A crack split the sky. Not as loud as the others, almost like a bat striking a baseball. At the same time, fast, angry buzzes whipped past his ears – steel hornets released from their hive. Dust flew over his face as the hornets exploded in the concrete behind him.
I will protect you.
“I don’t want you to anymore,” Jeremiah whispered.
The last drop of resolve drained, he rose to his feet, stumbling over the shaking ground, and headed towards the middle of the courtyard. Twisted beams stuck out of broken granite as the ceiling threatened to collapse onto the floor. He raised his arms towards heaven and called out. Long streams of silt floated upwards into the late afternoon sky.
“Jeremiah!”
The voice came out of the fire which raged in the hallway to his right. He ignored it. His imagination. Nothing more. There was nothing left. There could be nothing, no one, left. Not this time.
Sweat drew rivers down his face. Graying hair lay plastered against his neck. Dark, brown eyes, which had seen too much, stared into the emptiness. This didn’t surprise him. He had shown it to him already. Still, to stand in the middle as it happened. His knees felt weak and he collapsed to the ground.
“Got you,” the voice said. “Come with me.”
Jeremiah froze. The hand under his elbow tugged harder.
“Let’s go. The ceiling won’t last much longer.”
“Where can we go?” Jeremiah said. “There’s no place left.”
“The presidential bunker. They’re waiting for you.”
Jeremiah turned to look at his old friend. “Why doesn’t he just give up? If he would, this would all end. How many times have I told him that? How many more need to die?”
Brown eyes gazed back at Jeremiah. Lines that weren’t there when they first met followed the contours of the worried face. “I don’t know, Jer, but now’s not the time to think about it.”
“I’ve made my peace with it, Ben. Let me be.”
Ben’s despair and anger lasted a second, replaced by an unearthly calm. “Alright, Jer. If that’s the way you want it.”
“I do. Now, go on.”
“No can do. If you want to stay, then I’m staying with you. You and I can go out together.”
“That’s not what I meant, Ben ….”
A shell cut him off, exploding too far away to do any damage but close enough to concuss their ears. Jeremiah flinched and let out a low groan. Ben didn’t move. Even as the next shell whistled overhead, he remained motionless, determined to spend his final moments with his friend.
“Alright, Ben. You win.”
In the midst of the fire and destruction, Ben smiled. Wide, toothy. Like someone laughing at his own joke. “Great. I was hoping you would say that. I kind of like my body not full of holes.”
“We’re not out of danger yet,” Jeremiah said, his own smile escaping. “Which way do we go?”
“That way.”
Ben pointed to the hall on Jeremiah’s right. Smoke poured from its mouth, breath from a roaring dragon.
“Down that one?”
“It’s the only way to get to the bunker.”
“We’ll never make it.”
“I did,” Ben said, “and I’m not even one of God’s favorites.”
The insinuation left a guilty impression on Jeremiah’s conscience. How many times had he doubted? How many times had God reprimanded him for his doubt? One of these days if he somehow made it out, his faith would grow to the size of a mustard seed.
“If I somehow make it out?”
“What’s that, Jer?”
“Nothing. I was talking to myself. Lead the way. I’ll be right behind you.”
The heat hit them as soon as they stepped into the hall. Painful, like holding a hand a few inches above a frying pan. Jeremiah pushed back. Ben pulled him along.
“Just a few steps to get past these flames. It’ll get better.”
Jeremiah took a breath and ran as fast as he could, trying his best to keep up with his taller, more athletic friend. He felt the exposed flesh sizzle and screamed to block out the pain. Halfway down the hall, Ben waited for him in an alcove. Jeremiah caught up and patted his arms on the back of a chair. Small chunks of darkened skin peeled off and left blackened streaks on the blue fabric. Ben, glanced at the chair, then at Jeremiah, and pointed down the hall.
“Catch your breath,” Ben said. “We still got a ways to go.”
The worst of the flames lay behind them. Ahead, orange tongues darted in and out of the ceiling and hissed at the two men beneath. A portrait on the wall had begun to melt, its frame broken and hanging at an angle, the smiling face of former President Josiah slowly disappearing in the intense heat. Charred wood and plastic filled the air with a pungent, but not completely unpleasant, odor. Jeremiah inhaled and coughed out the poisonous fumes.
“Small sips,” Ben advised. “Keep your shirt over your nose whenever possible.”
Jeremiah nodded to indicate he understood.
“You ready to get going again?” Ben asked. “Or do you need another minute.”
“I’m ready.”
“Alright. The fire’s not so bad this way, but we’re not in the clear yet. When we reach the situation room, take a sharp right. Don’t step into the open. If we get separated, follow the hall until you see the bust of David. A left there will lead you to the bunker.”
Jeremiah nodded but barely heard anything Ben said. Whether it was the howling of the flames or the creaking and cracking of the wooden beams as they splintered under the heat or the strange pulsating beat coming from up ahead, Jeremiah found himself unable to concentrate on anything in front of him other than the back of Ben’s shirt. Adrenaline had cooled his burnt arms, at least long enough to keep moving forward. He ran as fast as his cramping legs would move. His lips searched for a drop of moisture to irrigate the desiccated skin.
A blast from outside surged through the wall and re-formed on the other side. The shock wave knocked Jeremiah end over end. He felt the same sensation he had as a kid tumbling in the ocean surf. The far side of the hall stopped his progress at the price of a bruised shoulder.
