Overrun (34 page)

Kirken pulled his head up from
the shattered pieces of wall that covered them. Grit from the fallout caked
across both his eyes. Through a stabbing stinging blur, he saw Brandon moving
slowly next to him.

Still lying face down on his
chest, Mel kneeled next to him trying to pull both of them again to their feet.
They were almost to the edge of the giant observatory window.

Behind them for the moment, the
firing had stopped. Cannon fire from the helicopter had completely obliterated
the door. Only a gaping hole filled with smoke marked the entrance they had
just escaped.

Even above the loud churn of the
helicopter blades and the roar of the cannon, Kirken thought he could still
faintly hear the voices of the soldiers that had finally found them and chased
them to the roof.

"Kirken!"

The sound of his name drew his
attention to the other side of the glass where a man ran at them from the
attack chopper.

The man stopped briefly at the
window's edge before finding a narrow platform across its center and sprinting
quickly across. Flames from the mall's ground floors lit him from beneath in a
dull orange flicker as he came.

Kirken looked at him only
briefly before recognizing his face.

A pair of strong hands reached
over Kirken's shoulder and pulled Brandon from his grip. He then sensed Mel
reaching both arms around his own chest to try and pull him up. The rush of air
from the helicopter blades forced him to cover his nose and close his eyes.

From somewhere deep inside his
head, the voices still chased after him.

He hobbled after the man who
carried his son while Mel held him firmly by his side. The pain from his
damaged shoulder, burned skin and polluted eyes threatened to make him pass out
with every step.

Tuttle moved slowly ahead of
them toward the glass. Brandon's head sagged down in front of his chest. His
legs barely moved. Struggling against the helicopter’s blowing wind and the
unconscious teen’s dead weight, Tuttle dragged Brandon along next to him.

The sonic noise of jet engines
bellowed over their heads. In the distance, the firebomb air teams swarmed
within the giant wall of new flames coming from the city ahead.

Red and orange missile tails
streaking from their wingtips crashed into the center of the streets and gouged
into the bases of the decayed buildings. Whole sections of Beuford
disintegrated into nothingness with every blast.

In less than an instant, half
the city was gone. Each new wave of the assault jets brought the destruction
closer towards the mall.

"Faster!" Tuttle
shrieked. "There's not much time!"

His words were drowned out by a
fresh wave of planes dropping directly down over their heads and rushing to
join the attack run.

Mel pulled Kirken along more
rapidly towards the glass. They were almost to the edge when gunfire from the
helicopter made them turn back around.

A J.G.U. soldier, his shape
mostly hidden by the settling dirt and clouds of smoke, stood at the center of
the shredded doorway with his rifle drawn. Spit from Piper's machine cannon
chased him back inside the doorframe. Safely concealed by a blanket of black
smoke, the soldier fired again on the escaping group from behind the door.

Tuttle leaned Brandon's sagging
form back into Kirken's arms and pulled his own weapon from his back. Joining
Piper's machine cannon fire, they drove the soldier back inside the building
behind an exploding barrage of metal and splintering wood.

"Go!" Tuttle screamed
while keeping his rifle pointed towards the doorway. Behind him, the pilot
edged the chopper's nose closer to the observatory glass.

Mel pushed ahead and scrambled
over the window's edge to the thin metal walkway. Shielding her eyes with her
hands from the helicopter’s rotor wind, she took two careful steps out. Kirken
stepped onto the platform behind her clutching Brandon tightly against his
body.

He had just dragged Brandon's
feet out onto the platform when more than eighty miles away Science Dome 15's
Death Wall was finally lit.

In the distance past the far
side of Beuford, the sky lit up orange, then red and finally a brilliant
yellow. The mammoth destruction unleashed from Science Dome 15’s Death Wall
ripped across the countryside towards Beuford swallowing everything in its fiery
path.

Another quarter section of the
town was buried completely and consumed by its intense fire.

Thoughts of the apocalypse finally
coming to the dying world whirled through Kirken’s head as he clung more
tightly to the still form of his son.

The shockwave pulse of the blast
pounded against the chopper’s side battering it about the already tumultuous
air. Its landing skids banged against the rooftop, and its nose dipped sharply
toward the observatory glass.

The back edge of its tail
smashed into one of the many steel girders jutting from the roof's surface.

The pilot pulled hard up on the
controls trying to raise its nose away from the large window. Twisted pieces of
the steel girder crumpled around its tail trying to wrestle the craft down to
the ground. The helicopter careened a quarter turn around as the pilot tried to
pull it away from the four people on the roof. It bucked violently through the
air resisting his efforts to regain control.

Finally, the pilot managed to
bring the craft around and centered its weight across its bent skids near the
building's edge. Tangled metal from the girder held it tightly about its tail
anchoring it securely to the roof.

Tuttle caught up to Kirken and
was about to take his son from his hands again when the second blast hit.

The force of this blast, more
powerful than the first, lifted Tuttle into the air and dropped him hard across
his back. Kirken fell backward away from the glass. Brandon tipped away from
him and tumbled out of his arms.

As he did, Mel teetered on the
edge of the metal walkway in front of them and finally fell. The observatory
window disintegrated into an oblivion of tiny shards when their bodies smashed
against its surface.

