90 SECONDS
I HIT THE PAVEMENT like a paratrooper, ankles tight together and knees bent. It did nothing to cushion my fall. I skidded across the pavement like a skipping stone and then turned a cartwheel or two onto the grass. When the world stopped spinning, I knew I’d done something bad to my right ankle, and I had a scrape across my left palm that looked like I’d taken a belt sander to it.
I sat up, my head screaming at me. It took me a few seconds to find the goose egg, near my crown, leaking blood. I’d lost my Cubs cap.
Gagging screams to my left. McGlade, pulling himself up out of the aeration tank. He looked like a mud monster, rising from the swamp. He lumbered toward me, spitting out brown water, and as he got closer I noted he had several multicolored things stuck to his body.
“You’ve got a… condom on your shoulder.”
He looked at it, and flicked it off with his claw.
“Yuck. And what the hell is this plastic thing?”
“It’s an applicator.”
“Do I want to know what it applies?”
“Probably not.”
The truck had almost completely sunk. Bubbles were still coming up from the cab, and the impact waves had disturbed the entire pool, sloshing filthy water up onto the land. Mission accomplished. But I was having a hard time feeling any sense of accomplishment. Even dampened by the water and the concrete, the blast would destroy this entire plant. We were as good as dead.
McGlade rubbed some muck off his face and gave me a lecherous grin.
“So… about that sex you owe me.”
I checked my watch. “We’ve only got fifty seconds left.”
“I only need thirty.”
“Sorry, Harry. Not even if you weren’t covered with human waste.”
He pouted.
“Come on, Jackie. I’ve always known you had a little thing for me.”
I started to laugh. “You’re the one with the little thing.”
McGlade started to laugh too. And then we were hugging each other, laughing like fools, and I noticed he was angling me toward the truck, like a shield, which made me laugh even harder.
“You’re such an asshole, McGlade.”
“You love me. Admit it.”
“I admit nothing. I-”
A sound, to the south. Mechanical. Rumbling. Growing louder.
“A helicopter.” McGlade shielded his eyes from the sun and peered into the distance. “Son of a bitch.”
“I’ll second that.”
As it came into focus, I saw it was a Chicago police chopper, coming at us fast. Real fast. I looked at my watch. We had fifteen seconds left.
“WE DON’T HAVE TIME TO LAND!” the megaphone boomed, and I’d recognize that voice anywhere.
Herb.
“GRAB THE LADDER! WE CAN ONLY MAKE ONE PASS!”
Harry and I watched as a rescue ladder unfurled below the landing skids. The bird swooped in low, the bottom of the ladder sparking against the pavement. It was coming so quick, it would knock out our teeth, or yank our shoulders from our sockets. I decided I could live with either.
At nine seconds until detonation, the ladder hit us with the force of a car wreck. I’d been aiming to get my arm in between the rungs, and I did it, getting a smack in the chest that knocked the wind out of me and probably broke a few ribs. I was jerked off my feet, and so was Harry. The helicopter began a rapid ascent, but it was too fast, too much G force, too much wind resistance, and I just couldn’t hold on.
My grip failed, and as I began to fall I wondered what would kill me first, the ground or the explosion.