Ford Field Stadium, Detroit, Michigan
Lieutenant Preston swept the binoculars across the smoke-shrouded asphalt, trying to verify the charge placement. The scene took him back to Kuwait, the same dirty haze backlit by towering flames. The plan was a desperation tactic to start with, worked out in haste at the marathon emergency civil defense meeting just two days ago. With only half his platoon available it would be a minor miracle if they pulled it off. Worse, breathing gear was in critically short supply, the best they could manage was taking gulps from medical oxygen bottles. Even up on top of the stadium’s parking deck, the noxious air was burning his throat and making his eyes water. His men down in the freeway cutting had it much, much worse.
The old-style surplus radio crackled to life. “Sir, I’m seeing lava flow under the Wilkins Street bridge, it’s gonna hit you in five to ten minutes. Over.”
“Got it Private. High tail it out of there. Have you got civvies on board?”
“Yes sir, Alan been picking up wounded, truck’s full of them.”
“Great. Get them clear. Out. Taguba, how are those charges coming?”
Sergeant Taguba’s voice came in ragged gasps. “Just doing the… last column now… Quarrie’s collapsed… put one of the bottles on him.”
Another, higher pitched voice cut in – Sergeant Sharoff’s squad had already finished the northern bridge and moved on to one of the ramps. “Sir, we ran out of satchels, we’ve been improvising with loose blocks but we’re still stringing detcord…”
Lieutenant Preston cut him off. “Sergeants, we’re out of time. Prepare to set timers, three minutes, on my mark.”
There was a long silence – on the radio at least. The city was anything but silent, with the wailing sirens, honking horns, roaring flames, human screams, drawn-out thumps of collapsing buildings and the omnipresent deep rumble of the falling lava. Number four platoon, bravo company was the best approximation of a combat engineering unit the Third Volunteers could manage, but faced with an attack on this scale they most they could hope for was buying a little more time.
“Ready. My boys are pulling back.” Another pause. “Sharoff, in position.”
“Mark!”
“Timer set.” Pounding footsteps came over the voice as Taguba wasted no time pulling back.
“Timer ru… sir…” Sergeant Sharoff’s voice cut off.
”Well done, now haul ass! Samuels, stop the traffic now, any means necessary.”
“Yes sir.”
Preston could just make out diesel starting up as his men moved commandeered trucks to block the freeway overpass. The civvies would hate them for it, but better that than let them get blown up or dunked in lava. His knuckles went white as his grip on the binoculars tightened. The smoke completely obscured the ramps now, but there was a streak of movement… yes, yes! it was Taguba’s truck barrelling down the freeway, his men piled into the bed. But where the hell was Sharoff?
“Sharoff? Report! Sharoff? Lee?” Preston tried to force back the growing sense of horror as the second pickup failed to appear. He dropped the binoculars and jumped back into the SUV, addressing his driver. “Take us out to the edge of the lot. As soon as the charges blow, we go down after our men, understand?”
Private Russell was only nineteen, a trainee machinist when he wasn’t drilling with the regiment. Preston guessed that the kid had spent a lot of his time fooling around with cars before the Message, judging by the work he’d done getting the ex-museum pieces back into working order. Russell’s hands were trembling on the wheel as he steered the Cherokee down the parking ramp, and he gulped before responding with a shaky “Sir yes sir.”
“Steady now. The rubble will hold back the lava, we’ll be in and out before the smoke gets us. If the gas has knocked them out, we’re their only hope…”
A deafening, stuttering series of cracks and booms drowned out the Lieutenant’s words. The smoke swirled and for a moment cleared to reveal the two freeway bridges collapsing in a tumble of concrete rumble. A second later one of the connector ramps came down, breaking into spinning chunks as its support columns cracked unevenly. The charge placement was supposed to tip the decks on end as they fell, and from here it looked like they’d not done too bad job. Splashes of color showed where cars had been on the bridges when they fell. Preston hoped they were abandoned, but if not… well, they were warned, and thousands of lives were at stake here.
