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Scene Title | The Last Resort, Part III |
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Synopsis | A team of volunteers set to investigate fires in the Manhattan Exclusion Zone encounter the unexpected. |
Date | June 29, 2021 |
The worst fear has come to pass.
When the Ohio River Fire started in September, the worst-case-scenario was that it would hit the ruins of Pittsburgh and grow in strength from consuming the city. When that nightmare scenario came to pass, it seemed impossible for the fire to spread as far as New York City, and yet, here we are.
The Manhattan Exclusion Zone is a walled tomb, the majority of the island of Manhattan converted into what would have been the single largest detention center in the world. Now it is the largest mass grave in the world. While efforts have been made to reclaim and identify the bodies of the tens of thousands or more who died during the firebombing of New York City, the progress is small scale and slow going. Much of the city remains untouched since the war, an ever-growing tinderbox waiting to explode.
An hour ago an alarm sounded indicating fire detected inside the Manhattan Exclusion Zone. An emergency response team was assembled and—in defense of the only truly safe city in the Northeast—dispatched into the tomb of Manhattan.
The Manhattan Exclusion Zone
New York
June 29th
7:36 pm
Three blocks from the western wall of the Manhattan Exclusion Zone, plumes of black smoke twist up against the torrential rain falling from atmokinetically-generated storms churning overhead. A powerful east-to-west wind whips through the Exclusion Zone, driving the rain in sheets and doing its best to keep the wildfire out of the Safe Zone. But somehow, the fire managed to not only jump the Hudson River, but cross the Exclusion Zone’s wall and find purchase in the rain-soaked ruin.
Confusion reigns within the forward relief base, a cluster of national guard tents pitched in the intersection at the crossroads of West 40th and 10th street. Firefighting helicopters circle overhead, spraying down a nearby block of buildings belching smoke with no visible fire. The 91st Military Police Battalion is the overall organizer of the relief efforts and Major Matthew Olson is the central command.
Of the groups working with the 91st Military Police Battalion is a portion of the Rikers Island Correctional Facility Inmate Firefighting Brigade. They are dressed not only in fireproof gear, but vibrant orange prison jumpers. Their jackets are marked with RIKERS ISLAND across the back in reflective fabric. Gerard Gerken, a former member of Shedda Dinu, stands among a dozen other inmate firefighters gathered in Olson’s tent.
The Safe Zone Cooperative Council also sent representatives to the forefront of the blaze. Gillian Childs, though bereft of her ability, fearlessly provides volunteer relief assistance for the evacuation of any displaced refugees found living within the Exclusion Zone. With Gillian is a man who may be key to stopping the fire, the energy manipulator Luther Bellamy.
The NYPD’s SCOUT division also loaned Sergeant Deeraj Modi and, in a fit of terrible fate for Gerard, Officer Hailey Gerken to the cause. Outside the tent, a hundred Yamagato Tetsujin labor drones await orders, outfitted with the latest fire-suppression and rescue equipment.
“Is this everyone?!” Major Olson shouts over the noise of the wind and the rain hammering down on the tent. He grabs a bullhorn from a nearby table to direct the group. «I need everyone to pay attention up here! We need to get up to speed and get to putting out these fires!»
On either side of Officer Gerken is Officer CHiPs (named after the television show) and Officer PrincessPony (PP for short, named by a 5 year old contest winner). The two German Shepherds have their own special protective gear on to match the quality of their human counterparts. As expected of two well trained officers of the law, they are sitting at attention, though the fidgeting of their trainer has them on guard.
Ever since their arrival in the tent, Hailey's been inching toward the group of prisoners. Sometimes balancing on her toes, or hopping up and down to garner the attention of one prisoner in particular. The empath has a bright smile on her face, not only is her pseudo-mom here but her dad too! No better audience for hot-dogging and heroics.
Hailey is planning on being a hero today. Just to make them both proud.
Ducking forward a little in her line, she manages a quick wave before the bullhorn SKWARKS and then goes off loudly. Then she snaps to attention, although her eyes keep drifting to the side. "If we are operating on a buddy system," she whispers to the dogs, "We're picking that guy, got it?"
The prisoners were given some choices, but Gerard Gerken hadn’t hesitated to join the lineup when the option to place himself in harm's way to help defend the city had been given. He knew it wouldn’t erase his crimes, but that wasn’t why he was there— the young officer speaking quietly to well trained dogs, though— she was the reason. One of two. The other, he hoped, was somewhere safer. He said nothing, kept his hands secured in the heavy cuffs in front of him that kept them from moving in any way.
His ability didn’t need negation. It just needed his hands immobilized.
And while this could never be considered “Gillian Child’s” first rodeo in saving the city— it was, still— this Gillian Child’s first time. Everything that she’d experienced before the plane crash, she knew now, was not her life. It was the life of another, a real woman whose life she’s just living— She wasn’t even real. But she was alive, if memories and emotions and love and hope and fears made people alive. She had all of that.
She also remembered the biggest bit of news. They didn’t didn’t have much time. Those who were in the crash. They were breaking down. They may not be able to live much longer.
Was this how Stef had felt?
In the time she had, she made herself a promise. She would live. As Gillian. As fully as she possibly could.
And write one more book. A book that was all hers. Not something she had started before the crash, something all hers. This Gillian.
With eyes the same color as rainclouds scanning the blackened smoke, Luther hides his worry about the chaotic weather within a stone-faced, tight-lipped face of gruff, grim determination. He's borrowed one of the NYFD's fireproof suits, but the protective face mask remains held by his side as he turns to look to the others gathered. Particularly, having picked over the faces of the inmates chosen to fight the fires, a part of the man is secretly relieved not to see a certain young asian woman's face among them. Alix had already done enough work putting out fires for governing entities, in his opinion.
Catching sight of Officer Gerken's bright smile causes Luther's expression to soften a tiny bit. If she's so unworried, perhaps he needn't be, too. But still, with such close proximity to the smoke and flames coloring the horizon, he can't help but feel concern tighten his innards. His sidelong gaze lands next briefly on Gillian standing beside him as Major Olson calls for focus. "He sounds nervous," Luther rumbles underneath his breath. Maybe the major is. Maybe Luther's just projecting.
«What you see in this tent is everyone we have available to us!» Major Olson calls over the bullhorn to the crowd. «Those robots outside are on loan from Yamagato Industries, there are construction tablets on that table!» He points to a folding table in the tent stacked with touchpad tablets in reinforced plastic and rubber cases. «The drones respond to verbal commands issued through the tablets, or manual commands through the touch interface. We have four operator tablets that can divide up all of the robots Yamagato loaned to us! Volunteers from the Haverland Construction Company, you’ll be responsible for the tablets and directing the robots!»
At Olson’s instruction, the volunteer firefighters from the construction company are directed to the table to gear up with the tablets. They begin running boot initialization procedures for the Tetsujin drones while Olson continues.
«The smoke you saw outside is coming from an unknown location inside the Exclusion Zone! We do not believe it was windblown embers due to the storm winds and rain. Our job is to identify the source of the fire and extinguish it. We have authorization to demolish any buildings necessary to ensure the fire does not spread. Heavy equipment is in the process of being brought in on a ferry, but we need to identify and mitigate the fire now!» Olson explains, motioning to the massive plumes of smoke rising in the glow of helicopter spotlights over the ruined city.
«If we find any human remains, they are to be moved to the transport on the far north side of 10th street! Corporal Mott will be waiting to record any remains uncovered. This is a UN mandate while operating within the Exclusion Zone: we cannot leave discovered human remains behind unless it is impossible due to immediate safety concerns!»