Kirken rolled over on his chest
and threw out his arms trying desperately to grab them both.

The helicopter lurched hard to
its side straining against the girder. The thick metal yanked more tightly
against the helicopter tail and finally ripped it from the craft.

The cabin dipped sharply
downward sending its churning overhead blades ripping into the rooftop. Its
entire outer frame split instantly apart. The cabin slid to the edge of the
roof, teetered on the edge for an instant, leaned forward, and finally toppled
over the side.

A moment later an explosion
sounded from the ground.

Kirken stretched his body over
the edge through the shattered observatory frame. Pieces of broken glass ripped
like tiny razorblade fingers into his stomach and chest.

He clutched Brandon tightly by
the arm, their bodies locked together at their wrists.

Mel hung next to him by the
equipment pack secured to her back. Its thick straps had wrapped themselves
around Kirken's shoulder when she fell through.

Both their legs twisted
precariously over the ten-story drop to the flaming ground level below.

Like red hot poker tips had been
dragged along the length of his skin, the pain of shattered bone coursed up and
down Kirken's arm. An agonized shriek escaped his lips.

He prayed to every muscle in his
body for one last ounce of strength to pull her up. His body shook from the
effort and quickly began to slip. He sensed Tuttle dive next to him to catch
hold of his feet, and he heard him scream from somewhere behind his back.

But Kirken's mind was not there.

With her arms grasping
helplessly upward, Mel's body twisted slowly about on the straps of her pack.

"No," Kirken heard
himself plead. "Oh dear God, please, no."

Brandon's grip about his wrist
began to weaken, and his fingers slid slowly down through Kirken’s hand. Thick
pieces of splintered glass dug themselves harder into his stomach and skin.

Through a thick sting of tears,
Kirken watched Mel’s pack begin to stretch. The buckles holding it to her back
started to bend, snap and break.

She reached her hand slowly
toward him and lightly brushed it against the side of his face.

Kirken fought back the pain and
grief doing their best to overtake him and struggled to keep his hold.

Mel felt her body swing gently
from the straps of her equipment pack still secured tightly to her back. She
let her eyes drop down towards the source of the stinging hot air licking
lightly at the tips of her feet.

The terror of the present world,
which had smothered and destroyed the rest of her other senses, was finally
gone leaving her soul a hollow empty shell. Only fleeting tinges of regret
remained. They too disappeared slowly with every breath her lungs fought to
make.

Her entire being was numb. Color
no longer registered across her eyes. The innocence of life she had always
treasured and clung to was finally dead. The world had become a grey dreadful
place.

She now envied those lucky
enough to have already left it.

The flames below did not scare
her. In fact she felt them beckon. A small force hidden within their hungry
jaws pulled at her seeming to offer her comfort within the womb of their
scathing sea.

A whisper from somewhere deep
inside her heart beseeched her to slip from her shoulder harness and fall away.

For the moment, she ignored the
voice and lifted her head up. She felt the panic and sorrow reach from her
father's eyes and hold her like a sturdy vine from an ancient steady tree. She
saw the pain etched across his face and tried to close her ears against the
agonized howls coming from his lips.

Mel dropped her head again and
prayed the straps keeping her on her father's arm would suddenly come loose.

"Mel!" she heard her
father scream. "Just hold on. Please!"

Her body lurched up slightly as
her father strained to pull her and Brandon back up to the ledge.

Her brother hung limply next to
her. Even at the sound of their father's voice, his body did not move. His
still form swayed gently against her side. His scorched hair prickled lightly
across the skin on the back of her neck.

Mel twisted about and looked
back towards her father. Tears fell in torrents from his eyes and splashed
across her face. Some dropped gently into the center of her own. She held hers
wide open and did not blink them away. She felt his body tremble violently
against the weight he tried to hold.

Looking away from his eyes, she
finally saw the source that beckoned her.

There was another face pressed
close to her father's. Another pair of eyes stared down at her. A tiny hand
reached towards her from behind her father's shoulder offering to pull her up.

Her torment had returned. The
vision of the small boy she had left dead in the bunker had come to her again.

The boy’s head rested on her
father's shoulder and pressed lightly against his cheek. With imploring eyes,
he begged her for the reasons she wasn’t able to prevent his untimely end.
Though this time, the accusations and blame previously etched across his face
did not exist. He seemed more at peace.

The boy struggled to touch her.

"No," Mel pleaded
softly, her soul yearning for release. She felt strong steel fingers of guilt
wrap around her throat threatening to squelch out her voice.

"I'm so sorry," she
said again. "Please let me go."

"No!" she heard her
father shriek again. His face had turned a flaming red. His scream reflected
years of kept rage finally allowed to be loose. "Mel, just hang on!"

Mel reached up to him trying to
let him know by her touch that everything was alright. Her hand swept through
the hot sweat against his forehead. She sensed the agony his own body endured.
She felt his muscles tighten as he struggled again to pull both of them up.

Yet, their weight was just too
much. Brandon started to slip from her father's grasp.

"Oh God, no," she heard
her father plead.

