Into the flashback, p.16
Into the Flashback, page 16
“Velociraptors, sir. ‘Raptor’ for short. Like ‘Bird of Prey.’”
“What?”
“Raptors, sir. Like Jurassic Park.”
“I haven’t seen that. I hear it’s good, a lot of people say it’s good. I don’t know if that’s true or not; but it’s what a lot of people say. But yes, Miss —I didn’t catch your name—that door is going to stay—”
“There isn’t going to be a door when that lava gets here!”
“There’s going to be a door because that lava is going to cool—okay?” He leaned against the counter—his Presidential podium—as though he were exasperated. “I mean, that’s what lava does—it cools. It cools and eventually stops. Halverson and I have already discussed it.” He turned to address everyone, not just Tess. “Now I know some of you—Crazy Coup, I bet, for sure—have probably thought, ‘Why don’t we just make a run for it?’” He raised his arms as if to repeat the sentiment: ‘Why?’ “For the border, I mean. After all, it’s right there, isn’t it? It’s right there. We’re practically sitting on it. But I’m not going to do that. And, as your Commander in Chief, I’m not going to let you do it, either.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, adjusted his tie. “For one, Americans don’t run. That’s just not what made us great. It sure as hell aint what made us great again, that I can tell you. We may withdraw on occasion, as I directed us to in Syria, but we don’t run, and we sure as hell don’t crawl hat in hand to some shithole like Mexico—especially when they’re no more capable of dealing with this than is the greatest nation on earth—I mean, am I right, folks?”
And to Tess’ utter astonishment, people began to clap—Carson, of course, but also Ashley and Abbie and Cameron’s activist friends, not to mention the State Trooper and the two Secret Service agents.
“It’s true. It’s true. Let me hear it if you think I’m right!”
And they did, continuing to clap and to nod their heads, saying ‘Right on’ and slapping each other on the back, pumping their fists. During which time Tess met eyes with the good-looking dark-skinned kid—he couldn’t have been more than 19—Johnny, from Tuscan, and knew, based on his expression (and the fact that he wasn’t clapping), that he was the only sane person left.
And then they were moving, both of them, toward each other and toward the door, making a beeline as everyone clapped and the volcanoes spewed molten rock; as several shadows flitted across the window, like kites, like pterodactyls, after which the soldiers on the roof promptly opened fire.
“Oh, and Miss,” said Tucker, halting on a dime, turning to Tess and Johnny. “It’s only fair to tell you that if you take one more step toward that door ... I’ll have you shot.”
Everything stopped: Tess and Johnny in their places; the clapping hands of Carson and the others; Tucker’s Man of the People revival speech—all of it—at least until Halverson came to his senses and pointed his gun at them—at Tess and Johnny; after which he was quickly emulated by the other agent and even the State Trooper, although the latter, to his credit, seemed to have done it on mere instinct, and just as quickly lowered his weapon.
“Appreciate the applause, folks, I really do. But I don't want applause. I want toughness and vigilance. Because while you were applauding look what almost got away.” He raised his chin imperiously, as though he no longer even needed to hide his worse nature. “They could be a buddy movie, don’t you think? Nasty Woman and Bad Taco. Aw, don’t look so upset, N.W. Over your life, you’ve been called a lot worse. Isn’t that right? Wouldn’t you say?”
Laughter—and again, not just from those whom Tess would have expected (Carson; the other Secret Service agent; Halverson) but from the women, from Ashley and Abbie and the blue and green-haired activist girls. As though their very minds had flashed back along with the rest of the world; as though they’d nothing left but their lizard brains; all critical thinking vanquished, all rational thought discarded.
And who was to say? Wasn’t it at least possible that a phenomenon that could turn back time (or, as in Henry’s case, push it forward) might also affect people’s minds? That even now they might be regressing to an earlier epoch—an earlier species?
“Look, I—” the State Trooper started to say, his eyes moist and distant, as though he were waking from a dream, “I don’t want to be a part of this, okay?”
