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?’
‘It’s better if you don’t expect it.’
Her eyelids flutter.
‘Stay with me.’
Her face is grey.
‘Lola! Are you staying with me?’
She is not. She passes out.
Spike barks.
‘No, taking off my shirt will not make her wake up.’
‘Lola.’ Corey lightly slaps her cheek. ‘Lola.’ She’s limp in his arms. He feels sick to his stomach. ‘Lola, wake up.’ She doesn’t. He inspects the wound.
Spike barks.
‘Yes, thank you for pointing out I’m not a doctor. But I need to stop the bleeding —’
*
‘Who are you talking to?’
Caught, Corey looks at Lola as her eyes blink open. ‘I’m, well, I um…’
‘It’s your dog, isn’t it? You’re talking to your dog.’
Corey takes a moment, then nods.
‘You know what he’s saying?’
He nods again.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this?’
‘Most girls think it’s crazy.’
‘I’m not most girls.’
‘I noticed.’
She winces, looks at her wound. ‘Man, it hurts like a mutha. I mean, seriously.’
‘It’s not that deep, but we have to stop the bleeding. We need a bandage to put some pressure on it.’ He stops, thinks, then realises what he must do. He pulls off his T-shirt.
Spike barks.
‘Shut it.’
‘What did he say?’
‘“I see you’ve finally got your shirt off.”‘ He’s been telling me to do it for weeks, thought it’d make you like me.’
Lola can’t help but check out his cut physique as he rips the T-shirt, still damp from the tar pit, into one long strip and binds it around her torso, makes sure the material presses firmly against the wound. ‘That should do it until we get you to a doc.’
She nods stoically.
‘I’m glad you’re okay.’
‘Thanks to you.’
‘You helped me too. Anybody would have done the same thing.’
She smiles through the pain. ‘You know, they really wouldn’t.’ She looks him in the eyes. ‘I’m having a thought, which I’m turning into an idea.’
‘Oh, yeah? What is it?’
She pushes herself up and kisses him on the mouth, hard and fast.
He’s genuinely surprised. ‘But - aren’t you with Scott?’
‘Not any more. Remember when I said other people wouldn’t do what you did? I was talking about Scott.’
‘Really? I did not get that at all. I think I told you I’m not great with subtext.’
‘Then let me lay it out. In a crisis situation you see a person’s true nature. I saw his and it was awful. And then I saw yours, and it was - breathtaking. It literally took my breath away. And now I’m worried I’ve screwed up any chance of… us.’
‘Well, yeah, you kind of did.’
She deflates. ‘I know, and I’m so pissed off about that.’
He looks at her. ‘You let me do that whole thing, with the dancing and the moonlight and the beach and you didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend. It was bloody embarrassing.’
‘Of course it was. And I’m an idiot. But I did it because I like being with you. If you could just - do you think you could forget about it? Because I think this works. You and me. It works.’
He rubs his face and turns away and she can see he doesn’t agree. Gee, she royally screwed this up. She can’t think of anything to say - but she can think of something to sing, so begins in a low, husky timbre: ‘Baby come back …’
She sings the song for a moment and then trails off when it doesn’t have the positive effect she was hoping for.
He studies her. ‘You know, I’ve always thought she should come back in that song.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. He seems to be genuinely apologetic, and he went to the trouble of writing a great song.’
‘So you think she should give him a second chance?’
‘Well, if the roles were reversed and he hadn’t told her the truth about, say - how he could understand his dog, for example, or maybe he’d landed his helicopter in the middle of nowhere and told her to get out —’
‘And she’d been really pissed off about it.’
‘Exactly. Then maybe, you know, considering all that, they could call it even.’
‘Maybe they could.’ She rises up and kisses him again - and he’s not surprised by it this time. They part and their eyes meet. She touches his face. ‘You know you don’t need to protect me, or try to save me, right? I’m not your mother.’
He nods.
‘I’d like you to tell me about her, though. About what happened.’
‘I will.’
‘Good. You can start now if you’d like.’
Corey regards her for a moment, then begins: ‘Well, her name was Roberta …’
*
EPILOGUE
Cement dust swirls around the room.
Whack. Corey slams a heavy mallet into a brick wall. Whack. Another lands right next to it, swung by Judd this time. Rubble falls to the floor and is scooped up in a shovel, which Rhonda deposits into a large green garbage bin. Lola picks up the next load with her shovel and the process begins again.
All wearing dust masks and work clothes, they’re in the living room of the house on Sepulveda which Lola inherited from her grandfather. It was partially damaged on 7/27, when a motorcycle ploughed through the wall they’re presently demolishing, so Lola decided to extend the hole and install a panoramic window to overlook the front garden.
Like her grandfather’s house, greater Los Angeles is being rebuilt too, though three months after the events of 7/27, progress is glacial. Lola had heard the damage is even worse than the Northridge quake in 1994, the final price of the clean-up and reconstruction estimated at over one and a half trillion dollars. The good news is that the death toll, though still a staggering 1867, was less than first feared.
Whack. Lola takes in Corey as he swings the mallet again. The Aussie volunteered to do the renovation and it’s going really well. He’s very good with his hands, in a number of ways, which she’s happily finding out, and knocking down walls is one of them. They’re taking the relationship slow but it feels right to her, like nothing she’s experienced before. He’s a man - actually he’s a bloke - and she couldn’t be happier about that.
*
Whack. Corey thumps his mallet into the wall again. So the trip to the Florida Keys has been put on the backburner indefinitely. His relationship with Lola is hitting its stride so there is no way he’s going to leave LA. They have a great time together and he’s as happy as he’s ever been. He’s eve
n talked to her about his mother, which has been a difficult but positive experience. His only concern is what he’s going to do with himself after this reno is done. Should he start a chopper-for-hire business? Apart from the fact there are already a bazillion guys in LA doing just that, he’s been flying his whole life. He’d like to try something different for a while. He just doesn’t know what it is.
On the plus side, Spike likes Lola and Lola likes Spike. She doesn’t seem to give two hoots that he talks to his dog. He tries to keep it to a minimum around her mates and work colleagues, but no one appears to give a stuff. That’s one of the great things he’s found about the entertainment business in Los Angeles. Eccentricity, and by eccentricity he means outright craziness, is not shunned here, but celebrated - especially if you’re successful and making people money.
*
Rhonda scoops up a load of rubble and drops it into the bin. The landing, though not a success in the ‘did you save the aircraft?’ department, was a big success in the ‘did everyone live?’ department. There were a few minor injuries - some cuts and bruises, and one guy broke a finger - but that was it. Not only did it burnish her already impressive reputation, but it snapped her out of her Orion simulator funk. She has yet to perfect it, but the experience of flying and landing the 737 had changed her thinking enough so that she now felt comfortable improvising when things went south.
She has Severson to thank for that. As usual, he came out of the whole thing smelling like roses. His impromptu post-crash speech was filmed by one of the grateful passengers on a mobile phone, uploaded to YouTube and has been now been viewed over fifty-seven million times. With his increased profile, he has been tapped to lead the Mars mission’s crew selection committee. Having been happy to say previously that a decision was ‘above his pay scale’ so he could shirk responsibility, Severson now finds himself at that higher pay scale - with the extraordinary responsibility of deciding who will be the first human being to set foot on the red planet.
Since 7/27, she’s been going the lovey-dovey with Judd often and unprompted. She now understood the simplest thing, which her father never did: tell the people you love how you feel, every day, because you never know when the cabin will suffer an explosive decompression.
*
Combustion Page 26