She stared into her father's
eyes one last time trying to ignore the vision of the boy across his shoulder.

It was then the strap holding
her finally broke. Her reflexes overpowering her will, her arms shot through
the open air and wrapped themselves roughly around Kirken's shoulder.

Kirken slid further over the
observatory edge. A new howl bellowed from his throat. Mel saw the man from the
helicopter drop beside him and struggle to hold them all by Kirken’s feet.

"Oh, please, no…," her
father moaned. “…not this…”

From somewhere within his
shattered body he still found the strength to hold her without the straps of
her pack and keep her from her fall.

"You have to grab
tighter!" he yelled at her. "Grab tighter! Goddamn it!"

"No," she heard
herself say softly again.

The vision of the boy squirmed
further down her father's shoulder towards her. Holding out his own arm, his
face pleaded with her earnestly to let him help pull her up.

"Mel!" Kirken screamed
again. Veins pulsed along his forehead, and the tendons in his arm threatened
to burst from his skin.

"No," Mel mouthed once
more. She let go of his arm and allowed herself to slip from his grip.

She heard her father let out one
last scream. And then through the thick hot air, her body dropped.

The engine roar of the firebomb
team deafened all their ears. The attack planes leading the assault swooped to
within blocks of the shopping mall, released their weapons, and then screamed
away.

Only a very small section of
Beuford did not lay burning behind the squadron's flight path.

The J.G.U. vehicles speeding
from the nearby streets disappeared in quick brilliant bursts of missile light.
Buildings teetered over on top of themselves and crumbled to oblivion into the
fiery earth.

The planes turned up into the
night their pilots readying their positions for another destructive run.

"No!" Kirken screamed
again. The fiery world around him stood still and became silent as he watched
his daughter fall away from him and become swallowed by the fires raging below.
"Oh please, God….no…."

The firebomb team was now upon
them. Bright red missile trails leapt from their wingtips and tore into the
building's base causing the entire structure to sway.

As if angry with the sacrifice
given them, the flames reared up higher and more menacingly from where Kirken's
daughter had entered them down along the ground.

Choking, sobbing and his eyes
blinded by tears, Kirken reached down with both arms and wrapped them tightly
around his son. He closed his eyes and waited for Tuttle to haul them both back
over the shattered observatory ledge.

The screaming pain from his
broken shoulder no longer registered across his mind.

When they both were lying safely
back on the roof, the two strong hands of the man that had rescued them
snatched at Brandon's limp body and jerked him roughly to his feet.

Kirken rolled over on his back
and started to cry. The sound of the approaching aircraft bellowed loudly
overhead.

He closed his eyes and again saw
his daughter’s body being consumed by thick hands of fire and smoke.

"Kirken, get up!"
Tuttle ordered him. "We have got to go!"

Kirken couldn't bring his body
to respond.

The firebomb planes charged at
the building like swarming insects. Rectangular hatches opened slowly from
their undersides and spewed rivers of ignited fuel that blanketed the
already-ravaged land below.

The mall stood tall and defiant
amidst a raging fiery sea. The loud hiss of missile flight filled the scorch of
the surrounding air.

"Now!" Tuttle screamed.
He whirled around and dragged Brandon away from Kirken and the roof's center.

Kirken did not get up to follow
their escape. He stayed on his back near the broken ledge and listened to the
crackle of flames laying quick claim to the mall roof. The deafening roar of
jet engines pounded relentlessly across the top of his head.

"Kirken!" he heard
Tuttle scream again.

And then the world exploded
around him.

Missiles trailing white smoke
rammed themselves into the building's center. Invisible monstrous released
energy devoured the rooftop in front of him.

As quickly as they had come upon
them, the sound of the planes died quickly away. They streaked towards the
unscathed nearby hills where their pilots maneuvered them ominously back
around.

Tuttle dragged Brandon toward
the pile of rubble covering the destroyed doorway and lowered him to one knee.
With bare hands, he tore away at the shredded brick and metal blocking their
escape.

Kirken still didn't move as he
watched the general try to save his son. Pain coursed through his body. Flames
licked at his bare flesh.

Through the stinging heat, he
watched Tuttle drag and shove Brandon roughly through the opening he had
created in the debris. Without looking back again at Kirken, Tuttle turned his
back and followed Brandon through the doorway.

A new sound of planes
approached.

Kirken coughed twice and cradled
his tortured arm. He breathed in deeply the thick hot choke of spewed jet fuel.
Blood dripped from his mouth and streamed down the scorched stubble on his
chin. Slowly, he pulled himself to sit up.

The building swayed and burned
beneath him as he eyed the firebomb team circle about for another pass.

Like thousands of screaming
devils shrieking out his name, the flames surrounded him. The roof caved inward
beneath his weight and began to tumble away. He felt his body slide towards the
flaming deep that had just claimed his daughter.

Kirken closed his eyes and
allowed the fates and irony overtake him. His thoughts flashed briefly in
wonder at his daughter lost and the survival of what his son had become.

Like it had fallen with her into
the depths of the roaring flames, the fight to endure and vanquish the demons
he battled in his despised world was finally gone.

The lifelong struggle they had
finally won.