“That’s fine,” said the President. “We’ve—we’ve got the situation well in hand. Just keep your gun down—okay? Can you do that for me? I hate to say this, but, well, you look ill, frankly. Why don’t you go on back and take a—”
And Tess bolted, followed immediately by Johnny—both of them scrambling for the door, both of them rapidly closing the gap, even as Halverson squeezed off a shot and hit Johnny in the back and the State Trooper aimed his weapon—not at Johnny but at Halverson—and was shot himself by the other agent.
Nor did the other agent survive, for he was shot in turn by the trooper as the cop slid down the wall, leaving a smear of blood. And it might have been over then—considering Tess had knelt to help Johnny—had Bo not burst into the room from the stairs and promptly raised his rifle: jerking it back and forth between the dying men quickly before settling on Halverson himself and barking, “Freeze! Drop it!”
But Halverson did not drop it; and in the blink of an eye the two men had faced off, even as blood spread from the trooper’s and agent’s corpses and the ground started to shake and palm-like cycad trees appeared out of nowhere, blending and entwining with coolers and store fixtures, standing floor to ceiling, turning the room into an indoor jungle.
A jungle in which Tess thought she saw—for the briefest of moments—not modern people disagreeing but hair-covered hominids, ape-like brutes, missing links—clashing as though one had invaded the other’s territory on the prehistoric steppes of Arizona.
Killing each other without even a hint of compassion—as they had more than 3 million years ago.
VI
It had never occurred to Tess that a tank was a kind of dinosaur, too—all thunder and fury and noise and weight—at least until one came rumbling toward the store’s front windows, haphazardly, drunkenly, rolling right over a Toyota Prius before its great canon struck the glass and shattered it inward and its leviathan tracks crunched through metal and glass. Then Halverson fired—Bo having been temporarily distracted by the sight of his own tank barreling toward him—and the sergeant fell, dropping his rifle, struck in his left arm. And finally the tank ground to a halt, its hatch clanging open to reveal Coup, who said, apologetically, “That was an accident. Sorry.” After which Halverson pointed his pistol and quickly froze; for Rory had appeared in the other hatch—and trained the shotgun on him.
“Don’t lock us out again, Halverson,” said Coup. He changed tack abruptly. “Okay, listen up. The plan is to drive this thing straight through that border wall—into Mexico—where we have reason to believe we’ll be safe.” He glanced over his shoulder at the lava, as well as looking out for Nag and Nagaina. “But we’re a little rushed; so, if you’ll all be so kind as to just climb on board, we’ll get this show on the—”
“What is the meaning of this?” asked Tucker, regaining his composure (having hurriedly ducked behind the counter). “I didn’t give the order to evacuate. Halverson, I want those men taken down from there. Now.”
“There’s no time for this!” shouted Tess, still kneeling over Johnny. “He needs medical attention—and I mean now. It didn’t penetrate his chest or abdominal cavity, thank god,” She glanced at Halverson accusatorily, “But he’s bleeding internally and needs a hospital. If there’s a chance—”
“That there’s one in Mexico? There isn’t,” said Tucker, dismissing the possibility. “That I can promise you. Raw sewage in gutters, maybe. But not a—”
And there was a gunshot—crack, like that—which made everyone jump (and caused Rory to lurch forward in the gunner’s hatch, his shoulder bleeding), even as Halverson re-trained his pistol on Coup and moved to fire again—until there was another crack and his head fell open ... for he’d been shot himself by Briggs, who had drawn his sidearm and was supporting himself against the wall of the stairwell.
“Jesus,” said Tucker, looking down at the corpse, watching the blood and brains start to flow. “You murdered him. You just ... shot him down in cold blood.”
“I neutralized an enemy,” said the sergeant, and looked him straight in the eye. “Just like I’ll neutralize you ... if you don’t sit down and shut up.” He added coldly: “Consider it an armed coup.”
At last he turned to Cooper and said, “I can drive that tank ... if someone can get me to it. And I can show you how to operate that 50-cal.” He glanced out the hole in the front of the store. “But we need to hurry—it’s no good against magma.”
