a little too seriously, came as the king and queen of a distant galaxy, complete with velvet robes, elaborate crowns, and jeweled scepters. They sat stoically amid the mayhem as if waiting for a messenger to arrive from the ship. The birthday suit was another popular costume. In the big dance circle at the center of the roof, a bunch of young hippies, Deadhead types, had stripped off their clothes and were entranced in a writhing naked group dance. A rumba line was snaking its way through the crowd, and as they passed, one of the dancers shoved a bottle of tequila into Tiffany’s hands. She felt as if she’d come home. As if she’d finally found the wildest, coolest, craziest spot on earth. The one she could never find or get invited to. And the ironic thing was that most of the people atop the old First Interstate Building shared one important characteristic in common: they were nerds. Tiffany laughed out loud then gulped down a long slug of tequila.

  More amazing than the party was the view of the ship. The dead center of it was directly overhead. I’m at ground zero, she thought. She took a long look at the lustrous surface of the craft. The long silver streaks, the ones people said looked like insect wings, were actually a whole network of lumpy projections, warehouse-sized tubs, tanks, and docks that made the thing look like a city hanging upside-down. It was certainly large enough to be a city. Gaping up in awe, she pictured what the inside of the ship must look like, imagined herself whisking around inside doing some important business. A tug at her arm brought her back to earth. An older guy with a beard was working on a joint. Pointing toward the naked snake dancers not far off, he told her a little story over the noise.

  “In the last days of the Third Reich, as the allies advanced on Berlin and everybody knew it was all over, that their world was about to end, they started having wild orgies. It’s how they dealt with the stress of the situation.” He reached out and stroked her arm. It was the lamest come-on line she’d ever heard.

  “Whatever!” Tiffany laughed in the guy’s face, handed him the tequila, then waded deeper into the thick of the party, pulling her WE COME IN PEACE sign out and waving it to the spaceship. It was crowded, far too many people for the small rooftop. Some of the “alien lovers” were only a few feet from the edge, sixty-five stories straight down without a guard rail.

  All of a sudden, a police helicopter lifted over the side of the building, its bullhorn turned to full volume. “You are commanded to leave the roof at once. The president of the United States has ordered the evacuation of Los Angeles. Make your way to the stairs immediately in a safe and orderly fashion.”

  The crowd reacted predictably, booing and throwing whatever they had in hand. Most of them had already defied the police to get up here, pushing through the cordon they’d set up at ground level. The chopper circled the building once, repeated the order, then peeled away toward the next rooftop.

  A tremendous noise erupted overhead, a low, steady rumble like the sound of a hundred thousand timpani drums. Everyone stopped and craned their necks back to witness the amazing spectacle unfolding overhead. The center of the ship was opening. The aliens were preparing to communicate. Huge interlocking doors began to tilt downward. The entire mile-wide center of the ship, the dark circle at the center of the flower, slowly broke open to
reveal the dimly lit interior. At the absolute center, one small area didn’t move. This was the tip of a long needlelike structure. As the doors around it continued to drop away and apart, the needle began to lower itself over the city. It was long and thin, except near the bottom, where it flared out into a diamond shape, like a snake swallowing an apple. This shaft had a quality to it which made it look both biologically natural and utterly repulsive at the same time. The long neck of it poked below the bottom of the ship, dangling into the night sky like a newly budding flower while the doors continued to lower themselves, spreading apart like the bloom of a black steel rose. When the doors were perpendicular to the ground, the rumbling noise ceased, but the shaft of the needle continued forcing its way deeper into the sky until the tip of it was only two hundred feet above Tiffany and her new friends.

  *

  The First Lady’s helicopter darted between the skyscrapers, moving at its top speed. The pilot had seen what happened to Operation Welcome Wagon and was anxious to get his passengers out of harm’s way. Although their destination lay to the northeast, the pilot took off south, the fastest way out of downtown.

  “Maybe it’s some kind of observation tower,” one of her aides said of the hanging needle.

  Then the green light began. From the tip of the needle, a wide glimmering ray lit up downtown, the light the same milky jade that had annihilated Operation Welcome Wagon. From the ocean to the foothills, everything human stopped to gasp at the light’s eerie beauty. The soft beam was so lovely, so peaceful and magical, it seemed to be a sign of friendship. For a few minutes it seemed everything was going to be all right. There wouldn’t be a confrontation after all. The light made it seem obvious earth was about to experience a harmonious close encounter. The parties on the several rooftops fell quiet. The history of the planet was about to change forever, and they knew they were right at the heart of the action. Holding their signs skyward, they waited for the communication to begin.

  *

  Outside Washington, at Andrews Air Force Base, the door of the helicopter was kicked open before the runners touched down on the tarmac. David’s theory about the countdown was being taken very seriously now and there wasn’t a moment to lose. Secret Service agents hustled President Whitmore and his entourage out the door, across the open runway, then up the boarding ramp into Air Force One. The 747’s turbine jet engines were already revved up to full power, ready to launch the plane down the runway. Like clockwork, the boarding ramp was disengaged, and the pilot released the brakes, sending the airplane lurching forward into its takeoff run. As they gained speed down the runway, the flight crew was buckling Julius, the last person up the stairs, into his seat. David, flipped open his laptop and watched the last few seconds tick off on the screen.

  00:25 00:24 00:23…

  *

  A white tracer beam shot straight down through the center of the green light onto the old First Interstate Building. Every alien lover within fifty feet wanted to claim the spot where the beam touched the roof, believing perhaps that one of them was about to be selected and lifted into the ship. They fought each other like wild dogs for the privilege of being earth’s ambassador.