Then, Olson looks directly at Luther. «Luther Bellamy!» He calls out, and every eye in the tent turns back to him. «I was forwarded your Registration information and we want to place you in the forward investigatory team with Officer Gerken and some of our volunteer firefighters.» He explains. «Officer Gerken has brought two K9 units to search for any survivors of squatters that may be trapped in the area as well as explosives.»
Gillian can already feel it. Olson is hedging her out of the dangerous situations. He looks right past her as he begins to address other groups. «Rikers volunteers, we’ll split you between Bellamy’s team and Sargent Modi.»
«Bellamy, you’ll be searching buildings block by block in a grid from 9th street west to 11th street, and from 40th street south to 35th! Modi, your team is searching 12th east to 11th, and from 40th south to 34th, which is most of the old Javits Center!» Olson explains, motioning for the Rikers volunteer firefighters to just split up into a mostly even divide on either side of the tent. He doesn’t much seem to care which prisoners go with which teams. «Construction crew, I want you spread out in teams of 10 drones to 2 men, going street to street searching for anything out of the ordinary. Bellamy and Modi, if you need to call in those drones you do it on your radio and we’ll dispatch.»
And nothing for Gillian. Olson lowers his bullhorn and claps a hand together. “Alright people, get in your teams! Team leaders if you need clarity bring it to the front!” Olson shouts, pointing to himself.
Hailey's already taken her place near Luther, hand out as a form of introduction. "Officer Gerken, but you can call me Hailey, this is Chips and Peepee. We can take the lead if you want." The two dogs, stick to Hailey's side almost like glue, in a perfect heel. Chips ducks his head in a sneeze but recovers quickly to an alert stance, because he is ever the dignified animal.
Glancing back to her father again, the empath waves him over.
"Dad, over here!"
Before the man in the orange makes it into earshot, she gives Luther a hopeful look. "Can you get the cuffs off my dad? I'll vouch for him but he won't be any good to us at all if he can't dig through rubble."
Gritting her teeth behind the mask, Gillian goes through levels of frustration and anger at not even being given an assignment. She had not expected to ever step foot into Manhattan again, but she at least expected to get to do something when she did— beyond watch from afar. Maybe it was the place, but since he didn’t bother to even give her any instruction, she makes a decision on her own— and moves in the direction of Hailey and Luther Bellamy, as if she was one of the prisoner firefighters.
Not that she is dressed at all like one of them— she probably would have been better off trying to sneak off with the construction team, but the better story was in the direction that Bellamy and Hailey were going. She doesn’t speak up, though, as if not to draw attention to herself. Maybe they won’t notice until it’s too late.
At being called Dad, Gerken’s head moves suddenly in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected her to acknowledge him so loudly in this situation. The guards look at each other, say something that the daughter thankfully doesn’t have to hear, and then the restraints fall away. If the demolition equipment doesn’t make it, he was part of the backup plan, probably.
It helped he had good behavior and kids who were both in law enforcement, but it still didn’t earn him much. “Did you name them yourself?” he asks the officer as he makes his way over, carefully flexing his hands and fingers, but being careful not to move them too quickly or too much. “The dogs.”
The correction officers do not leave him, even with the vouching. They’re not far behind, but also not really close enough to help.
Luther's attention divides between listening to the major and the activity of the volunteer firefighters with the platoon of construction drones, but he snaps back into focus at the sudden calling of his name. The man straightens upon the very sudden alarming awareness that all eyes have turned upon him. Eyes snap forward to Major Olson although not directly on the military authority. Angled brows lift, however, at the responsibility and leadership role thrust upon him. A faint but notably discomfited grunt escapes Luther. But he doesn't protest the appointment.
Once the major disperses the teams, Luther can turn his attention to those on his. "Glad to have you, Officer. Hailey," he says with a quick handshake. His hand, not clammy but definitely warmer to touch than one might expect, withdraws long enough to give the dogs a chance to sniff out Luther's scent.
Luckily for him, Luther doesn't have to answer the awkward question from the younger Gerken. The family drama is put aside for now as he looks to the Rikers guards, following with a short nod of thanks to both correctional officers as they release Gerard's bonds. "Do they have you negated?" asks Luther with a glance down to the other man's hands. He's curious in the back of his mind, but doesn't ask the man's crimes.
At this point, though, it doesn't matter. Helping hands are helping hands, and the situation calls for all hands on deck. Gillian's, even, gets counted as Luther turns to the team gathered in general when his gaze turns to her. "Alright. We'll take this two by two, three deep. Hailey and her father up front with Chips and Peepee," he relays with an utterly straight face. "Miss Childs with me, we'll stay in mid-formation. Construction crew and guards fan left and right even spread. We'll go down each block and check the buildings, side streets. If you need help, call out." He looks around for any inquiries, casting one final glance in Modi's team and the major, then lifts a hand to motion his team to move. 9th west to 11th, 40th south to 35th. Ten blocks.
Major Olson notices when Luther subtly slides a directive for Gillian into his group. He presses his lips together into a thin line, shakes his head, and nearly says something to the contrary before stepping over to Gillian and gently taking her by the elbow. “Do not put yourself in any unnecessary danger,” he warns, but then gently releases her. He tried.
Even as Major Olson reserves his concern for a beloved war hero’s well-being, the instruction of another war hero sets Luther’s team in motion. As ordered, the construction crew and guards break into their flanking formations to sweep down the street, even as Luther and his primary squad move straight down the middle of the road. It’s hard to tell exactly how long they have to assess the source of the fire, whether it was caused by someone inside the Exclusion Zone or windblown flames crossing the Hudson River.
The helicopter overhead continues to circle, spraying water and foam down into one of the taller, burning buildings. But it’s the hellish glow coming from over the high western wall blocking off Manhattan from the river that is the most terrifying. A glow of a wildfire hundreds of miles across crawling closer and closer to the city.
In the distance, there is a rumbling bang of an explosion. So far away that it rolls like thunder across the Exclusion Zone. It isn’t from this fire, but from somewhere further off, perhaps outside of the Exclusion Zone itself, but not close enough to be seen over the walls. It feels like all the progress the Safe Zone has made in the year since the war is being lost, inch by horrible inch.
Hailey beams a smile at Gillian as she joins their group, then she discreetly points at her father and gives the woman two thumbs up mouthing MY DAD. She's too excited by the prospect and the dogs show it by bounding a little ahead of the group. About ten or fifteen feet ahead, they put their noses to the ground, and start weaving back and forth over the trail before the humans lagging behind make their way up.
"Glad you're here dad," Hailey begins in awkward conversation. It's the first time in her memory that she's seeing him as they make their way up the street. She keeps a careful eye on the two dogs but flits a sidelong glance toward the man at her side every once in a while. "I mean, out here. The lady back there, Gillian, and her brother, Brian, took care of us… and Sam-eye, that's Brian's wife. They have a kid named Mittens.” That’s probably a nickname, maybe. “Gillian adopted Jac, who used to be Squeaks and she has a kid from the future, Lene. And guess what? Apparently there's other mes and one of them had a kid who is also Lene."
It's possible that Hailey babbles, but it's a rare occasion that she gets Gerard without Lance.
“Not currently, sir,” Gerard states to Bellamy when asked, raising his hands. “They wanted me to be able to destroy buildings if necessary, but I’m sure they’re ready to shoot me full of darts if I so much as clap my hands without permission. And this is the first time I’ve been given a chance to spend any time outside a visitation suite with my daughter, so I don’t intend to mess that up.” He wasn’t given life in prison, in part because of his cooperation levels and lack of criminal history before the recent activities with Shedda, all of which he immediately pled no contest to. All of his other criminal past that the Company had held him for had been accidental, which now had laws that understood those situations better than they’d had in the past.