And everyone just launched into action, pow, like that, as though there’d been no disagreement at all, moving toward the tank rapidly (and yet orderly), gathering up and helping those who were wounded, lifting them onto the top of the turret even as Tucker slipped away and Carson followed after him. Moreover, they were successful, not only in replacing Long with Bo in the driver’s seat—although not before he was able to instruct Coup on the use of the 50-caliber machine gun—but also in fitting everyone in and on the tank, for a total of 12 people.
And indeed, they just might have made it (at least without further casualties) had Nag and Nagaina not suddenly returned—bursting through what was left of the storefront like prehistoric wrecking balls, thrashing their great, dark tails, picking off two of the activists immediately—before descending upon them all like a reign of thunder.
Nor is it likely any of them would have survived—certainly not those outside the tank—if not for the same fluke of the Flashback which had led to Henry’s advanced age; although in this case, it wasn’t centered around a person but an animal—the very same creature Tess and Coup had rescued from the desert (and which Long had called a marsupial lion) —which sprang from the back room as the walls collapsed and faced off with the tyrannosaur-like dinosaurs boldly, having grown to full adulthood (and more, for it was the nature of the Flashback to render things large) so that it bore more in common with a Bengal tiger—or even a bear—than a mere rodent.
And then they were circling each other, the dinosaurs hissing and feinting as Ricky-Tik did the same, even as the tank backed out of the rubble and changed direction—heading for the Mexican border (which was only a few miles away), rumbling toward the spikes and moats of the Great Wall of America.
Nor had Long been correct in his estimation of the lava’s travel time, for it was there already, piling red and black at the edge of the parking lot, toppling Benito the Bandido with a crash, sending up smoke and embers as it rolled over the landscaping. And yet it was worse than that, for when Tess looked away from the circling animals she saw that some of the lava had already passed them—passed them via two narrow, fast-flowing channels—which, due to the shape of the land, had circumnavigated the store completely and flown together once again, only this time against a wide natural berm so that its course was altered completely and now blocked their path.
“Jesus, do you think he sees that?” she asked Coup (who was manning the 50-caliber next to her), having to shout over the engine. “What if he doesn’t—”
“I don’t think it will be a problem,” he hollered, “so long as we keep moving.” But his words belied the concern on his face, which told Tess he was worried about the same thing as she—that if they didn’t or couldn’t keep moving the tank would surely sink under its own weight.
And that is precisely what happened—but not before they’d made it almost all the way across, so that they were able to jump—even the wounded; even the little girl—to safety across the lava, and continue on foot. For the wall was clearly visible now, and what’s more, there were people on top of it, people who could render help—who could lower a ladder, maybe, or a rope, anything. None of which changed the fact that the main magma front was still coming, and fast—so fast that Tess wasn’t sure if they could outrun it, especially with their wounded in tow.
And that’s when she saw something she would never forget, three somethings, actually, one no more incredible than the next. The first was that the marsupial lion had engaged with the much-larger therapods in a full-on melee, right there between the store and the gas pumps—an entire row of which were wiped out as she watched with just the swish of a tail. The second was the enormous fireball that resulted, which all but flattened the station and rose curling upon itself like a mushroom cloud, hiding the animals from view (if indeed they survived at all). And the third was the President’s black limo (Cadillac One, she knew it was called, or “The Beast”) barreling toward them across the desert—its tinted windows glinting, its fender flags on fire, and driven, it seemed likely (considering most everyone else was dead), by the President himself.
“Well that’s something you don’t see every day,” she said, and looked at Coup, who only shrugged.
“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” he said. “He went.”
“But don’t you see?” said Abbie, barely able to control her excitement. “That thing’s big enough to hold all of us.” She started jumping up and down and waving her arms, enthusiastically. “Hey! Over here! D.C. or bust!”
And, save for Tess and Coup, as well as Long, Rory and Bo (all of whom had had their fill of Donald J. Tucker) the others promptly joined in, hooting and hollering excitedly, hitching their thumbs, acting as though they were saved even though the wall was still at least half a mile away and the main wave of lava was coming fast—fast enough that it could be seen in the distance preceded by the two dinosaurs, which were running to escape it.
