Sanctuary (38 page)

“He never said he was coming,” I spit in fury. “You lied.”

“I lied. You do not possess the ability to contend with his influence. It’s clouded your judgement. I made the choice for you.”

We all swayed as the engines surged. The jet was taking off.

“Chase will try to stop the Chemist. By
himself
.”

“I know.”

“You’re leaving him here to die!”

“I am.”

“Carter,” I seethed, “I’m going to kill you.”

Russia’s pistol came up without him moving a muscle. “Pretty little girl should try.”

Carter and I shouted over each other as our wheels left the runway. We were airborne in this floating palace.

Enough.

I grabbed my nasty surprise. A grenade.

With a flick of my finger, I sent the safety pin clattering onto the jet’s cushioned aisle. Carter stopped shouting. Russia blinked and his pistol wavered.

“I’m getting off this damn plane, Carter. One way or the other.”

“Samantha,” Carter stammered. His complexion turned two shades lighter, and he held up his palms. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to blow a hole in the fuselage and force an emergency landing if I have to.”

“Mitch, old friend, reason with her. It’ll take over an hour to turn this plane around and land, if we even get clearance.”

“Got a better idea, mate. Samantha and I are leaving. Right now,” Croc said.

“How’s that?”

“I’m wearing a parachute. We’ll leave and you go on your merry way.”

I glanced at him, stunned. He
was
wearing a parachute backpack. When had he…?

“We can leave one of two ways, Carter. She can release the safety lever, toss the tarter your way, and then Sammy-girl and I’ll go out the gigantic hole in the side of aeroplane.”

Russia looked terrified. Wonder if he was afraid of heights? If he fired his gun, I’d release the lever and we’d all almost certainly die.

“Or,” Croc continued, “she and I can go through the emergency hatch.”

I glanced out the window. We were gaining altitude quickly. I shrugged into my backpack and announced, “Croc, open the hatch. I’ll release the safety if they move.”

“Right-o, love!”

“Samantha,” Carter shouted. His voice was stern and frantic. “Don’t do this. You do this and our association is permanently over!”

“The hell with you, Carter.”

“You need me! And I need you.”

“You’re fired.”

Croc hauled up the emergency release below the rear window. The heavy door pried open at the bottom, and our pressurized air began howling through the thin opening. This was nuts! Deep breath. Croc kicked the door. Hard.

The door popped into the atmosphere like a champagne cork. Croc and I were sucked out.

We spun far from the thundering jet, which would have to make an emergency landing somewhere south. I was disoriented and sick immediately. Why did Chase enjoy this??

I threw the grenade into the brilliant blue sky. No idea where, and I barely heard it pop. The wind was too loud.

I spread my arms wide, maximizing surface area and slowing as much as possible. Croc pinned his arms back, like a rocket, and sped up. He put a shoulder into my stomach and I wrapped arms around his neck.

“Most fun I ever had!” he called into my ear.

“Release the chute, you stupid Aussie!”

His pack sprang open and the chute deployed. I clung tight and we dangled over Beverly Hills, fifteen hundred yards high.

“Where’d you get a parachute??” Our faces were pressed together, my mouth practically in his ear.

“That little black fella! The Shadow. Pushed it into me hands when nobody saw.”

“Where’d he come from?!”

“Dunno. Slippery bloke. Must be an Outlaw fan, like me.”

I stared at the dizzy ground below us. “Find the phone in my backpack. I need to make a call. Now.”

As we drifted softly back to earth, two F/A-18 Fighters screamed by, too close for comfort. We even felt vague heat waves thrown by their after-burn.

Special Agent Isaac Anderson finally answered his phone and informed me the FBI had only two remaining helicopters, and neither was equipped with an armament.

I had to shout over a nearby squadron of Pave Hawks churning towards Downtown. Los Angeles was preparing for war. “Get me one! I need to be airborne
now
!”

Before he could reply, an unbelievably large salvo of anti-aircraft rockets launched from the downtown spires.

Croc mumbled, “Bloody hell. There’s trouble.”

The Hornets scrambled, barrel-rolling and accelerating, but the sudden artillery overwhelmed them. One of the Hornets erupted in our vicinity, an ear-splitting pandemonium. The radiating heat caught and violently jostled our canopy.

“You watching this, Anderson??”