As his daughter starts to ramble, though, he might just look baffled under all that PPE. It’s hard to tell. Gillian, though, can tell from the body language, and says with a small laugh, “Welcome to the family, Mister Gerken.” The very large, very strange family.
Looking back toward Olsen, she nods one more time, again acknowledging that, while she knows she will die soon, she has no intention to die today.
She has a few things left to live for before she can allow that. And this was part of that. She wants to speculate about the distant gunfire, but— they had work to do. She hated the idea that Hailey was probably going to see too many dead bodies today— but she also knew the girl would need to handle that. At least she would have two parents at her side. “I can tell you all kinds of stories about when she was twelve one of these days.”
How about the time she wandered off to find and stop the feral dogs that killed her best friend Denisa and Gillian went to find her in the middle of a Blizzard and nearly got mauled to death? Maybe not that story.
Luther is fully aware of the choice to include Gillian in his forward team, and sends a subtle nod to the major before their team deploys in formation out into the street. Though his hands are to his sides, he can't help but feel an awkwardness like he's missing something: the weight of a rifle. To distract from the thought, he listens to the conversation passed between the group, interested by the relationship unfolding among the Gerkens and Gillian, of names that at once sound familiar with yet aren't quite there to the man.
His gaze dips upon mention of Squeaks, then rises back to Gillian for the recognition of their also possibly strange ties with Chess and the complicated web of Adam Monroe's genes, with the practically family notion of adoption. But what comes out of the man is a singular query, intending to clarify. "A kid named Mittens?"
Attention on the conversation splits with the distant sound of thunder or explosions. Luther frowns, but his investigative pace doesn't slow. “Did y’all hear that?” cautions the man. “Keep an eye out if any of the buildings look like they’re coming down.”
There’s a sun-bleached billboard on the side of a building slouching like a drunken man. Strips of color remain in areas of persistent shade, the title at the bottom reading JOHN CARTER OF MARS is barely visible. This decaying time capsule of America locked in the early months of 2012 before the fire-bombing of New York slouches into decay. Now, faced with the Ohio River Fire, perhaps it will all be burned away.
Marching down 10th ave the smoke becomes worse, but so much of it is relegated to street level. Luther’s been around a lot of fires, knows how smoke operates. Seeing this much coal-black smoke congregating at ground level makes him feel an uneasy knot forming in the pit of his stomach. While there’s smoke billowing out of the windows of highrises on the right and left sides of the street, there’s also smoke issuing out of the vents of sewer covers and drainage grates. It’s subtle, and the rain makes it impossible to see at a distance. But his team, up close, can easily see it.
The fire isn’t coming from something sparked by windblown embers, not in this downpour. The smoke is somehow coming from underground.
There's a pause in Hailey's cheerful chatter and she slows her walk. "Dad, there's something wrong… hang on." Turning, she jogs back to Luther's position and motions toward the east. "All the animals are way over there, even the sewer rats. They shouldn't be over there already… they shouldn't even be worried about what's up here yet. They should still be safe underground."
Looking toward the nearest grate lining the road, she frowns at the smoke seeping out. She tugs on Luther's sleeve, much like she would have done to Gillian a decade ago to signal something amiss. "Why is the sewer on fire?"
She quickens her step to get back to her position and reaches for her father's hand. The two dogs race back to her side, CHiPs trotting so close to her leg that he touches it with every few steps. They both whine, feeling as worried as she is.
“Did we have indications that there was fire underground?” Gillian asks, looking back toward Luther as if he might have been more up to speed on things than she was since she was mostly brought in for the logistics of evacuation. The ability to talk to people who didn’t want to relocate through everything was one of the few things she thought she might be able to bring, even if she also had some ulterior motives for coming along as well. “I would have thought this entire section would be flooded, honestly, with how the sewers and subways needed to be constantly pumped while they were active.” Was there someone keeping them pumped somehow? Was the water level less than it should be?
She remembered reading books on all kinds of things when she had been working with the Ferry, and there’d been reasons most of the old tunnels in midtown were unusable and it hadn’t just been because of collapse and damage from the explosion. A good rainfall left them deep underwater without those pumps running, and those pumps took power, power which no one would be sparing these days.
At his daughter’s words, though, Gerard steps closer to her, looking off into the distance. He wants to raise his hands, but glances back at the guards with him and then looks back at his daughter instead. “Animals are pretty smart and know when to get out quicker than we do… You should radio back and tell them. I don’t think this was part of their plans. If it’s underground it could be spread a lot further than we expect. Especially with all the— fuel down there.” He doesn’t say human waste and other kinds of fuel. But that’s what he means. “We could be walking on a bomb.”
There's a point in their steadily marched inspection where Luther has pulled down the protective face shield to filter out the smoke. He makes sure the others are doing similarly before they get too much farther, and a good thing too when the smoke accumulates at ground level. He's got a hand up to pause their progress when he spots Hailey turning back to report, and examines the black coloring of the smoke with growing concerns. "I don't think the major or any of the crews got this far out. But you're probably right," he replies to Gillian. "This isn't just wildfire catching on through the flammables inside the open windows and buildings. Not with the rains."
With the tug on his sleeve, Luther turns to Hailey and the young woman's query gets silently echoed back by his expression. Why is the sewer on fire? Where is all the rainwater going? And if even the rats have fled east… He nods in agreement with Gerard, reaching for his radio. "«Major, we've got underground fuel sources on fire here. Sending scout drones down. Over.»" He motions for the team to press on. "C'mon, there's the entrance at 38th and 10th for the Lincoln Tunnel we can probably get in through." Though, how collapsed had the expressway become for all the years through disuse and civil war would be a sight for their eyes only.
«Be—my?» Olson radios back, but Luther can barely make out what he’s saying. «–ay again? Y—» then it’s just static. Something is interfering with the radio signals, could be what’s been wreaking havoc on cell phone signals today.
As Luther turns the group around, the Tetsujin drone operators look concerned as they make their way over to the core of the group. One of them, a Haverland Construction engineer in a bright orange jumpsuit and yellow construction hat over his gas mask brandishes his tablet on approach. “Sir,” he says to Luther, “wireless signals on the Tetsujin are all cutting out. We can’t get live camera feeds. Verbal commands are still functioning. We must be getting signal interference.”
Other Haverland drone operators are one-by-one walking down the line of drones, giving verbal commands to turn around and redirecting them toward the freeway entrance to the Lincoln tunnel. “I’ve lost contact with the other drone operators searching their grids too.” He looks in the direction of the Lincoln Tunnel. “There’s no way through there, though. The military blew the tunnel during the war, it should be flooded, if not outright collapsed!”
But the animals are reacting as if it isn’t. As if the fire was spreading from below. It would explain how the buildings around them were burning from the inside without the fire having crossed the Hudson or leapt the Exclusion Zone walls.
A high pitched whines from the dogs is an echo of the trepidation felt by Officer Gerken. She glances up at her father, down at his hands, back at Luther. Then the whines turn to a low and menacing growl.
"It's not blocked," she barks at the drone operator, the unseen expression behind her mask is one of firm resolve. Her posture and pose is more visible and just as set. "We need to send one of the drones down there now to check out the situation so we can get the proper equipment to deal with this. If you're not able to do it, pass me the gee dee remote control so I can."
Because she's not sending her fellow officers into a death trap when they have perfectly good robots to sacrifice.
