minute the two vehicles did a sort of grinding paso doble, circling wheel to wheel, tires smoking. As John struggled to break free and get the car pointed in the right direction, Jane lurched into the back, almost falling to the floor and pulling the pin on the paint grenade as she went. Steadying herself on one of the seats, she hit the sunroof button and, quick as a prairie dog, popped up through the narrow opening. Like a goddess armed with a thunderbolt, she reared back and hurled the grapefruit-sized paint-balloon with all her might. She waited just long enough to see the unusually viscous pink paint explode across the Humvee windshield before dropping back inside.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough.
The paint-blinded Humvee veered into a phalanx of gas cylinders shackled to the tunnel walls. The cylinders broke from their chains, scattering like gigantic bowling pins. Several lost their valves at impact and began to rocket from surface to surface, propelled by the highly pressurized escaping gas. One punched through the hood of the Humvee, where the hot engine ignited the remaining gas in the cylinder with a hearty KABOOM. Another chased Jane and John down the tunnel like a thing possessed, now behind them, now before them, now frisking along side like a dolphin at play. By the time it sputtered to a clangorous rest, and they could slow down to check the numbers, they were already in the 2000 block. Dense smoke billowed ominously, menacingly, in their wake. In front of them the darkness seemed to grow darker and to reach out with a million ghostly fingers. Literally. Dangling wires brushed the windshield and tickled the roof of the car. Craning forward over the steering wheel, John whistled softly.
“Silly string or fuse cord?”
“I’d go with ‘Controlled Demolition’ for $1,000, but I keep thinking any minute now we may run out of road or wind up right back where we started. Incidentally? That was 1317,” Jane pointed.
“I see it. 1315 coming up. I, on the other hand, keep wondering why in the world - “
“Nobody’s caught up with us yet?” Jane peered uneasily out the back, where the rear window was a mass of starbursts.
“Or met us coming the other way.”
Right on cue, myriad headlights of multiple vehicles bobbed into view from both directions.
“Holy –“ Jane said.
“Fucking –“ John said.
“SHIT!!” they yelled in unison. John gunned it to the next cross tunnel and parallel parked, totally blocking access from all other sides with the bulky XV. He set the parking brake with a jerk, unbuckled his seat belt, and grabbed the girl gun.
“Uh, what are you doing?” Jane asked, a tad strained.
“What are you doing? Let’s boogie.”
“There’s no number.”
“85% of buildings don’t have a 13th floor. 1313. Duh.” Jane raised her eyebrows. “Triskaidekaphile. Born on the 13th. Turned 13 on Friday the 13th. Met you -”
“On the 12th.”
“But made love just after midnight on the 13th.” The merck headlights were rapidly closing in. “Jane,” John said, in the upward sliding tone of one who was being goaded past his limit.
“John,” Jane harmonized, mulishly.
“This time,” John insisted, holding out his hand, “we get on the train together.”
Bowing to the paucity of options, Jane grabbed her gun and his hand as half a dozen MRAPs and Humvees screeched to a halt, training their headlights on the XV and blocking escape from three sides. Dozens of soldiers bailed out and got into position, targeting the XV and preparing for a final shootout. Hoping to buy some time, John tripped the locks on the XV. Enough light bled through from the main tunnel to show that he and Jane stood at the foot of a few uneven steps leading to an otherwise unlit and extremely compact corridor. Acrid smoke stung their eyes and burned their lungs. Beyond the steps, the corridor sloped gently upward. With the XV for the moment providing an effective barricade, they felt their way forward with tense rapidity, searching for ledges, holes, or drop-offs, unsure when or if bullets would follow.
“Boy, this better be the beginning of a beautiful friendship or you are never going to hear the end of it,” Jane swore.
“Darlin’, if I’m wrong, I expect to be eternally sorry, believe me.”
“What gets me is I’m probably about to die and all I got was a lousy keychain.”
“Just so you know,” John said, a little hurt by her tone, “That ain’t no crackerjack prize.”
“I meant I don’t know why. Cosmically speaking,” Jane explained.
“That lousy keychain is why. Existentially speaking.”
“Over and above the sentimental value?”
“Try over and above a year’s pay. And – oh yeah - the future of the free world.”