“I am. We’re being crushed.”

“Get me a helicopter!”

“What else do you need?”

“Parachutes. And rifles. All of them.”

Four minutes later, Croc landed us on the swanky Los Angeles Country Club, hole sixteen near an astonished foursome. They were watching the fleet of Pave Hawks get ambushed by mutants.

My god, what a nightmare.

Was Chase up there somewhere?

My phone was full of recent text messages from Puck.

>> attack beginning

>> u probably wont get this message

>> ur plane is taking off

>> u guys r assholes 4 leaving chase alone

>> hes going up the towers by himself

>> to die

No. No no no no no.

This was all happening too fast. Just the way the Chemist planned it. Anderson called me again.

“Your chopper is inbound,” he shouted into the receiver. “Figure I might as well give you a chance to stop the world from ending. Give me your coordinates and I’ll pass them along!”

After an anxious five minutes, the FBI’s Little Bird landed on the fairway. It was a tiny, bug-like helicopter used primarily to shuttle VIPs.

“Special delivery from Agent Anderson!” the pilot cried.

Croc hauled the surprised kid out of the cockpit. “Sorry mate! You want no part of this biff! This is a one-way trip! No coming back!” He climbed into the pilot’s seat and strapped in. I did the same in the small passenger bay. Croc threw us into the sky and aimed toward the city skyline.

I busily checked the ordnance provided by Anderson. A Remington sniper rifle and two M4 carbines. Boxes of ammunitions and empty cartridges. It’d have to suffice. I pounded rounds into magazines, fingers flying.

“Christ almighty,” Croc said. His voice came into my headset. “A chopper just crashed. Not far from the basketball stadium.”

“Go go GO! Get me closer!”

“Moving faster than a ‘roo crossing hot sand, love!”

“Scan those rooftops! I need to take out any launchers!”

“I bet Chase already has, the rascal!”

I finished loading magazines. Hopefully I had enough. I tore my eyes away and finally looked out into the Los Angeles sky. There was a squadron of attack helicopters moving in from the south, half a mile from the towers, each fully armed.

I called PuckDaddy.

“Samantha!” Puck cried into my earpiece. “Where are you?”

“Coming in fast! Is he alive??”

“For a few more seconds!”

“WHAT?!” I roared. “Put us through to Chase! We’re in a small chopper heading his way, just west of Downtown! Where is he?”

“South of the towers! He’s flying straight at that strike force!”

“NO! Why?? Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

“I see him,” Croc groaned. “Kid’s a maniac!”

Our transport screeched and shook. I raised the sniper rifle’s powerful scope. The distant speck leapt closer. Chase, waffling and alone on the bright blue horizon, was braving a murderous hail of bullets.

I leaned way out into space, trusting the harness not to snap and drop me five hundred feet. I pushed the safety free on the rifle. This was not ideal; I’d need to fire four times to hit a target once.

“Keep us level, Croc!”

“No promises!”

“Okay,” Puck said, “I’m connecting you to Chase.”

The line clicked. A new static greeted my ears.

“CHASE!” I yelled. “Bank hard to the right! NOW!”

I squeezed the trigger.

The Chemist had stolen three different types of helicopters, I noted.

The smallest was a McDonald Douglass 500 Defender. Looks kind of like a gnat. With guns.

He also got his hands on some heavy Black Hawks, the same helicopter Samantha and I fly into Compton. Elite and state-of-the-art.

Perhaps most significantly, he captured multiple Apaches. Apaches are black and green and menacing, dragonfly in appearance. They were built for one purpose: destruction.

The strike force wasn’t flying in formation. In fact, it was a mess. The Chemist’s pilots were clearly not military trained. Otherwise I’d be dead already.

I couldn’t hear them yet. Other than the wind, everything was quiet. And bright. And calm.

Maybe I
am
dead?

One of the incoming bullets got so close it actually nicked my shoulder.

Nope. Not dead. Yet.

My earpiece burst to life. “Chase! Bank hard to the right! Now!”

What??! Samantha??

I twisted my shoulders and curled off to the north, presenting a full-body target to the gunners. But I trusted her. Turning at this speed was a harrowing punishment that compressed my lungs.