Why send fellow officers when there are perfectly expendable drones? When the drones aren’t working properly, that’s when. As she glances back toward the young officer, forced to make some tough decisions, Gillian opens her mouth under the mask as if ready to do something she really would not have if not for the fact that—
She was a drone herself.
But she doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because Gerard Gerken is already stepping forward, looking in the direction that Luther mentioned. “If the drones won’t work, I can go first.” He’s not a drone, but he is certainly expendable, in terms of everything. He has no intention of dying on his daughter, though, but he won’t let her go first if he can help it. “I may not be high tech, but I worked in factories and construction for years. One of the operators can show me how to work it if they need someone at closer range.”
With a shuffle of her feet, Gillian steps back and continues to take mental notes, looking around for anything that might stand out. And looking for any survivors that might be hiding in the rubble watching.
Luther smacks the radio a couple of times with his hand to no avail. "Shit," grumbles the man under breath as he temporarily gives up on communicating their movement and intent to the major back at the base camp. When addressed, he turns to the engineer and frowns with the assessment of signal interference. He shakes his head. "The fire's spreading underground, and we gotta get eyes on it somehow. We'll go in manual if we have to."
Nodding to Hailey and Gerard, Luther offers some respect to their offers. "The drones can still go in first, but we won't be far behind. If nothing else, maybe they've got somewhere to save their sensor data and we'll pull 'em after to assess." So he waves them onward towards the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel, still walking beside Gillian and similarly taking care to remain wary of the burning buildings as they continue. "How're you feelin'?" he asks Gillian beside him, his tone remaining in low, cautious levels, a particular emphasis on revealing deeper understanding about the woman's condition. Was she also getting strange interference?
“The Tetsujin will still respond to verbal, but with whatever’s causing this signal interference we won’t be able to stream out. Everything is recorded locally, though.” A drone-operator says to Luther. “I’ve unlocked their verbal heuristics so they’ll respond to any verbal command right now, you all should be authorized to tell them what to do. Just keep your commands simple and clear.”
It all seems simple enough, but it’s a simple path //directly into the mouth of a believed-to-be-collapsed freeway tunnel that may be on fire. Nothing about that is simple.
Even from several hundred feet away the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel is ominous. Rows of rusting, derelict cars are frozen on the freeway in the outbound traffic lane. The vehicles’ tires are melted to the pavement, not from the wildfire but from the napalm attack that killed thousands during the war. Some of the vehicles still have the charred remains of drivers in them, other vehicles are pockmarked by high-caliber gunfire. Vegetation grows up between cracks in the asphalt all the way down into the pitch-black depths of the tunnel.
The drone operators give some rudimentary commands to their tetsujin, with six going down into the tunnel ahead of the team and the remainder hanging back outside in the event they need to mount a rescue operation. As the drones start to enter the darkness, one by one their forehead flashlights click on and begin illuminating the concrete tomb filled with burned husks of automobiles. So far everything looks intact, though the ceiling is cracked and bowed in places, leaking filthy water from severed drainage pipes in steady streams.
"Dad no!" Hailey's neck does a sharp twist to face Gerard as he volunteers. A twitch of her hand has the two K9 units dropping into an immediate sit next to her heels. "We just got you back. If anyone has to go in first, I'll go." She's not letting her parents, biological or pseudo-adoptive go in first.
Her head snaps to the writer and she points, "Don't even think about it."
That's right G1L-E-N, don't even.
The young officer takes the lead position, slogging through the muck behind the drones. Her two dogs follow, weaving back and forth in serpentine fashion, nosing everything in their path. Visible through the mask, her eyes lose some of their steele and resolve with each charred corpse they pass. More visible to those behind her, her posture droops as the weight of their mission finally hits her shoulders.
Thank everything for those strong air filters, because Gillian could imagine that the smell would not be the greatest as they move forward. “I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary,” she responds to Luther, softly, ignoring the rest of the ‘don’t’ even as she stays toward the back of the group for the moment. “But I’ll let you know if I do.” She doesn’t know how much Luther knows, but she’s used to people knowing more than she expects them to, and she knows who Luther Bellamy used to work for, and who he’s friends with. So it doesn’t seem she’s shocked. Or even surprised.
“Just be careful, Hailey. Already dealt with your brother being in the hospital this year,” she murmurs, sharing a glance with the biodad, because, well—
They worry.
There’s no verbal protest from Gerard, but there’s definitely a moment before he just falls in line behind her, catching up to her as her posture slowly starts to drop. The further they get, the deeper the drones go, the more they see that’s horrifying. He’s seen bodies. So has Gillian. She saw so many during the war and after that, she spends the time looking just making sure there are no signs of movement among the piles that might hint at life hiding in the death. Later, she’ll have time to shed tears for all these nameless people whose bodies should have been removed from this place years ago.
Gerard rests a hand on his daughter’s arm, a silent offer of support. “I’m right beside you.”
That will be his compromise. She can go first of the people, behind the drones, but he’ll be beside her.
Luther doesn't look satisfied with the circumstances, but it really is his main expression. Local recording and verbal commands will have to do. As the group proceeds to the entrance of the tunnel, the man can't help but frown at the horrors of war surrounding them. A wordless grunt escapes him as he forces himself to look away from a charred skeleton with jaw bone hanging open in a permanent scream.
Focusing back on the others, Luther catches the look between Gillian and Gerard, and a renewed pang of worry hits him deeply. "We'll keep her safe," he tells the parents in solidarity. Parental side mission, it's happening.
Luther isn't more than a few car lengths away from the front runners as they proceed into the tunnel and weave around the vehicles. "Front drones, form up a line and walk forward, easy does it. Don't make too much noise. We don't know if the walls are that stable." And given the explosions they'd heard earlier in the distance, there's a cause for concern.
The rhythmic whirr of electric motors and servos reverberates off of the concrete wall of the Lincoln Tunnel as the Tetsujin drones begin their steady march between the rows of burned-out vehicles. Brittle, rusted flakes of metal crunch underfoot. The team at the drones’ back notices shredded and faded banners hanging from the walls inside the tunnel that read: Families Deserve Certainty. Get Tested Today. The red and gold DoEA logo is branded on all the banners.
Metal signs on the walls facing the inbound lane of the Lincoln Tunnel indicate vehicles should stop at all military checkpoints and that Manhattan is a Control Zone. The first indicators of the walled prison city that the Mitchell Administration was trying to build. This imagery, juxtaposed with skeletal human remains inside the rusted vehicles is a harrowing reminder of just what the Civil War was fought over.
The drones do not pause at the vehicles, but their mounted flashlights sweep over the bones and cast skeletal shadows on the tunnel walls. Sixty feet in the downward slope of the tunnel leads to murky, black water. The drones all pause at the water’s edge, waiting for confirmation to proceed. The Tetsujin are, to a point, waterproof. But they require manual affirmation to enter a potential environmental hazard.
Up ahead, the drones’ flashlights reveal rows of cars submerged up to their door handles. A few feet of water, enough to walk in. But, more worryingly, the tunnel doesn’t look collapsed. But all of the surveys of Manhattan indicated this tunnel was completely destroyed.
"Huh," Hailey utters with a bit of a frown. Stepping in front of the robots and she bends down looking for something on the road. When she finds a small rock that fits into the palm of her hand, she stands upright and then whips it further into the tunnel ahead of them. The splash echoes off the walls and the officer knows she couldn't have thrown it as far as it sounds. So, she presses the button on her shoulder light and angles it out into the darkness. "Well the good news is, there aren't any sewer gators nearby. The bad news is, something is scaring all the animals in the opposite direction. Could be fire, but… in water?"