Down below the mercks had grown bolder. Concluding that their body armor was fairly reliable and the Does’ ammo situation was fairly dire, they plastered themselves over every inch of the Knight XV, aggressively seeking a means of getting around, over, or through. One bright boy lay down on top of the car and, thrusting one arm awkwardly into the void, managed to toss a flare up the tunnel. Due to the slight incline, the flare rolled harmlessly down again, leaving John and Jane safely in shadow, but perfectly illuminating the young man.
“How did you get to be such a big boy?” Jane wondered. “For heaven’s sake. A bunch of weekend warriors, kids, and your pal Dooley?”
“They,” John agreed, “are not the enemy. Now where the hell is that exit.”
The corridor leveled off and seemed to open up into an alcove or small chamber. Jane went a little too sharply to her right.
“Ow,” she said, rubbing her forehead. “Not here. Dead end.”
“Would you care to re-phrase that? But seriously, there must be a door, a hatchway, a duct opening.”
Down below, they could hear the soldiers talking. An effort was being made to push or pull the Knight XV out of the way, to no avail.
“Where are them damn Crushers when you need ‘em?”
“A little IED under the rear axle would solve all our problems.”
“IED? Really, fuckchop? Well, just feel free to help yourself. See that black plastic liner up there? It’s not exactly bubblewrap.”
“Line up, you sorry bunch of fobbits,” a senior merck barked. “Iraq rules. Body count equals bonuses. Two million split 40 ways. Easiest damn money you’ll ever put in your pockets. Or a hooker’s g-string.”
“No hurry, they ain’t goin’ nowhere.” There was an eloquent pause during which someone was heard to hawk and spit derisively. “Like shootin’ womp rats in Beggar’s Canyon.”
There was a door. John and Jane found it with very little trouble in the very middle of the rear wall. Just a simple metal door like all the others in the main tunnel, with exposed hinges and an ordinary round doorknob. It was locked, however, and there appeared to be no way to open it. John was twisting the knob and pulling hard, with one foot against the doorjamb, when Jane gasped and jerked him to one side. Red gunsight lasers burned through the darkness, painting the area where John had just been standing. The mercks, detecting the slightest hint of movement, yelled from they were lying atop the XV and let loose a merciless barrage. Bullets ripped the air, chiseled stone from the walls, flattened or burst against the metal door, ricocheted in every direction, including back at the shooters, who assumed that John and Jane were returning fire and hammered away harder than ever.
Although they were about to be cut to ribbons, Jane and John seemed to be slow dancing, molded together, turning this way and that in the farthest corner at the corridor’s end. In fact, John was trying to shield Jane with his body and she was resisting with every fiber of her being.
“Dammit, John!”
“The keychain,” he tried to make himself understood over the tumult. “Jen.”
“You bastard!” Jane raged and stomped his instep.
“Ow! Don’t be an idiot. Listen. Iceland.”
“You think I won’t hop the
next bullet out of here?” she screamed, tears of rage streaming down her cheeks. “You think I want to live forever?”
For answer, John lifted her off her feet and pressed her into the protective angle formed by the two walls, pretending not to feel the bullet that ripped his pants and grazed his thigh. “Kiss me,” he demanded. “Like it’s the last time.”
39 End of the World As We Know It
They heard the siren whooping before they felt the bullets cease. Red strobe lights were flashing in the main tunnel when they opened their eyes and came up for air. Down below the mercks were yelling at the tops of their lungs:
“Fire in the hole. FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
The mercks were packing it in and bugging out at top speed. Over the sirens and the strobe lights their unit leaders were yelling, “Go, go, go!” They piled into their rigs, put the pedal to the metal, and were almost instantly gone like so many bats out of hell. The sirens stopped but the strobe lights kept silently, eerily flashing.
“Taking a poll here, “ John said, feeling instinctively for the XV keys. “Why do you suppose those guys cut and run –“
“Just as they were about to annihilate our million dollar asses?”
The strobe lights faded to black just then, leaving John and Jane in total eclipse.
“About this good luck charm - ” Jane began.
“Shhh,” John reached for the girl gun, which he had dropped at the height of the fray. Behind them the door was opening slowly, slowly, slowly. They moved stealthily out