But the Presidential limo did not slow down, not before the berm and the river of lava, which was to be expected if he (they, assuming Carson was with him) wanted to get across, on bare rims, if necessary—nor after, and it didn’t take his fan club long to realize that their President had left them for dead, nor that the dinosaurs were rapidly closing and that behind them was a fast-moving wall of molten rock.
And then they were running, only Tess and Coup and Long bothering to help the wounded, and they’d gotten to within about thirty yards of the wall when the earth broke open like a loaf of bread and swallowed the front of Tucker’s car whole; leaving it angled like a rocket, steaming like a manhole cover, from which the two men emerged battered and bloody and quickly scrambled for the wall—waving their arms, crying for help—even as a Mexican soldier shouted down to them to stop and fired when they refused, hitting the President in the leg and the arm, dropping him like a sack of rocks. After which two men could be heard arguing in Spanish and there were more gunshots, followed by a body tumbling end over end into the moat and splashing, until at last a new voice shouted, “Es seguro! It is safe! Please, come on ahead—but hurry! Prisa! Prisa!”
And they hurried, even as ropes and floatation devices were lowered and at least one ladder—which Coup used, after helping everyone else get across, to transport Johnny, climbing rapidly as the wounded man clung to his back. Until, finally, they’d squeezed through the spikes and gained the gangway—all of them—where Coup and Tess and Long began hollering for Tucker and Carson (who had entered the moat) to do the same.
Which, of course, is what they were trying to do—Carson helping Tucker—in spite of the President’s wounds making it nearly impossible; nor were the large men (one with debilitating bone spurs) particularly suited for such work; indeed, Carson was consistently pushed down as he tried to help his floundering hero. Until at last the flamboyant rancher could be seen no more and it was only Tucker, reaching for a rope with his good arm; trying to stay afloat in the moat which had been his own idea; facing the wall which had been built to his own specifications. “One of the greatest achievements in human history,” he’d said at the time of its completion, “The Eighth Wonder of the World ...”
—until Nag and Nagaina descended without warning and without pity and the one bit him about the head and shoulders while the other clamped its jaws about his legs—and they backed away from each other; the result being that he was torn in half like mozzarella cheese: his muscles and ligaments stretching and breaking, his liver and gallbladder and spleen twisting and bursting, exploding; his intestines piling out of him like worms, like snakes, floating upon the bloody water, spreading out like questing tentacles, his blood which was so dark as to be almost black gurgling and bubbling up from his mouth, running from his nose, during which he screamed, gargling, “Enjoy the fucking shit-hole! Enjoy the fucking shit-hole!” and was gone, carried away by Nag and Nagaina even as the lava began to slow and cool and Tess turned away, clawing at her eyes—as Coup grabbed her and held her, trying to comfort her, trying to tell her it was going to be all right, and Ricky-Tik, far in the distance, ascended to the top of the wreckage with a pterodactyl in his mouth and dropped it—howling at the sun which was like an angry god, roaring victoriously, triumphantly.
As it turned out, it was safe in Mexico; or at least that was the view from their cage, which they’d been languishing in now for several days. Still, there was plenty of room, in part because “Johnny” (who was in reality a Mexican national named Miguel Francisco) had already been processed and released. Nor was the food bad—indeed, some of it was quite good—or the water contaminated; in fact, considering the sheer number of refugees they’d had to deal with, Coup was amazed at the Mexican response. And yet it was a curious thing to live as a prisoner—however benign one’s jailer—one of those things a person couldn’t really understand until it happened to them personally; until the big, metal door swung shut and there you were, alone. Nor had Tess’s presence completely mitigated this, although what he would have done without her was anyone’s question.
She came to him then and they looked out at the processing center together, something they’d done a lot of over the last several days—each wondering what the future held; and each wondering if they were truly safe. When at last she spoke she did so quietly, almost reverentially.
