Chapter 37 Beautiful Monstrosity
Canyon and Timber sped down the bluff, forest lining both sides of the winding road. They rounded a bend, and downtown Serenity came into view below them.
Timber whistled, long and low. “Look at that,” he said.
Hot glowing smoke billowed into the air. Canyon counted plumes, noting there were at least five fires raging in town and two in Big Claw Woods.
Think this is it? Canyon said.
“What?”
The Vahiy completed. The DOR. The Death of Rhen. The final invasion. The 777th sign.
Timber shook his head. “No way,” he said firmly. “Ain’t no deae dying today. Not on my watch.” He switched on the police radio. Officers were talking over themselves, requesting fire and rescue in six or seven different locations.
A dispatcher broke in. “All units requesting fire and rescue, everyone is on critical assignment already and calls are stacking up. If you have injured, take them to the hospital or to the triage point at the bear statue.”
Timber switched to the fire department’s radio channel. The firefighters were doing the same—talking over each other, requesting help and backup.
A male broke in. “Central, Assistant Chief 2, coming on duty. Call all surrounding stations, all volunteers, Chicago F.D, and activate the forestry service. We need help, we need a lot of it, and we need it now. Get as many fire trucks into Serenity as they can spare, water trucks especially. As they come into town, have them check in at the temporary command post at the bear statue for assignments.”
“Who’s that? Not Conri.”
I think that’s one of his brothers.
Timber switched back to the police channel and caught the tail end of an officer urgently calling for anyone who could come help.
“—the roof is gone and everything’s on fire. I’ve got people trapped on the third floor balconies.”
“10-4. I don’t have anyone to send to you. I’ll notify rank.”
Timber picked up the radio. “Central, where is that officer?”
“Location is the apartments above Baker Hill Bakery on Renway Street.”
“10-4. SRT-443 and 444 responding.”
Canyon popped on his lights and sped that way. Within a couple blocks of the bakery, the street was filled with boards, bricks, bent metal, and choked with black smoke, but also smelling sweet like a donut.
Canyon turned his truck around and left it in the middle of the street in case they needed a fast exit.
They jumped out and grabbed pry bars and a medical bag from the back of the truck and went in on foot.
People yelling and the crackling of fire spurred them faster.
They found one police officer carrying two children and leading a group of humans through the smoke.
When he saw them, relief filled his strained expression.
He shouted, “The front is blocked. Go around the back and inside the door that’s standing open, then up the steps as far as you can. The fire is in the next building, but the explosion blew out the steps.”
Canyon and Timber ran around the back, found the stairs, and headed up them, breathing shallowly through the smoke.
Above the second story, the stairwell was blocked, and they could clearly hear people on the other side shouting and making noise.
They got to work with their pry bars and their bare hands.
A chunk of ceiling fell from above and hit Canyon square on the head.
“Damn,” he whispered, rubbing the top of his head.
The portable radio on his belt played an emergency tone and then a scared-sounding dispatcher spoke in an almost-whisper. “Explosions at SPD, explosions at SPD.”
Canyon and Timber looked at each other, then they yanked and pried even faster, determined to free these humans and get to SPD to help.
Trevor’s voice came on the radio. “Emergency plan Foxtrot initiated at SPD.”
“Good,” Timber panted while he worked. “Someone’s at the station. Which plan is Foxtrot?”
Move everyone into the civil defense building to the blast proof rooms.
They levered one more board out of the way and made a hole. A hand stuck through.
“Move back,” Timber called into the hole. “We’re going to make this hole bigger…”
Within a few moments, they had an opening big enough for one person to climb through. Two women and a man picked their way through.
“Anyone else up there?” Timber asked.
“Just us.”
They herded the trio down the steps and across the street to safety. The sun had come up, revealing thick black smoke belching through the entire neighborhood.
The radio squelched and Trevor’s called on it. “SRT-1 calling SRT-444.”
“Standing by.”
“Head to the vehicle yard asap for equipment detail.”
“You don’t need us at the station?”
“The station is secure.”
“Ok then,” Timber said. “To the vehicle yard.”
I bet it’s my MCU, Canyon said, getting excited. He’d put in a request for a Mobile Command Unit with a hologram table months ago, and Trevor had been promising him one ‘soon’ for weeks.
“Hell yeah, we can use it today.”
They drove past SPD on the way to the vehicle yard, both craning their necks to see if there was any damage.
From the front, the buildings looked intact, but there was smoke belching from behind.
They drove around the back with their windows down.
The records building and the auto shop had both been hit—leveled, really.