A peculiar thought entered his mind. “I’ve had worse.” He shook himself off and looked around, blinking twice to clear his vision. An empty hall stared back at him. He tried to remember Ben’s instructions, but all he could muster was something about the bust of David.
“It has to be this way,” he said. He took a couple steps. “God, please let it be this way.”
Ahead, the air pounded in short, rumbling bursts. Jeremiah staggered forward, spurred on by bright rays of light. He cupped his ears to relieve the pressure. The pulsating waves beat against his head as though it was stuck inside a copper drum as the timpanist pounded away. Each step brought him closer to the percussion, to the light. Bright flashes attacked his eyes. The hallway danced around, spinning left then twisting right. His stomach lurched and returned the remnants of an inadequate breakfast.
He wiped his mouth then reached to his head and touched a place just above the temple. His fingers returned red, sticky.
“I must have hit it against the wall,” he said, smearing the blood on his pants. He tried to concentrate. His vision was dim, hazy, like trying to see through a tattered cloth. The rolling air continued its rhythm. “Keep moving. Find Ben.”
The rays of light called him forward, no more than a few paces ahead where the hallway took a sharp left. On the right, tossed chairs and a shattered table sat under broken pieces of the ceiling. Screens rested beside them, holes in their faces the size of fists staring towards the blue sky. Papers, computers, and bodies of men and women he might have recognized lay strewn across the floor like discarded litter. Their life stained the carpet in dark red pools. Jeremiah ran to one of them.
“Lana!”
He turned her head towards him. Cracked teeth smiled back through her open cheek, a macabre death mask laughing at a sick joke. A futile cry escaped his lips. His heart dropped.
Above, the air began to beat again. Jeremiah shielded his eyes. Off to the side, a shadow passed between the sun and the broken ceiling. It circled the building once and dipped to the left. A short burst, like a zip tie being pulled, accompanied quick red flashes. The wall by his head disintegrated.
Jeremiah didn’t wait any longer and took off at a full sprint. A few more bursts of gunfire from the helicopter hit the floors and walls behind him. None of the bullets came close except for a ricochet which grazed his right calf. In his state, he didn’t notice the pain until he stopped to rest beside a marble statue gazing up from the ground. Pulling up the pant leg, he saw a bright red welt forming on his bronze skin. Nothing that couldn’t be cured with a bandage and some ointment. He lowered the cuff and looked around to get his bearings.
The bust watched him, trying to decide whether or not to help, its white, pupil-less eyes debating if it was worth its time and effort. The base it had spent most of its life on lay on its side, a crack through the column splitting it in two.
Jeremiah knew the face of David, the reproduction of the Michelangelo masterpiece. Often, he had passed by and let his fingers run across the marble curls. Ben’s words echoed in his mind.
“A left will take you to the bunker.”
Or was it a right? His head felt two sizes too big. Outside, the familiar thumping of artillery resumed its dreadful concerto. He sat down and placed his hands on his knees.
“Jeremiah!”
He barely turned his head before dropping it back on his chest, which rose and fell in a measured cadence.
“Jeremiah!” Ben ran up to him. “There you are. I took off and thought you were right behind me. When I looked back …” He paused. “It’s not important. I got you again. This time, you’re staying with me.”
“I don’t know if I can go on.”
“You’re not giving up on me.”
“Where can we go?”
“The bunker. It’s this way. Another hundred yards and we’ll be safe.”
“Yeah, but for how long?”
“That’s why I need you. He’ll listen to you.”
“He hasn’t so far.”
Ben grit his teeth. “He’ll have to now.”
He placed a large hand under Jeremiah’s shoulder and lifted him as though he were no more than a small child. The briefest smile flashed across Jeremiah’s face.
“That’s the second time today,” he said.
“You owe me twice, then,” Ben replied. “Now, come on.”
Jeremiah draped his arm over Ben’s shoulders. The pain in his calf had grown, his original diagnosis premature. Maybe it was all the running and hiding the past few days, maybe the meager meals of rice and sometimes beans which formed his diet. Jeremiah was drained, wearied in body and soul. More than once, he had to ask Ben to slow down. The same age as Jeremiah, Ben still looked and moved like an all-American linebacker taking down a quarterback.
A thick metal door, the kind found in the vaults of the world’s most secure banks, blocked their path. Ben removed himself from under Jeremiah’s arm and punched numbers into a keypad. A screen lit up, and Ben placed his whole hand on top of it. Steel bars clanged as they slid out of their moorings. In a few seconds, the door opened and Ben stepped inside.
“Sorry about your suit,” Jeremiah said, following him into the breach.
Ben glanced at his shoulder. “I’ll send you the bill.”
The elevator dropped beneath their feet and took them eight stories below ground. A series of dimly lit corridors led them to a secure room. Once more, Ben’s code got them in.
“Sit over there,” Ben said. “I’ll be back in a few after I rustle up some food.” He started away but Jeremiah stopped him.
“Thank you, Ben. You’re a good friend.”
Ben quickly lifted then lowered his chin as if to say ‘sure.’ In a few seconds, he disappeared behind a door. Jeremiah found an empty chair and leaned back. The rush of activity around him couldn’t keep him from collapsing into an exhausted sleep.