A starburst splintered the windshield of the nearest Apache. An armor-piercing round had punched clean through! The sinister helicopter pitched up and began cork-screwing, out of control. The pilot had been shot! The Apache slammed into a smaller, gnat-like Defender. Blades gouged great holes into both aircraft and deafening explosions sent the attack force scattering, like a swarm of fireflies.

“Nice shot!” I called.

Debris and bright trails of fire arced across the cathedral of infinite blue. I twisted away from the radiating junkyard and glanced over my shoulder. Samantha was behind me, hovering near the massive cluster of Downtown towers and shooting over my shoulder at the oncoming attack squadron.

A Black Hawk ahead, just off my flight path. He rotated enough to allow the gunner a firing angle, and the enemy released the awesome power of a .50 caliber machine gun, heavy devastating rounds. But he wasn’t firing at me. He was firing at Croc and Samantha!

I minutely altered course. This Black Hawk had all doors removed, even the cockpit’s. I howled straight for it, moving so quickly the air stung my eyes, tearing blurring my vision.

At the last second, I snapped my arms back and streaked
through
the cockpit, like an arrow threading a needle. I entered through the port hatch and exited the starboard at a hundred miles per hour, my rock-hard shoulder clipping the pilot’s exposed skull. Instant death.

The Black Hawk and I plummeted. I snapped wings out and curved back towards the city, smoldering hulk dropping in my wake. Now I was traveling
behind
the Chemist’s strike force, pursuing them, all of us aimed downtown. I’d never seen Los Angeles from this southern angle during the day. The mammoth San Gabriel mountain dominated the eastern horizon, already tipped with snow.

“Chase, I saw that! Holy SMOKES dude!” Puck cried.

Samantha landed a second miraculous sniper shot, lancing the pilot of another MD 500 Defender, but now she and Croc had to fly for their lives. Two deadly Apaches broke away from the group and attacked them, both with infinitely superior firepower. Croc led them on a wild chase though, and I doubted the Apaches would ever get clean shots. He flew like a professional stunt pilot compared to amateurs.

“The Chemist is up here somewhere!” I shouted. “In a news chopper!”

“Roger that.” Samantha’s voice.

Puck alerted us, “Warning! Enemies have begun assault on city!”

The remaining attack helicopters quickly and efficiently demolished the stately 777 Tower, the southernmost high-rise located on the fringe of the tower cluster. All six unleashed anti-armor Hellfire missiles at close range, hammering the south face. The attack was so powerful it hurt my eyes.

The tower’s inner structure only withstood three salvos. The gunners concentrated their attack, pounding marks until steel relented, essentially cutting out two of the tower’s legs. Seven hundred feet tall, weighing two hundred thousand tons, the majestic skyscraper began a slow collapse. The helicopters scattered before rising dust clouds.

It was an awful sight. Monstrous and impossible, like a mountain decaying in seconds.

“Oh my gooooooooosh,” Puck groaned.

I asked, “Was everyone out?” My voice sounded hollow and small, like my heart was in my throat.

“No idea. I doubt it. Also be advised, it’s about to get worse. Three enemy Harriers inbound.”

Samantha shouted, “I’m abandoning ship! Croc, fly over the new Wilshire and I’ll jump.”

“Negative, my love.” His grin came clearly over the headset. “Wilshire is not on our bloody flight pattern. Can I talk you into the City National?”

“Whatever, Croc! Just put me over a stable firing surface. You can’t fly straight and I can’t hit these jackasses chasing us!”

Attack choppers were now inside Downtown proper, still on the fringe of the tower cluster. They reformed near the Aon Center, a building resembling a tall dark mirror. I aimed straight for them.

Our adversaries could probably knock down two or three more towers. Their aircraft was outfitted with stub-wings to hold extra ammunition. But then the Chemist’s Harrier Jump Jets would arrive, bearing more rockets. We couldn’t stop them all.

Something caught my eye. The world was
caving
in! The street below disappeared, followed by an eruption of fire.

“The roads are collapsing!” I yelped. “How?? What??”

“Yeah. Chemist is destroying the red and purple underground metro lines.” Puck sounded sad and exhausted. “He has suicide bombers carrying explosives through the tunnels. National Guard and Army forces are on their way. I didn’t tell you because there’s nothing you can do.”

More and more streets buckled and collapsed, releasing plumes of airborne dirt. The luxurious and beautiful City of Angels was devolving into hell.