A small hand gesture to the dogs has them sitting at the water's edge. "Stay," she instructs them and then looks up at Luther, "Want me to scout ahead to see how far this goes? I can swim pretty good if it gets too deep." Plus, she has the dogs that could rescue her if they needed to.
Both Gerard and Gillian have nearly identical parent moments at Hailey’s suggestion of swimming ahead, saying simultaneously, “No.” and then looking at each other awkwardly. It’s just one of those things. One’s her real dad, the other one raised her for almost the same amount of time.
As the prisoner conscript, though, Gerard makes a gesture that, really, it wasn’t his to say anyway— It may not technically be Gillian’s either, but that doesn’t stop her from adding, “We don’t know what it is in the water that’s scaring them. This might not be just water either.” And she does not mean the sludge of long ago sewage. She does choose now to show her ‘research’, as she speaks up, “I did go through the surveys though before we came for possible survivor hideouts, and this tunnel was listed as collapsed. It could have been an accidental oversight, but…” It was curious. “Maybe someone had wanted it to appear collapsed when they did the last sweep of the ruins? It could mean survivors were hiding down here.”
She looks toward Luther to make the decision, however.
All the way to the water's edge, Luther proceeds up to the front line of Tetsujin and squints ahead as Hailey does the initial probe into the dark. "It's not the gators I'm worried about," he replies to the young officer, staring out past the sweeping light beams. For nearly a solid minute, he's still as a statue, looking lost in a reverie of memories. From the DoEA branded banners to the burnt out metal tombs sitting idle and under water, he looks briefly overwhelmed in a mental juxtaposition of the present view versus what his mind's eye offers of the past.
Luther swallows down a tightened knot in his throat. A brief nod for Gillian's research indicates he's heard and agrees. "Wouldn't be the first time records have been altered to hide something. A corridor to ferry supplies and survivors. Or something else." That something else carries a suspicious tone, wary of what lies ahead.
"Let's press on." It's a command said with more volume so all the drone operators also hear the plan. There's one pause before they take to the water, where Luther looks to Hailey and indicates the two police dogs. "Water's looking pretty deep. Do they need a lift?" Meaning, himself and one other could carry the dogs astride their shoulders.
At Luther’s affirmation, the Tetsujin drones begin marching into the water, forming two single-file lines—three-by-three—on the far sides of the tunnel. They walk with their heads angled at 45-degrees toward the middle of the tunnel, creating as much of an overlap of light as possible and flooding the tunnel with dancing shadows and shimmering reflections of light on water against the cracked ceiling.
Up ahead, the blockage of vehicles is dispersed and it looks like after about seven or eight rows of cars there’s just… no traffic jam at all. The Tetsujin taking up the front relay back what they’re seeing to the handheld devices of their operators who hang back with Luther and the others.
“No roadblocks up ahead,” one of the operators says with confusion, gesturing to his handheld’s screen. “The other cars are just—they’re gone? The whole tunnel looks open ahead, water level seems consistent at about three and a half feet. It might be clear all the way to the Jersey side but… that doesn’t make any sense. Where’d the other cars go?”
"Not yet," Hailey answers Luther, pulling a small clicker from her pocket. She snaps it three times and the dogs weave in closer to her, swimming alongside as she moves behind the drones.
The water is up to her waist and cold enough that she has to fight to keep her teeth from chattering. Transferring the clicker to her other hand, she reaches toward Gerard and grips his hand tightly. Its something she hasn't had the opportunity to do since she was very young. He can probably remember the last time but all she can remember is that feeling of security.
"Don't let go, okay?" She says, feigning bravado, like the gesture is for safety and not comfort.
If Gillian had her ability, she would try to reach out and sense for people who she could augment, to send out the smallest filaments of her strength out— and part of her still has that desire to do that— But she knows that isn’t part of her anymore. With a click of her tongue, she wades into the water, hoping the seals on her suit keeps most of the liquid of actually getting to her skin, but trying to reason what might have moved cars. “If it was a tunnel that was hidden for some reason or another, someone could have moved them?” Before the flooding. Before the fires.
Would they ever know what happened? She looks around to try and figure out where they could have gone. Perhaps someone salvaged them? “I don’t think anyone could have salvaged them with the water levels here…” Not without the right mix of abilities. “Unless there were never cars here at all?”
Gerard doesn’t try to figure out the situation, in the same way, he just does what he’s told in this case— he holds the young officer’s hand, squeezing it tightly in silent response. He has his other hand free, for the moment.
Luther puts a stop to the procession once they've reached the end of the line of cars. Or, perhaps, the front line. "You're right. This doesn't make any sense," he concurs with the drone operator's assessment and eyeing the surface of the dark waters. It's here he looks over to the others, gauging their morale and confidence against his own. "I want to know if there's anything from the dogs - if they can smell anything. We still need to find where the fire's coming from," he notes to Hailey with a short nod to send the scouts forward. "And we'll have to get closer to see if the cars were all driven off, or if something else took them."
Gillian's note is unsettling to Luther, especially when he crosses the line of cars and into the empty part of the tunnel. "Not like they could've fucked off to another dimension or anything," the man mutters under his breath within earshot of the councilwoman. The distinct possibility plays in the back of his tone. Beckoning the others along, he positions behind Hailey and Gerard.
Hailey doesn’t sense anything from the dogs other than attentive curiosity, which for the moment feels like more than enough. It isn’t until one of the drone operators shouts in surprise that the dogs have a spike of anxiety, turning to the operator who is staring wide-eyed at his tablet.
“Who the fuck would do this?” The operator asks in confusion, holding up the pad to Luther. He pinches, zooms in, and shows the view of the furthest Tetsujin down the tunnel. There, well past where the cars had vanished, there’s signs of new construction. Steel supports and a burrowed tunnel moving at a 40-degree angle from the main tunnel back toward a more northerly side of Manhattan. While the construction is new, it doesn’t look recent.
“Yamagato had no construction operations in the Exclusion Zone.” The drone operator says with abject confusion. “And that—that work was done by a TBM, the kind used for making subway tunnels. All this steel reinforcement,” he points at the areas around the rough tunnel, “this would’ve taken an entire engineering crew.”
As the drone operator talks to Luther, another sends a Tetsujin a few steps into the tunnel mouth. “Angle is level with the main tunnel, also flooded. There’s drainage systems installed, vacuum pumps. Whoever did this might’ve been trying to drain the flooding?” The engineers are all confused.
“Someone was, what, trying to fucking tunnel into Manhattan? Why?” Another asks.
Through the conversation, Hailey begins to sense something in the dogs. A pang of worry, they smell something. The fear response is akin to the predator-prey instinct, and the dogs recognize the presence of something higher on the food chain than them.
“There’s light down here!” Another Tetsujin operator calls out. “Looks like sparking wires above the water!” The alarm in his voice raises a little. “There’s not supposed to be power out here!”
A couple of clicks and the dogs paddle in place just behind her in a V formation with Hailey at the front. She stares in the same direction as the dogs, her breath hitching to a stop. She holds it for a long minute, a behavior that Gillian might remember from the young woman’s childhood when she was afraid. Slowly, she draws her firearm and flips the safety off before leveling it in front of her.
“Quiet,” she hisses the order to the operators. She doesn’t move until the only sound she can hear is the anxious, high pitched whines of her dogs. Then she begins to walk forward, making her best attempt not to disturb the water more than is necessary. “There’s something ahead and it’s not friendly.”
