Ann and Gabby have yanked out the pins on four grenades at the mine face. They are now running hell for leather for the dark mouth of a monorail tunnel they hope will lead to safety. The problem is, about a thousand Chinese may want to stand in their way and…………..
Hang on a minute. Sorry about this. Just have to stop the blog for a bit. Got to catch my breath. Times like this get me so bloody tense. I don’t know if you have ever written this kind of rubbish but it can really fuck up your karma I’ll tell you that for nothing. I’ll just have to lean back against this wall for a minute. Take a couple of deep breaths. Think of the colours, think of the colours. Sorry if I’m rambling a bit but I try to do this relaxation exercise I was taught at classes I was forced to go to years ago. It was my boss at the time who made me go. He was such a dipshit and I’d been trying to save his miserable company from disaster but he kept sticking his stupid oar in and bollocksing everything up. You know how they do. After about the second, or was it the third time I’d thrown him out the window – can’t remember now - but he insisted I go to these relaxation classes or I would have to leave before I killed him. Bit of a cleft stick really but there you go. Anyway, you have to go down through these colours until you reach a deep and peaceful plane and you can then…….SHIT! THE GRENADES!
(Ann and Gabby pound frantically along pathways twisting between the machinery and packing cases on the cavern floor determined to put as much space between them and the grenades as possible. They race around a stack of machine parts and crash into a group of Chinese coming the other way. It is mayhem and the Chinese do not recognise the pair as the enemy. Anne and Gabby scrabble down a side turn just as the first grenade explodes. The concussion is a solid thump of sound followed by another. The third explosion blends with the first two but the fourth is in a class by itself. The ruptured diesel tank becomes a swelling fireball of heat, smoke and noise. Other fuel drums, split by the combined violence, add hellishly to the express wave of destruction ripping through the cavern. It is a firestorm consuming flesh and steel without pause and it reaches for the two tiny figures desperately scrambling into the monorail tunnel. There is an open industrial bin against the wall of the tunnel and pure instinct causes Ann and Gabby to leap into it just as the first blast of super heated air howls into the tunnel. The blast slams the lid shut and the bin is swept up in a hurricane of fire sending it careering along the tunnel smashing and crashing against the walls and tumbling like a leaf. From high up in the gallery the Bogan councillors watch in horror.)
Mower: Jesus Christ! The whole place is going up. We’ve got to get out of here!
Mayor Porker: What about Ann and Gabby? What’s that noise?
Mower: Noise? The whole place is blowing up, which noise do you mean?
(There is a creaking sound echoing among the bursts and clatter of collapsing machinery. The creaking becomes a grinding and then cracks begin to appear in the walls of the cavern. The cracks open and huge chunks of rock break away and crash down into the blaze. This is followed by bursts of water which soon become great gouts of foaming sea forced through the walls to meet the firestorm head-on and fill the cavern with broiling steam.)
Mower: The sea is breaking through! Run! Get out!
Mayor Porker: Ann and Gabby!
Mower: We can’t help them now. Run like hell, I’ll use the last of these grenades to try to seal the tunnel behind us. Now go!
(The group need no other urging and they sprint toward the surface with Mower at the rear trying to drag the last of the grenades from his holdall. Behind him the cavern walls implode, crashing and bursting, crumbled and smashed by a million tonnes of Morton Bay. The sea bellows into the underground complex crushing everything in its path. It blasts through every crevice and passageway including the monorail tunnel where it sweeps up a battered industrial bin, hurling it end over end along the tunnel.
Above the rapidly rising maelstrom Mower is still fumbling with the grenades as he stumbles along the tunnel. He has no idea that one of the huge tanks ruptured in the cavern contains the non-inflammable gas Borene and a cloud of Borene is being forced ahead of the water. Mower begins to slow down and starts to wonder why he ever bothered to get out of bed this morning. Perhaps if he sits for a while the water he can hear roaring and tumbling towards him will give him a nice wash and make him feel a little better. On the other hand, who gives a shit anyway? He has often missed a shower or two when he is on an operation so…….)
