a smoking wreck. There are bodies everywhere.
Judd moves to an elderly woman who lies on the sidewalk. As soon as he kneels beside her he sees the left side of her face is missing. ‘Oh, Christ.’ On the ground beside her is a burning piston from a car’s engine.
Judd glances back at the CNN building. It reminds him of the one that was bombed in Oklahoma in the 1990s. One third of it has collapsed and the rest leans at a profound angle. They were lucky to get out alive.
His attention moves to a car that turns onto the road. Since he exited the building it’s the only vehicle he’s seen that’s not on fire. It’s an LAPD cruiser which drives fast and swerves between the burning wrecks. There’s a young cop behind the wheel. He looks terrified.
Judd points to the rear of the cruiser. Its exhaust is a light purple colour. ‘What’s that?’
Corey sees it too, shakes his head. ‘Don’t know, but it doesn’t look right.’
Judd waves at the young cop to pull over but he accelerates past, the cruiser’s V8 engine thundering. The exhaust turns a darker purple.
Bowen sees it too. ‘What’s going on there?’
As he says it the engine note changes from a deep throb to that of a cement mixer filled with gravel. It’s a terrible sound, like the engine is eating itself -
Boom! The cruiser detonates.
The explosion is so bright it’s like a star going supernova. The blast wave picks up Judd and slams him against the side of the CNN building, the sting of shrapnel hot on his face. His ears ring like a five-alarm fire as he opens his eyes and sees nothing but swirling smoke and dust. He blinks, tries to find his bearings, staggers to his feet. ‘Corey?’
There’s no answer.
The dog barks but he sounds a mile away.
‘Mate? You there?’ It’s Corey, his voice groggy.
‘You okay?’
‘She’ll be right. Where’s Matt?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Matty!’
There’s no response. The dog barks again, closer this time. Judd follows the sound through the wall of smoke and dust - then sees Bowen lying on the sidewalk, Corey kneeling beside him. The agent has a shard of metal embedded in his throat and blood pours from the wound. Corey tries his best to staunch it with his hands.
It doesn’t work. Bowen stares up with wide, stunned eyes, his breathing fast and rough. He opens his mouth to speak but no sound emerges. ‘We’re going to get you some help, mate. Just gotta stop this bleeding.’
Judd pulls off his jacket, a heavy cotton Carhartt, and presses a sleeve against the wound. Corey pulls Bowen’s iPhone from his breast pocket and dials 000.
Judd watches. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Calling emergency.’
‘000 is in Australia! 911 in America!’
‘Oh, bugger! That’s right.’ Corey hangs up, dials 911.
It’s busy. He tries again as he looks back at Bowen. ‘It’ll be okay, mate.’
The jacket’s cotton sleeve is already soaked with blood. Judd replaces it with the other sleeve. ‘You just have to hold on.’
Bowen smiles weakly - then stops breathing.
‘Matt!’ Corey checks his pulse. There isn’t one. ‘Come on, mate. Come on.’ Corey pumps his chest, checks again. Nothing. He pumps his chest again, keeps at it.
Judd puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Corey.’
The Australian stops and his chin drops to his chest, stricken. A moment passes. ‘I didn’t know him very long but he was always really nice to me —’
Craaack. The sound shakes the street. Corey looks around, confused. It wasn’t an explosion. It sounded different, sharper somehow. ‘What was that?’
Judd’s eyes flick to the CNN building that looms above. It teeters, then lurches towards them. ‘We’ve gotta move!’ He scrambles up, drags Corey to his feet.
The Aussie points at Bowen’s body. ‘We can’t just leave him —’
‘Now!’
Corey looks up at the
Judd moves to an elderly woman who lies on the sidewalk. As soon as he kneels beside her he sees the left side of her face is missing. ‘Oh, Christ.’ On the ground beside her is a burning piston from a car’s engine.
Judd glances back at the CNN building. It reminds him of the one that was bombed in Oklahoma in the 1990s. One third of it has collapsed and the rest leans at a profound angle. They were lucky to get out alive.
His attention moves to a car that turns onto the road. Since he exited the building it’s the only vehicle he’s seen that’s not on fire. It’s an LAPD cruiser which drives fast and swerves between the burning wrecks. There’s a young cop behind the wheel. He looks terrified.
Judd points to the rear of the cruiser. Its exhaust is a light purple colour. ‘What’s that?’
Corey sees it too, shakes his head. ‘Don’t know, but it doesn’t look right.’
Judd waves at the young cop to pull over but he accelerates past, the cruiser’s V8 engine thundering. The exhaust turns a darker purple.
Bowen sees it too. ‘What’s going on there?’
As he says it the engine note changes from a deep throb to that of a cement mixer filled with gravel. It’s a terrible sound, like the engine is eating itself -
Boom! The cruiser detonates.
The explosion is so bright it’s like a star going supernova. The blast wave picks up Judd and slams him against the side of the CNN building, the sting of shrapnel hot on his face. His ears ring like a five-alarm fire as he opens his eyes and sees nothing but swirling smoke and dust. He blinks, tries to find his bearings, staggers to his feet. ‘Corey?’
There’s no answer.
The dog barks but he sounds a mile away.
‘Mate? You there?’ It’s Corey, his voice groggy.
‘You okay?’
‘She’ll be right. Where’s Matt?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Matty!’
There’s no response. The dog barks again, closer this time. Judd follows the sound through the wall of smoke and dust - then sees Bowen lying on the sidewalk, Corey kneeling beside him. The agent has a shard of metal embedded in his throat and blood pours from the wound. Corey tries his best to staunch it with his hands.
It doesn’t work. Bowen stares up with wide, stunned eyes, his breathing fast and rough. He opens his mouth to speak but no sound emerges. ‘We’re going to get you some help, mate. Just gotta stop this bleeding.’
Judd pulls off his jacket, a heavy cotton Carhartt, and presses a sleeve against the wound. Corey pulls Bowen’s iPhone from his breast pocket and dials 000.
Judd watches. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Calling emergency.’
‘000 is in Australia! 911 in America!’
‘Oh, bugger! That’s right.’ Corey hangs up, dials 911.
It’s busy. He tries again as he looks back at Bowen. ‘It’ll be okay, mate.’
The jacket’s cotton sleeve is already soaked with blood. Judd replaces it with the other sleeve. ‘You just have to hold on.’
Bowen smiles weakly - then stops breathing.
‘Matt!’ Corey checks his pulse. There isn’t one. ‘Come on, mate. Come on.’ Corey pumps his chest, checks again. Nothing. He pumps his chest again, keeps at it.
Judd puts a hand on his shoulder. ‘Corey.’
The Australian stops and his chin drops to his chest, stricken. A moment passes. ‘I didn’t know him very long but he was always really nice to me —’
Craaack. The sound shakes the street. Corey looks around, confused. It wasn’t an explosion. It sounded different, sharper somehow. ‘What was that?’
Judd’s eyes flick to the CNN building that looms above. It teeters, then lurches towards them. ‘We’ve gotta move!’ He scrambles up, drags Corey to his feet.
The Aussie points at Bowen’s body. ‘We can’t just leave him —’
‘Now!’
Corey looks up at the
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