The prisoner steps forward until he’s close to his daughter. Gerard may not have seen his daughter in action as a police officer before, but he recognizes the readiness that she has taken on, and he respects that she’s done so. “Permission to use my ability if we’re attacked?” he asks, flexing his hands a little under the protective suit as he keeps his eyes straight forward. Depending on the answer and the circumstances, he may not listen to whatever the response to this question might be— But he does ask, at least.
Jaw tightening, Gillian stays back near the drone operator for the moment, looking down at what he’s doing and then up toward the tunnel. Someone is tunneling into Manhattan. “Manhattan always did have a lot of buried secrets. The question is who was trying to unearth them this time…” These weren’t Ferry tunnels. She surely would have seen a mark or a sign that would indicate such a thing.
“And what were they trying to find.”
Any good writer would ponder this mystery.
Luther doesn't do much to acknowledge the drone operator's revelation from the remote pad's output that there's a whole construction project happening right under everybody's noses, but the frown behind his breathing mask can be heard on his next words to the team. "Live wire, everybody hold up!" Once again, he calls for a halt to consider their path choices. Forward or back, really, and the objective hadn't yet been achieved to find something that could explain the fire's ferocity above ground.
But at what risk?
Luther looks around to the others, quietly glad his gear and the waving lights of the Tetsujin drones bouncing off the water's surface mask his apprehension. "All drones forward and find that offshoot. Let's also get a couple of the Ironmen up ahead and hold that wire up, or even better if they can cap it, tape it, secure it anyway you can think of," he tells the operators. "Hailey, Gerken," he says to the officer and her father beside, "Right up front after Chips and the Princess. Gillian and I are right behind you. Don't go more than thirty feet ahead of me, alright?"
Once he's made sure the instructions to proceed are clear, Luther waves them forward. As progression starts again, he mutters just loudly enough for the trio around hear him grumble, "Better not be a bunch of Nazis lookin' for a fuckin' golden Ark."
It is not.
As the drones move around the bend and into the offshoot, it all goes to hell. It starts with confusion when one of the drone operators slaps the side of his tablet. “My Tetsu went dark,” he says. But then when a second operator says the same thing, it becomes a pattern. A moment later the dogs’ hackles raise, teeth bared, growls only barely restrained behind Hailey’s empathic regimen. But she can feel what they’re feeling, and while it may outwardly seem like anger… it’s fear.
The moan comes next. A low, droning moan like someone pumped full of novacaine trying to scream for help. It rises, and as it does the dogs’ panic begins to spike. There’s a sparking and sputtering sound, then a series of loud splashes and the creak of metal-on-metal. The dogs are fighting against Hailey’s control, they want to bark, they want to run, they want to go anywhere but here.
Then they see it. Not on the walls, but on the ceiling. The size of a horse.
It’s glistening, pinkish-gray, moving like a spider across the concrete. Its flesh is studded with eyes gleaming back like an animals’ in the darkness. But they’re everywhere; arms, legs, torso. It has a human head, molten and misshapen, saliva drooling from its too-wide jaws. Tendrils of flesh lash like severed high-tension cables from its midsection, whistling in the air.
One of the operators screams, drops his tablet in the water. “What the fuck! What the fuck!” Is the only thing that can be made out in the horrifying darkness as the drone operators start to turn. Knocking into one-another, tripping over each other, falling into the water.
It screams back, a moaning wail. A keening cry. Then it drops down into the water with a tremendous splash of its twisted limbs.
"What do you—" Luther starts to ask of the operator who first sounds the proverbial alarm with machine malfunctions. He doesn't finish the question as the strange, disturbing moan echoes down the around them. Neither does he need to be an animal empath to realize the dogs are extremely uncomfortable. "Hailey, Gerard, all units fall back!" Luther calls to the front, "Fall ba—"
He doesn't finish the thought. Eyes widening, Luther stares at the monster clinging to the tunnel ceiling, not quite comprehending what it is, except for terrifying. Nothing is done at first to stop the fleeing drone operators from abandoning their posts. Then, his wits finally return. "Everyone get back to the entrance! Gillian, lead 'em back and get ‘em outta here!" For his own part, Luther surges forward towards Hailey and Gerard's position, aiming to protect the forward scouting pair's retreat. From a point above the inhuman beast where it’s dropped down, and some thirty feet behind, bright spots of ambient light begin to glow to provide the team some sight in their path. And, to illuminate the horror blocking the way further.
The dogs don’t have to fight very hard, the moment Hailey looks up to see the thing hanging from the ceiling, she lets them go. They splash through the water in a panic to get some purchase under their feet. The moment they reach land again, they turn back, barking, growling, and snapping at the air.
“Dad–” the word gets stuck in Hailey’s throat as she stares, horrified at the creature. Barely conscious of the cacophony the dogs are making when it drops right in front of her. With both hands, she levels her firearm at it, using all the self control she’s not feeding to the dogs to keep herself from firing. Slowly, she backs away, both following Luther’s orders and trying not to become the target of the creature in front of them.
It’s sad to say that what Gillian sees in front of her is not the first monstrosity apparently made of a person that she has seen. This time, though, she doesn’t have an assault rifle and her ability on her side. This draws up memories she had long buried, though, memories of someplace that was much more sterile in appearance, but darker on the inside. At least everything here was as horrific as the monster lurking in its depths. She doesn’t quip, as she starts to help the others evacuate. Though she does yell out, “Get out of there, Hailey!”
Shooting it might just piss it off. Though that was exactly what she would have done if she had been armed properly.
It doesn’t mean she wants the girl she saw growing up and would have risked her life every day to protect to do it.
Gerard doesn’t even hesitate as he moves forward instead of back, stepping in front of his daughter and her gun and raising his hands up to slam them together in a slapping gesture. He isn’t sure how well his ability works these days, after months of negation, but he’s certainly going to try to harness at least a targeted bomb in hope the thing has ears. And if not that its fleshy bits are susceptible to soundwaves.
In an instance like this: it’s super effective.
The tunnel channels the concussive force of Gerard’s sonic manipulations, focuses it downrange like the explosive force of a black powder charge in an old breech-loading musket. In this case, a ruined car is the ball shot. The sound is as explosive as the result is, a near-deafening roar that cascades outward from Gerard and is so powerful it throws him backwards off of his feet and into the standing water at his daughter’s side. The backlash of the shockwave hits Luther as well with an entirely different outcome, washing over him like a warm rain and soaking in with so much kinetic force. It ripples over his body, creating sympathetic shimmers of color and light down his arms.
In the intended direction the shockwave rips through the tunnel, tearing tiles off of the walls and ceiling and sending the furthest ruined vehicle up into the air and pinballing around the tunnel walls, tearing itself apart. It collides with the creature on the ceiling and tears it off like tweezers and a tick, leaving a bloody smear where it impacts. The car and the creature collapse down into the sodden tunnel with a screeching crash of twisting metal and rent flesh.
The engineers run, they run screaming for the tunnel mouth as fast as their legs can carry them. Some trip over each other, scramble, pull themselves up on hands and heels and clamber toward the daylight and away from the beast that they’d awoken below the Exclusion Zone.
Cracks form in the ceiling of the tunnel and water begins to intrude in steady streams. Further down, the creature rolls the car off of it and rises up, bones popping and snapping back into place, blood oozing from multiple vicious wounds in its side. The many eyes on its body focus ahead and the creature struggles, trying to pull a stuck limb free from the vehicle wreckage.
Seeing Gerard stepping forward instead of in retreat, Luther tries to surge his way forward in the water but is slowed. Whatever his admonishment was going to be, if at all, is lost in the deafening sonic shockwave. He braces, expecting to be torn off his feet. Yet he doesn't fall. Luther looks down at his arms and hands, surprised to still be upright, but looks up and sees the monster still very much up too. Up, but stuck. Every moment is crucial.