Muffled Voice: Come on buddy! Get up! Let’s get you outa here.
(Mower looks up and glances briefly at the dark figure wearing some kind of breathing apparatus. The annoying bastard is dragging Mower to his feet and they are stumbling and running together. Then the figure stops and presses some kind of electronic device he has been holding. Behind them there is an almighty bang and the crash and rumble of a cave-in.
Muffled Voice: That should hold it a while. Those grenades would never have worked. Not enough grunt in ‘em. You need good old C4 for that.
Mower: Who the fuck are you? No don’t bother; I don’t give a fuck who you are. Just let me lie down for a while.
Muffled Voice: It’s me. Jim. Agent 2? CIA? Come on Dicky you’re not that far gone yet and we still need to get out of here; that rubble won’t hold the water back forever.
Mower: Jim? What’s the CIA doing here on my patch? Lemme go! I need to rest.
Agent 2: No can do, Dicky boy. And as far as the CIA is concerned, well, we’re just helping out as usual. Come on, move it!
(Agent 2 drags Mower along the tunnel and the progress is slow which cannot be said for the industrial bin whirling through the monorail tunnel although its rate is decreasing as the water climbs to its natural level. Inside a low groan can be heard but it is muffled by the tonne of par-boiled rice that had been left to cool inside the bin before the disaster hit. The rice was a week’s food supply for the mineworkers who have now been atomised by the action of fire and water and are no longer peckish.
When Ann and Gabby hurled themselves into the bin the rice folded around them like an air bag. They are therefore shaken, traumatised, but relatively unharmed. The bin reaches the end of the tunnel and bursts through the sand into the open air where it tumbles lazily toward the deep water of the man-made harbour and the certain death of its two occupants by drowning. The bin hits the surface with bone jarring force and for a while it seems as if it might recover and float but it eventually settles and begins to sink under the weight of the rice and passengers. Just before the top of the bin disappears the water around it churns and the tips of eight steel claws break the foaming surface. They grip. The bin is slowly dragged back and down. In moments it is as though nothing has happened and Coochie Mudlo settles gently, imperceptibly into the calming water of Morton Bay.
The sky darkens as night begins to fall. For the stumbling, panic-stricken Bogan councillors who have at last emerged into the open air on the other side of the island, the darkness is just one more hazard in a day they would rather forget. A sentiment approved of heartily by the CIA agent who herds them all into a mouldering concrete blockhouse standing in a mangrove swamp. Inside there are battered chairs and a stained table on which a laptop computer rests. The room is lit by the harsh, brilliant glare of a pressurised gas lamp hanging from a rusted hook.)
Mayor Porker: Is everyone here? Anyone missing?
Scorch: Gabby and Ann aint here are they, dick-head?
Mower: Let me just sit down for a minute. Where’s Jim?
Grimy: Who’s Jim?
Mower: The CIA agent. He brought me here.
Shizeknicker: Vass ist diss CIA agent? You came out of da tunnel with some guy and I haf carried you here. Da guy just disappeared.
Fondleschaft: I haf not seen no CIA agent. Vass diss all a lousy American plot?
Mayor Porker: You must know what’s going on Prime Minister or whoever the hell you are. Come on, tell us.
Kevin Fuk Ho: All I know is the CIA were getting very wound up about the Chinese activity. They approached me and I told them what I’ve told you. After that, I just don’t know.
Mower: You spoke to the CIA but you didn’t think it was worth mentioning to your nearest ASIO rep?
Kevin Fuk Ho: They said they had some kind of plan and if I went along I would be able to continue as Prime Minister of Australia and nobody would ever need to find out about my Chinese background. I swear they told me no more than that. In fact, I’d begun to believe I was on my own again, which was why I asked for your help. God, this is a bloody mess. All those poor people dead because of me.
Scorch: Fuck ‘all those poor people’ there’s only two we care about you arsehole! You killed them right enough and I’m going to kill you!