Bricks were everywhere, wires were arcing, and burst pipes were spraying water.
Steam rose in the air. Patrol officers ran every which way.
Radios squelched and someone spoke on a loudspeaker somewhere a block away, the words unintelligible. Sirens rose and fell all around.
Timber levered his upper body out of his window, craning to see. He came back in and sat, smelling like smoke and chemicals.
“I don’t see any injured.”
There’s no one in those buildings this early in the morning.
“Good thing they didn’t hit dispatch. It’s always packed.”
Canyon grunted agreement.
They drove past the station, past Dirty Deputy Park, to the vehicle yard.
The moment they turned in, Canyon saw it, his MCU, parked directly in the center of the parking area.
The MCU was massive, like an oversized recreational vehicle pulled by a semi truck.
The entire vehicle was colored silvery gray, except for the black tires.
I love it, Canyon said.
“That thing’s a monster,” Timber said, his voice appropriately awed.
It’s perfect.
Canyon parked next to it and got out. He walked up to the towering front grill and put his hands on it, staring up at the windshield. A truck pulled into the vehicle yard and right up next to them—Trevor.
“It came in last night,” Trevor said out his open window.
“The hologram table took up the entire budget, so I had to get the vehicle used. Luckily, the FBI was selling this puppy at auction.” He handed Timber a sheath of papers.
“Here’s the listing. They cleaned out their equipment, but the wiring is intact.
The hologram table is bolted to the floor but not hooked into the power system yet.
How long will it take you to get it operational? ”
Canyon leaned against the grill of the truck and calculated. 90 minutes, he said.
“You’ve got 40. The driver’ll be here soon from Chicago.”
I can drive it, Canyon said.
“You need a CDL.”
I’ve got a CDL.
“Do you have a real CDL or did you hack into the system and give yourself a CDL?"
Canyon tried to be offended, but instead he just laughed. He didn't remember what was hacked and what was real anymore.
It doesn't matter, he said. I can drive this baby. He patted its massive front grill tenderly.
Trevor eyeballed him, then handed over the keys. He drove off, his last remarks in ruhi: I want you at the station in the back parking lot in 40 minutes for briefing.
We’ll be there, Canyon said. That had been his big selling point to Trevor when he’d convinced him to buy an MCU—the possibility of mobile, holographic briefings.
Timber flipped through the paperwork.
“This monstrosity is 13 feet high, 42 feet long with a Detroit Diesel 60 engine. Tandem axle with two sleepers. Armored with bulletproof glass, weapons racks, and full internal network wiring.
This beautiful monstrosity, Canyon corrected. He strolled around it, noting each detail.
“There’s notes at the bottom in a tiny font.” Timber held the papers close to his face. “Something about the transmission slipping … you’ve got to shove in the clutch to get it into drive?”
Canyon was already heading to his truck to get his tools and some wire. Timber came and unlocked the snack chest, heaving handfuls of cookies, pretzels, juice boxes, beef jerky, and energy drinks, into a basket for easy carry and seeding.
Back at the MCU, Canyon dropped two rolls of wire and his toolkit to the ground and opened the door to the back, climbing inside with a smile on his face.
The hologram table was long and right in the center of the space, with four stabilized chairs around it, and then a desk with chair in each corner.
There was a bathroom at the back, and a sleeper next to it.
There was a sleeper up front, too, which made this the perfect vehicle.
He growled happily, then lifted up a floorboard and got to work.
They worked quickly, ignoring the chatter on the radio as best they could. Timber checked the time, then wound up a roll of wire and said, “We’ve only got five minutes to get to the station. I’ll drive.”
Canyon grunted and kept working. Timber went out the door. A minute later, the engine coughed and sputtered, and the floor and walls shook while the vehicle tried to start. Canyon connected his last two wires, and then laid out flat on the floor, his left hand still in the innards of the MCU.
“Come on, baby,” he whispered, stroking the underside of the floorboards. “Show us what you’ve got, beautiful.”
The vehicle shook as Timber cranked the engine.
“I know you’ve got it in you,” Canyon whispered. “Come on… give it to me.”
The engine roared to life and the floor jerked violently up on one side, knocking a tin of jerky off the cabinet next to Canyon.
It dropped on his head, but he barely noticed.
He smiled and patted the inner workings, then replaced the floorboard.
The vehicle started to move—slowly. Canyon ran through the connections, checking them all, then found the on/off switch for the hologram table, pressing it. Nothing happened.
Canyon swore and dropped back to the floor. He pulled up all the floorboards and worked his way back through the connections quickly, determined to have his baby fully operational for Trevor’s briefing.