Luther sees Gerard and Hailey ahead of him, Gillian helping the drone operators moving back. Confident that the rear is in good hands, he pushes forward towards the Gerkens. Once he's within arm's reach to help Gerard up, Luther looks up to the cracked ceilings then to the man who caused them with a clear, if silent, communication; they've got to stop that monster from making it out into the streets, even if it means bringing the streets down upon it. To Hailey, Luther adds, "Get the dogs, and all remotes you can find on the way out. We've got to have something to show for all this shit, alright? Your dad and I will be right behind."
It's not a full guarantee or even a promise, but a plan of action. Luther turns and focuses on a point as closely as he can make it, a raging ball of fire and light erupting at the caught creature's many eyes.
Grateful for the hand up, Gerard gets to his feet and looks at the creature, then nods toward Luther, understanding without needing to be told the subtext. He sounds winded as he speaks, a little pained, but he didn’t get too damaged from his own ability or the shockwave that knocked him down. He’d focused as much of the soundwaves forward as possible, so hopefully no one got burst eardrums behind them.
“Go help your mom, kiddo.” It doesn’t even hurt him to say that about someone who had helped raise his daughter. Someone who she remembers as a parent more than him. “Get the dogs and the men out of here. They’ll listen to you more than they will to us.” The dogs especially. The men would listen to Luther, but how many of them would trust the guy in an orange prisoner outfit even in this situation.
Gillian continues to do what she can to gather up panicked men, getting the ones who tripped and fell onto their feet and gesturing them toward the exit with a quick order. She doesn’t focus on the remotes and the drones, but the people, but she doesn’t stop the men who don’t want to leave their drones behind. “Everyone out. Above ground. Now. Help anyone who needs it.” She keeps her orders simple, and confident, drawing on memories of the war. “Move.”
“But–” Hailey’s words are cut off and the empath backs out, eyebrows drawn down in an expression reminiscent of a petulant child. Then she turns and storms through the water toward the exit.
Unlike Gillian, Hailey does stop for the stray operators. “She said everyone!” The officer barks at one of the men, “we can gather whatever we left behind in recovery!” Assuming there is a recovery. “Come on,” she adds, shoving him toward the exit by the shoulder. “I’m sure Yamagato can afford to lose one little robot but they can’t afford to lose you!”
One of the dogs wheels around, an impulse not of its own, and paddles to Gerard’s side. Using its teeth, it tugs at the jumpsuit. Apparently, Hailey doesn’t trust that they won’t be separated again.
And even though she’s moving as ordered, a piece of her stays behind.
Meanwhile
Above
«Battalion 1 to Safe Zone Dispatch.»
Smoke weaves through the sky like strangling arms.
«Battalion 1, K.»
From the air, the city is awash with rain and flames. Fire and water meet in battle, roiling in from all sides. From the west, a carpet of fire creeps across New York, consuming abandoned towns and homes, heralded by a wall of black smoke so thick and so high it feels like the end of the world.
«We have a number of floors on fire here. Indications the fire is coming up through basement levels. Might be sewer tunnels. Transmit a fourth alarm. We'll have the staging area at Vesey and West Street. Have the fourth alarm assignment go into that area, the second alarm report to the building, K.»
The East River burns, boats trapped in the water surrounded by lapping tongues of fire. Buildings to the east of the river look like fireflies in a summer field, freckles of inferno dotting the landscape. Intermittent explosions.
«Battalion 1, please be advised we have reports of gunshots on ground. Source unknown. K.»
The sound of gunfire can’t be heard over the roar of a helicopter’s rotors, but from this high up the presence of a battlefield is unmistakable. From this high up, the warzone is clearly defined. Returned from the past in unwelcome clarity.
«Second alarm assignment report to the Lincoln Tunnel, Second alarm assignment report to the Lincoln Tunnel.»
Below, the serpentine detention wall around the Manhattan Exclusion Zone looks like a chalk outline around a corpse. Skeletal fingers of eviscerated skyscrapers rise up from the grave of Manhattan, clawing at the sky. Flames leap out of a skyscraper near the Lincoln Tunnel.
«Battalion 2 to Dispatch! Belay the alarm! We have to pull the building! Repeat, we have to pull the building!»
Finn Shepherd saw the worst of humanity bubble to the surface during the Second American Civil War. From the sky he has seen many unspeakable things. Today is no exception. But today he is not flying a combat route, he is not ferrying the Four Horsemen to some clandestine operation. Today, Finn Shepherd is being a hero.
«Do we have any air relief!? We need emergency evac on ground!»
Today, Finn Shepherd gets to decide who he is.
The Yellowjacket feels like the tenth circle of hell. In the pilot seat, Finn is sweaty and grimy – this close to the fire, the soot and ash make their way into the bird’s interior, sticking to damp skin doing its best to keep cool in the infernal heat. As bad as the flames are, the heat and smoke are even more dangerous. Every pilot runs the risk of smoke inhalation and dehydration.
Today the contractor flies all alone in a rig meant for a small crew of three or four. He’s been doing his best to scoop and drop water via the Bambi bucket where he can, ahead of the flames to keep the fire from spreading – evacuation isn’t optimal in a solo flight, but he doesn’t see anyone else through the thick black wall of sooty smoke.
«Air 5, Shepherd responding. I’m on my own up here, but if you got no one else…»
The wind picks up, driving greasy black rain sideways, cutting through the smoke. It is at once merciful and as much a hazard, coating the windscreen of the Yellowjacket in greasy film. The radio crackles with chatter.
«Air 5, this is Dispatch. Proceed to Lincoln Tunnel Evac. Battalion 2, confirm passengers.»
Down below, orange flowers blossom amid fields of gray. Small explosions across the city. A wildfire and a war, much as what had happened to Providence.
«Air 5, this is Battalion 2. We have a half dozen or more needing immediate evac. Numbers unclear. Sgt. Modi is moving people one at a time but that building is going to come down!»
Below, Finn can see the Lincoln Tunnel and the nearby skyscraper belching flames and smoke out its windows. The people below look like ants fleeing the anthill, scrambling out of the tunnel.
«10-4, Battalion 2. Air 5 en route.»
Usually Shepherd doesn’t always remember his radio protocols, and in less dire situations, there might be a bit more banter on his end than dispatch typically approves of, but today isn’t the day for it.
That doesn’t mean he won’t chatter at himself. “Fly a helicopter, they said. It’ll be fun, they said,” he mutters glancing over at the green ‘Good Luck Care Bear’ that sits on the dashboard, a gift from June. It’s a little ironic, maybe, for the man to have a good luck charm, but he reaches out to pat its four-leaf-clover patch for luck all the same.
The bright yellow helicopter cuts through the sooty rain, as he heads toward the tunnel, looking for a place to set down or at least hover so people can climb into the belly of the Yellowjacket.
But the lower Finn flies, the clearer he can see the faces of the engineers fleeing the tunnel and the look of horror on their faces. Their panic.
Then a flash of bright light exits the tunnel at the backs of those escaping, casting their long shadows across the cracked asphalt.
Meanwhile
Underground
Hailey Gerken is the first to emerge from the tunnel to the sound of an approaching helicopter. The Lincoln Tunnel blooms with a sudden flash of light and the horrific wail of the abomination as she does. The moment she gets above ground her radio crackles to life.
«—espond! This is Major Olson, the fire is in the building! We have to drop it or it’s going to spread. Gerken, anyone, please respond! Sargent Modi just called for an evac!»
