Combustion by Steve Worland Page B

block the road. The bus noses into the gap between them.
     
    Judd runs towards it. Blistering heat radiates off the burning cars, forces him to duck his head and shield his face. He keeps moving, focuses on the bus’s exhaust, which he can’t quite see through the haze. Corey and Spike are right behind him.
     
    The dog barks.
     
    Corey looks at him. ‘I don’t care if you’re tired, there’s no time to have a rest!’
     
    Judd glances back. ‘Is that exhaust black?’
     
    Corey peers at the bus. ‘Can’t really see it properly.’
     
    ‘No, not the bus, that!’
     
    Thirty metres away Corey sees an old Mercedes pull out of a parking station. Its exhaust is dark purple, very dark purple. ‘Almost.’
     
    Judd veers towards the car, shouts at the top of his lungs: ‘Turn it off! Turn off the car!’ The young blond guy behind the wheel takes in the destruction on the street, stunned, then sees a shouting man run towards him, clunks the car into reverse and backs up.
     
    ‘No, no! Don’t do that!’
     
    The Merc’s engine note shifts to a sound that resembles gravel in a cement mixer and its exhaust turns black.
     
    ‘Turn! It! Off!’
     
    Boom. The explosion is even bigger than the police cruiser. The parking station protects the street from the full brunt of the blast but the gush of hot air slaps Judd and Corey to the ground.
     
    A moment passes. Dazed, they pull themselves up. Judd looks at Corey unhappily. ‘He didn’t turn it off.’
     
    The Australian turns, sees his dog lying on the road. ‘Spike!’ He scrambles over to the animal, kneels beside him, heart in throat. The dog’s eyes are closed. ‘Mate, you okay?’
     
    There’s no response.
     
    ‘Oh God.’ Terrified, Corey puts a hand on Spike’s chest, feels for a heartbeat, looks for an injury. The heartbeat is there - and there’s no sign of an injury. Corey leans closer, confused. ‘You all right?’
     
    The dog’s eyes blink open and he lets out a sharp bark.
     
    ‘You’re having a rest?’
     
    Another bark.
     
    ‘I don’t care if you told me you were tired. Get up!’
     
    Judd focuses on the bus as it scrapes between the two burning cars. ‘We have to go.’ He takes off after it. He’s a little unsteady at first but quickly finds his balance. Corey and Spike follow.
     
    They close in on the vehicle. Judd can see its exhaust is darker. Three kids, two girls and a boy, no older than ten, look out the back window. Too scared to cry, they stare out in horror at the destruction on the street - and the two strange men with a dog who follows them.
     
    The bus turns sharply onto another street and heads east. This road is not as congested as the last, only a few burning vehicles which don’t block the way. The bus picks up speed.
     
    So do Judd and Corey. Judd’s chest is tight from inhaling smoke but he ignores it, keeps moving.
     
    The bus rides up onto the sidewalk, knocks over two garbage bins and takes a sharp turn to the left.
     
    The boys follow it, cross a parking lot, reach another street. It’s untouched by explosions, save the burning motorcycle flopped over in a driveway next to the remains of an unlucky dude in a helmet.
     
    They glimpse a flash of yellow in the distance, run on, duck down an alleyway, overgrown with brush, pass a row of single-storey houses, then emerge onto a narrow street.
     
    Directly below is the Hollywood Freeway. Its eight lanes are peppered with burning vehicles but it’s not impassable. Cars, trucks and motorcycles zip past, swerve around anything that’s stationary.
     
    ‘They’re all purple.’
     
    Judd looks closer. Corey’s right. Every vehicle’s exhaust is a shade of purple. He turns, takes in an overpass that crosses the eight lanes, scans the freeway. He can’t see the bus -
     
    Corey points. ‘There!’
     
    It heads down an on-ramp towards the freeway, takes to the grass verge to avoid a burning van, then drives directly towards them. Judd can see