  While they pushed and wrestled, Tiffany retreated to the mellower energy of the area near the stairs. Lots of portable televisions were plugged in, all showing the same sharp white ray was coming from the other ships around the world. In Paris, the beam was on top of Notre Dame cathedral; in Berlin it fell on the old Reichstag building; in Tokyo, the Emperor’s Palace; the convention center in San Francisco; Central Park in New York; the Forbidden City in Beijing; the enormous dome of Tel Aviv’s Great Synagogue; the statue of Nelson in London’s Trafalgar Square, and, in Washington, D.C., the beam was fixed at the very tip of the Washington Monument.

  Then the waiting was over. The white beam amplified noticeably. It turned brighter, much too bright to look at. Everyone within two miles turned away, burying their faces in their arms. Those who didn’t felt their retinas begin to burn and warp. A whirring hum like a dentist’s drill grew louder and louder until it was a piercing thunder. Terrified people on the rooftops fell to their knees clutching their overburdened ears and eyes, screaming silently into the sea of noise. Then, for a brief moment, everything stopped.

  For the space of two heartbeats, the light disappeared and everything was quiet once more. The stunned believers had just enough time to uncover their eyes and look upwards for an answer.

  WHAM!! A streak of blinding white light slammed down out of the needle. All at once, the old First Interstate exploded from the inside out, shattering into a billion fragments, none larger than a playing card. Tiffany never had time to scream. The thundering light poured down with unbelievable force, and within two seconds, the civic center was gone. A tidal wave blast of fire flared up, then began rolling outward, spreading in all directions at once. A wall of destruction, an awesome sea of fire, crashed through the city, taking everything in its path. Every wall of every building, every tree, every street sign, even the asphalt of the streets was burned up and blown away. A hurricane, a flood, and an atomic bomb blast all rolled into one, the wall of destruction hurled cars high into the air, shattered buildings like scarecrows in a tornado, and smothered the city under a thick layer of fire. The wall of destruction rolled outward from the epicenter, scouring the City of Angels off the planet.

  Perhaps the most horrible aspect was how slowly it moved. An atomic blast would have incinerated its victims instantly, before they realized what was happening. But this fireball rolled through the city like a flash flood, allowing its victims plenty of time to see it coming. Everyone turned and ran, but there was nowhere to hide. The few people who managed to make it belowground, into cellars and bomb shelters, were suffocated. The firestorm sucked the oxygen right out of their lungs and cooked them where they hid.

  In Washington, the White House and all the buildings flanking the mall area—the Lincoln and Jefferson Memorials, the Smithsonian museum complex—were instantly torn to shreds, decimated. From there, the blast materialized into a tidal wave of fire rushing outward. In the blink of an eye, it blew apart and instantly consumed the Capitol Building, taking most of the hill with it. In the other direction, the Pentagon was flattened, blown to smithereens.

  The same grisly scene was repeating in cities around the world, everywhere the giant ships were stationed. Thirty-six of humanity’s proudest creations, home to millions upon millions of people, were swiftly and systematically obliterated.

  *

  The digital display on David’s laptop had ticked to zero six seconds before the rear wheels lifted off the runway. The savage burst of light which signaled the obliteration of Washington, D.C., had already flashed through the windows. David dug his fingers into the cushioned armrests of his chair and looked at the ceiling, waiting.

  Julius was the only one who wasn’t sweating. He understood there was nothing left to do except hope it wasn’t his time. As the plane began to climb, everyone in the cabin took a relieved breath and allowed themselves to believe they’d survived. A second later, the wall of destruction reached Andrews AFB, still a hundred feet high. It tore through the base, ripping it to shreds as it chased the plane down the runway. The 747, slowly lumbering upward, was five hundred feet off the ground when the wall of fire caught up and shot past below. Although they were above the brunt of the blast, the air pressure at the front of the wall swelled up under the tail of the big plane and gave it a violent shove. Bottles shattered in the service area and luggage toppled into the aisle, but Air Force One narrowly escaped.

  *

  The tunnel was a long gloomy concrete tube built back in the twenties. Narrow walkways on both sides gave way to alcoves with grime-caked wooden doors every few hundred feet. Along with her fellow drivers, Jasmine was listening to live news reports on the radio. The announcer’s descriptions of the enchanting green light lured many drivers out of their cars. They took their keys and ran to the end of the tunnel, where
they could stand on the cliff and witness the phenomenon for themselves. Jasmine leaned on her horn. She was only ten car lengths from the end of the tunnel and didn’t care about any damned green light. Eventually, realizing she was pinned in, she cut the engine to save gas.

  She listened with concern as the man on the radio described the blinding white ray cutting through the soft green light. Then, as the blast pounded down on the city, turning it to an inferno, the newsman began shouting hysterically.

  “My God! My God! It’s destroying everything. Widening—” Abruptly, the voice was gone.

  Jasmine’s instincts took over. She reached across and picked up Dylan, hoisting him out of the car. He had just enough time to grab his backpack with the precious fireworks Steve had given him. With her child in her arms, Jasmine broke into a sprint for the mouth of the tunnel, glancing over her shoulder as she went. Already, the sky behind her was burning orange and white. Needing somewhere to hide, she ducked into one of the maintenance alcoves cut into the rock wall. She tried the handle of the flimsy wooden door, but found it was locked. She turned around and checked the tunnel. The wall of destruction was speeding straight toward her. Terrified people bolted out of their cars and ran; others rolled up their windows and cringed.

  All the lights in the tunnel suddenly went dark. She was out of time. She turned once more and kicked blindly at the door. The howling firestorm reached the mouth of the tunnel, gushing into the narrow opening with a deafening boom. Anguished screaming and the thunderous noise of cars being swept up and torn apart blasted toward her. Jas put Dylan on her hip, lowered the other shoulder, and rushed the door. The flimsy wood splintered and she crashed through to the other side, landing in a heap.