Computer Voice: Don’t even think about it kid! Mower, open the laptop!
(After a shocked hesitation Mower goes to the table and lifts the laptop cover. It is already turned on and a bilious green image flares on the screen. It is a night vision view of CIA Agent 2. He is supporting an RPG launcher that seems to be disconcertingly pointed directly at them from the laptop.)
Agent 2: Well, Dicky, It’s a sad end but I’m afraid the good ole boys of the CIA can’t take chances on all this getting prime air time. And, please, nobody move in the direction of the door. You’ll just die a little sooner is all. You know how it is.
Mower: For God’s sake, Jim, these people don’t have a clue. They could never be a threat. None of us have a clue what you’ve been up to.
Agent 2: I wish I could believe that Dicky, but there has been some embarrassing collateral damage here. You know how we feel about being embarrassed. If we let you go, the first thing one of you will do will be to get on TV telling the world how we were involved in the deaths of two Australians and God knows how many Chinese. I did try, Dicky, I told them - these guys will keep quiet in the interests of world security while we tie off this Chinese operation. But I suppose it’s better to be safe.
(While Agent 2 has been talking Kevin Fuk Ho has been pacing the room like a trapped animal. He is wringing his hands and muttering to himself. Mower is staring intently at the screen and occasionally glancing up at Kevin Fuk Ho. Mower continues to argue desperately with the CIA agent but seems to be frantically working on a complex problem at the same time.
Despite her fear, Scorch has noticed Mower’s slightly odd behaviour and she follows his glances from the screen to the wandering Fuk Ho and back again. After watching the screen and Fuk Ho for a few circuits the penny drops. Of course! The CIA agent must be close by and as Fuk Ho marches around the room his highly polished head mirrors the harsh glare from the overhead gas lamp. As he passes each of the low windows spaced around the sides of the blockhouse a flare of light is reflected into the darkness outside. Scorch watches the screen with Mower and notices again that when Fuk Ho passes the north window the light intensified green image on the laptop brightens perceptibly. Scorch nods at Mower who holds out his hand as a sign to wait while they watch Fuk Ho make one more circuit. The North window is confirmed and Scorch moves slowly to the side pulling Dave away with her.
Mower continues to argue furiously with Agent 2 battling to buy the time the kids need. Scorch explains the situation quickly to Dave and they both take up position at the north window but hidden from outside view.)
Mower: Jim, you must give us a chance. You can’t just kill us all in cold blood.
Agent 2: Oh, come on Dicky, you’ve been there. It’s like falling off a log. Bye now – sport.
Mower: NOW!! Hose the arsehole!
(But the kids are already firing and waving the M4s in rapid arcs in the hope of hitting something – anything. On the screen Mower sees the CIA agent’s face jerk with shock and then Agent 2 automatically fires the RPG but his aim has shifted and the grenade explodes in the trees above the blockhouse raining fire down around it. The screen flashes and goes blank as a random shot hits the camera and still Scorch and Dave blast away in all directions.)
Mower: Keep firing kids! The rest of you OUT NOW! Head east till you hit the beach and wait there! Scorch, Dave, I’m going to clean up that bastard. When I tell you to cease fire, please do it or you’ll shoot me in the arse.
(Mower pulls out a Rimstinger 9mm and runs from the blockhouse. As he turns to head north he screams at the kids to cease firing and, holding his pistol before him like a sword, he dodges through scrub lit by burning trees. Fifty metres from the blockhouse Mower finds the shattered remains of a laptop and night vision camera. An abandoned RPG launcher is tangled in a Farsa bush but there is no sign of Agent 2. Mower strains to hear sounds other than the crackle and spit of the mangroves burning - but there is nothing else to hear.
At the very edge of the water the rest of the group huddle behind a fallen tree. They are terrified, confused and shivering. They wait for Mower and fail to notice the vague shape that only slightly disturbs the shallow water as it slowly passes them by.)
TO BE CONTINUED
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