Private Russell had the accelerator on the floor before the rubble had stopped falling and the SUV surged forward, smashing through a low metal barrier, crossing an on-ramp and charging down the grassy slope towards the freeway proper. Visibility dropped to mere feet as they entered the now settling dust cloud. Suddenly the vehicle swerved left, braking hard and throwing Lieutenant Preston against the dash. Two shapes emerged out of the gloom, bent low and moving slowly, passing a bright red bottle back and forth between them. Preston shoved the door open, admitting a wash of heat and smoke to the cabin, and pulled the men into the back of the SUV.
“Did the others make it?”
Corporal Lee had a horribly pained look in his eyes. “No… don’t think so.” His voice was a croak. ”Sharoff insisted on wiring more detcord! I think the gas got them, they weren’t moving. Sorry sir, no choice, had to leave them.”
A cracking, rumbling, groan proclaimed the arrival of the lava, punctuated by the distorted screams of tortured rebar. The makeshift barrier shifted but held for now, checking the stream’s headlong rush towards downtown and the river. Preston nodded to Private Russell. “Go!” he shouted, then in a quieter voice “we did what we could. Now lets see where else we’re needed.” He reached for the radio again.
Congress Street, Downtown Detroit
At last, they had reached the lobby. Sander was breathing heavily, at sixty-seven he was hardly a young man. He paused to catch his breath, but what he saw outside snatched it away again. The sky was turning pitch black, and ash was falling like snow. Into the streets they went, but traffic had long since ground to a halt as cars had stalled from the ash or been abandoned by their drivers. Coughing and stumbling, they made their way slowly through the deepening black. It was hard to keep a sense of direction; were they heading towards the river?
After what seemed like an eternity, a piercing scream cut through the darkness. They rounded a corner, only to see a city street backlit by a lava flow. A side-channel of the main flow, it wasn't going at a breakneck speed, but it was steadily making its way down Randolph street. Carl grimaced, knowing the park had to be in flames by now. But worse than that, if the lava reached the entrance of the tunnel to Windsor, a critical evacuation route would be cut. 'We've got to do something!' He yelled through the din.
'Our job is to get you to safety, sir!' The agent grabbed his shoulder, but the Senator from Michigan refused to be moved. Lights flashed ahead, dimly in the smoke. A hulking yellow form resolved into a back hoe; it was an abandoned highway repair site.
'There!' He spied a dump truck with a bed full of gravel and ran to it. 'We can put a bit..” Carl’s voice trailed off into a hacking cough. ”…A bit of a barrier up, we can dam the lava.' The agents looked at each other, then at Sander, who nodded. They weren't likely to make it out of the city alive, but the longer they could keep the streets clear, the better chance other people would have. 'I'll do it, sir. I was in the Army Corps.' The agent climbed into the cab and fired up the engine.
Coach Insignia Restaurant, Renaissance Center, Downtown Detroit
Gloria had wept for a while, but the sorrow had receded for now. Perhaps it was the unreality of the situation, like a disaster movie. Possibly though it was what she’d been watching below, because she’d never expected to see this much heroism in the face of hellfire and damnation itself. She had a fine view from the deserted restaurant and she’d seen people dragging others out from burning buildings, others digging through rubble of collapsed ones even as the lava closed in on them and private cars actually driving back in to the city to pick up more survivors. She’d seen a news helicopter buzzing around lifting children off rooftops and another big helicopter dropping packages to the survivors – after watching for a few minutes she was pretty sure they were gas masks of some sort.
Then there were the barricades, springing up everywhere as people tried to hold back the burning tide for just a few more minutes. It had started with the freeway collapse, that had gone down and sent up a big cloud of dust right before the lava got to it, so it had to be deliberate. She wasn’t sure if that had been a good idea, the stadium had gone up in flames and then the molten rock had pooled and started heading west along the I75, cutting off escape to the north as it went. Then again she’d probably be in hell already if they hadn’t damned the flow, along with thousands of others caught in downtown.
One particularly bold group had tried to block the road just in front of her skyscraper, piling up rubble and cars