Modi has no idea what’s going on below, and judging from the presence of a rapidly approaching bee-yellow helicopter, Hailey and the others missed whatever was going on above ground as well. Panicked engineers flee past her, scrambling their way up and out of the tunnel. Some trip and others stop to grab them and haul them out.
Back down inside, Luther, Gerard, and Gillian watch as the creature thrashes, blinded by the blast of light Luther had released. It throws itself to the ground, opens its mouth and grows new teeth as its jaws split further and further, then begins chewing its own leg off to get free.
“What the fuck?!” Luther recoils as the sci-fi horror nightmare machine changes its conformation. He turns to glance behind at their escape route back through the tunnel, then to Gerard with a grim expression.
Raising his hand, Luther flexes his fingers and readies another strike towards the screeching, gnashing teeth. “We might not be enough to take it out, but we can make sure it doesn’t make it out of here.” He indicates the cracked ceiling as an added danger to their retreat, but if they can collapse the tunnel, then perhaps… there’s a chance.
Focused, drawing in what he can pull from the energies felt in the machine’s vulnerable systems, Luther grits his teeth and blasts the robot again with an electromagnetic pulse hoping to scramble it to oblivion from the inside. “Now! Hit it!” he yells out, turning to run back towards the tunnel entrance.
During his time as a terrorist, Gerard saw many terrible things. Men who turned into magma, for example, but this was something else entirely. What kind of ability would do this? Cause it surely had to have been an ability.
With a glance up in the direction his daughter left, seeing Gillian helping injured men up above, he looks back at Luther with a solemn knowing nod.
They had a job.
He waits holding his hands as far apart as he can hold them, and then at Luther’s words, his hands fly together in the loudest slap anyone has ever heard.
Focused in the same direction of Luther’s light. A trickle of blood runs out of each of Gerard’s ears.
At the sound of the clap, the dog yelps, releasing its hold on Gerard’s clothing.
Above ground, Hailey grips her head and stumbles. When she looks up, she can only see the shadow of the helicopter approaching, the tears in her eyes blinding her vision. «This is—» her hold on the button of her radio slips. It takes a moment of fumbling before she can feel it again under her thumb. «This is Officer Gerken, standing by for evac!» She rubs her temple with her other hand, trying to massage out the pain she can feel coming from the dog in the tunnel.
He’s alive, though, and she can feel him inching closer.
“Stay,” she commands the other dog at her side. Obediently, it falls back on its haunches, sitting proudly as their transport approaches. She, on the other hand, dips back down into the tunnel to retrieve the last remaining officer.
«Air 5 here. May have to take two trips, depending on numbers.» How many people can he fit in the back of the helicopter?. He glances back into the back, currently equipped with two gurneys and four jump seats. His shotgun side is empty as well. «Can probably fit 12 in here. Fourteen if they’re all skinny.» It’s definitely above the maximum capacity recommendation of eleven.
He pushes the button for the speaker as he carefully descends toward a patch of asphalt that isn’t (yet) on fire, a safeish distance from the skyscraper spewing flames and the bright light flashing out of the tunnel. The strong winds make it a struggle to pinpoint his landing, but so long as no one rushes the helicopter, it should be safe.
«Stay clear of the craft until I’ve landed. Welcome to Manhattan Madness Tours. If there are any injured guests today, please help them up and in first. Gonna take as many of you as I can on the first trip, but I pinky swear I’ll be back for anyone left behind fast as you can say With Finn as my Shepherd.»
As he chats, the attached bucket lands first, and then the yellow Firehawk comes down slowly to its side. «I’m Finn Shepherd, and I’ll be your pilot today on Let’s Get the Fuck Out of here Airlines.»
Once he’s set the helicopter safely down, he cuts the rotor, hopping out to climb in the back to open the side door, then hopping out he can gesture to get the evacuees inside quickly. “Skids up in as soon as we fucking can!”
The grimy mist kicked up from the ground by the helicopter is soon consumed by something else. The second the helicopter touches down there’s a sound of cacophonous explosion coming from the Lincoln Tunnel. That thunderous crack is followed by the roar of collapsing concrete, and above the Lincoln Tunnel Finn can see the burning skyscraper pitch to the north, tilt to the west, and then begin to crack down the middle moments before it collapses floor by floor under its own weight. But it doesn’t end there, the skyscraper coming down is the first domino.
Hailey and the drone technicians can see the street collapsing in on itself. The skyscraper isn’t falling into the streets, the streets are devouring the skyscraper like an enormous mouth. The entire Lincoln Tunnel is collapsing. Hailey watches as the last of her dogs scrambles out of the tunnel mouth at the head of a billowing cloud of concrete dust, ears folded back and tail down, hurrying to safety—to Hailey.
The drone technicians hurry to haul themselves into Finn’s helicopter, and when the wall of dust reaches the rotors its sucked up like a vortex and blasted back down to the ground, swirling within the cabin, shrouding everywhere around the helicopter in near-night. The only light comes from where the rotors spin and the dust is at its clearest, but the cyclone is nowhere near letting up.
Several tense seconds feel like an eternity. Then from behind the cloud of concrete dust and God-knows-what's in the smokey debris spilling forth from the yawning mouth of the Lincoln Tunnel, a second light shines with a dull greyish yellow glow. The glow brightens, its source revealed as Luther stumbles out first fully coated in a layer of ash over the firefighter's suit covering his body. His head protection has been peeled away, lost somewhere in the moment of retreat from the monstrous machine and collapsed underground. Coughing, retching, spitting grossly in an attempt to clear his airways and suck in any semblance of clean oxygen, he stops in the middle of the street and folds, hands braced on his knees. The shield of light particles around him pulses, flickers with every hacking fit, then fades completely.
Grey eyes squint, red and teary with irritants, as Luther looks up to spot their saving grace of Finn's helicopter awaiting the opportunity to evacuate. He takes a couple of steps further towards the helicopter's landing spot, then hesitates again. Then the man turns, staring back towards the tunnel entrance anxiously. "Gerard!" he calls out, his voice rough and hoarse, hardly any competition for the screeching roar of tumbling skyscrapers.
There’s no response.
The roar of the helicopter rotors and the sound of a collapsing building is inescapable. It sounds like the end of the world in crumbling stone. The panicked drone operators clamber into the helicopter, helping pull each other in. Hailey directs her dogs into the helicopter before she turns and sees Luther’s expression, the absence of her father. As she lunges forward, Luther surges toward the helicopter and catches Hailey around the midsection, lifting her off of her feet and carrying her backwards into the chopper.
The ground sways under his feet as he loads Hailey in, as her dogs feel her panic and grief and howl over the roar of the rotors. Luther has to keep one hand wound around Hailey’s jacket to push her back into the chopper. Finn can see the emotional distress on his passengers, shy of the maximum load. He can also feel the ground swaying under the chopper, feel the street that was weakened by Civil War bombardments finally gives way to entropy. Finn has just enough time to lift the chopper up before the street collapses beneath it. The updraft of concrete debris whirls within the rotor, mixing with the rain, soon giving way to the ruins of Midtown as viewed from above with a massive sinkhole collapsing across four blocks surrounding the Lincoln Tunnel entrance.
Gillian grips on to a handhold, looking away from the blaze to meet Luther’s eyes. She too is haunted by what they saw in the tunnels. What the fire and collapse consumed. But the immediate horror is so much more. The East River is on fire. A huge swath of New Jersey is consumed in an advancing inferno. Fires glitter like stars across the city.
It feels like an eternity that they hang in the air in silence, and a voice crackling over the radio comes as the weight of the moment is still sinking in.
«This is Major Olson, did everyone evac?»
«Did we get everyone out?»