Tomorrow War (37 page)

He put a large bandage across Hunter’s forehead.

“I had a chance to go,” Viktor went on. “He was going to let me. But I knew somehow that I had to wait I was afraid of what I might be, Back There. I didn’t want to go alone. So I knew I had to find you. And now I have …”

“The Falklands?” Hunter stammered. “You mean d-down in
the
middle of that mountain?”

Viktor nodded.

“There’s a hole in the sky down there,” he said. “There’s no other way I can explain it. But it’s there and if we jump through it, the Man thinks we’ll go back to where we came from.”

Another huge explosion went off, shattering the concrete on the street outside. Another storm of debris came down on them.

Hunter was cranked so full of drugs, he didn’t feel a thing. He could hardly speak.

Viktor was shaking him. “Don’t you think that’s what we should do?” He was pressing him. “Go back there and jump through that hole?”

At that moment, something just clicked in Hunter’s brain. It was as if the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.

Suddenly he was very coherent.

“Yes, that’s
exactly
what we should do,” he said. “But there is something else we have to do first.”

T
HEY STARTED RUNNING.

Through the broken streets of the city.

Explosions were going off all around them. Gunfire was everywhere. Tracers were streaking over their heads. The roar of cannons, huge guns going off, the scream of airplane engines above it all.

But they kept running. Hunter in the lead, his veins coursing with adrenaline and morphine; Viktor trying hard to keep up with him.

The city was nearly deserted by now. They did see a few blue-uniformed soldiers running about. Though they were armed, these men did not interfere with them. They, too, were running for their lives. The city was being battered by the Black Army guns. The AirCats were strafing, and the HellJets were dive-bombing. It was total chaos. Why, then, would anyone stop two men, one in a muddy Red Army uniform, the other dressed in a black camos with a huge Red Cross on it, running like madmen into a city that was about to collapse on itself?

They soon found themselves on King’s Walk, the main drag of Kabul Downs. Artillery shells were raining down on this avenue—from whose side, it was hard to tell. They raced through the explosions; Hunter running like an Olympic sprinter, Viktor doing everything he could to keep up. At the end of the street was the prime minster’s house, the official seat of government. It was now in flames, one wing taken out with the crash of two Blue Force jets.

They turned north, up Queen’s Lane, where two Blue Force tanks were inexplicably firing at each other. Hunter never stopped running. He dashed between the two behemoths, even as they were simultaneously launching shells at each other. It was all Viktor could do now just to keep him in sight among the explosions, the smoke, and the flames.

They reached the central park, which now looked as cratered and moonlike as the battlefield surrounding the city. Rocket fire was falling from all directions. Many of the trees were on fire. Hunter kept on running, nimbly dodging pieces of flaming debris, some before they even hit the ground.

They ran past the wreckage of the Z-16, still in place, nose crumbled, wings bent, resting like a dead seabird in the dirty waters of the lake. Viktor thought he might have seen Hunter run just a little bit slower past the wreckage—a moment’s hesitation in his headlong flight to who knows where. But once beyond the wreck, the Wingman resumed his mad dash at top speed once more.

Once down the next avenue, they did come to a stop—they had to. There was an enormous hole in the earth. It was nearly a quarter mile across, and so deep, there was already water collecting in the bottom of it. It was also filled with millions of pieces of various rubble, and a few indistinguishable body parts. This was a little glimpse into Hell itself. It was where Hunter had slammed the huge B-2000 superbomber in the Blue Force central command station.

It was an eerie moment—Hunter stood, stunned, looking down into the hole. He paused long enough to allow Viktor to catch up with him. The hole was so deep, it was almost impossible to see its bottom. Hunter hesitated for a moment right on the precipice. Viktor was finally beside him—out of breath, red faced. He looked at Hunter and suddenly grabbed him, just as it appeared the Wingman was going to step off the edge and plunge into the abyss.

“No, not this hole,” Viktor told Hunter, pulling him back from the edge. “This is not the right one.”

Hunter didn’t say a word. He pulled away from Viktor’s grip and started running once again. Around the edge of the enormous crater, and beyond, he was soon back on the avenue and running just as fast as before. Viktor took a deep breath and continued his pursuit once again.

They ran for another mile or so, through cratered streets, around raging fires, over or under collapsed buildings. Finally, after a half hour of full-out sprinting, Hunter reached his destination: the Lords Towers.

It was strange. Despite all the destruction around it, the tower was still standing, still intact, though battered and smoking heavily. All of its windows had been blown out. The waterfall, which had adorned its lower floors, had stopped flowing, and the sounds of gunfire could be heard within. The place seemed fraught with danger.

Nevertheless Hunter did not hesitate a moment. He charged right through the huge front door and started bounding up the stairs.

“Wait!” Viktor screamed after him. “It’s too risky to …”

But Hunter was not listening. He was already on the second floor—with eleven more to go.

Viktor bounded into the great open hall and raced up the stairs after the wild pilot. He caught him just as they reached the third floor.

Tackling him from behind, Viktor forced Hunter up against the wall. Suddenly everything stopped. They could hear flames crackling, glass breaking, and gunfire echoing throughout the building.

“Wait!” Viktor screamed at him, somehow finding the strength to hold Hunter still for a moment. “What are you doing here?
Why are you doing this?”

Hunter stared back at him—a very crazed look in his eyes.

“I’m doing this because I have to,” he replied with surreal calm. “I’m doing this because I was told to.”

He took a deep breath and calmed down a bit.

He looked his former archenemy in the eye and said:

“I’m doing this because I believe it might be the last thing I ever do …”

They just stared at each other for a long time, the sound of gunfire getting louder, more intense.

“But what do you think is up there?” Viktor asked him, pointing up he staircase. “What could possibly be so important?”

Hunter looked up the tower’s stairwell, he could see through the smoke all the way to the top.

“I’m … I’m afraid to say,” Hunter replied, for the first time ever in memory using the word “afraid,” and meaning it.

He took another deep breath.

“I know that whatever is left in my life, be it a minute or a millennium, I got to go up there, to the top, and find out what has been driving me since I got to this goddamn place.”

They stood there, silent for a few more moments.

“It’s a strange destiny,” Viktor said. “But I swore I’d find you and bring you back to the hole in the sky. I guess that means I’ve got to stay with you.”

Hunter smiled, his body began pumping again, with adrenaline and morphine.

“Then let’s go,” he said.

Hunter began bounding up the stairs again; Viktor had no choice but follow him close behind.

There were, appropriately enough, thirteen stories to the top of the Lords Tower. The steps were steep, and in some cases they were cracked or gone completely due to direct artillery hits.

But none of these thing impeded Hunter’s wild ascent. He was quite insane now—he knew it. His brain was not working like it used to. Gone was the computerlike coolness, the precognitive edge—he had no idea what was going to happen to him at the top of the tower. Not a clue. All he could hear in his head right now were the ghost’s last words to him:
“Don’t stop climbing until you reach the top. The very top … that’s where your destiny lies.”

Hunter was bounding up the stairs three at a time. Heart pounding, eyes blazing, mouth drooling, up he went, like he was going up Jacob’s ladder. Above, he could hear gunfire and screams.

Now at the twelfth floor, he suddenly skidded to a stop. One last piece of precognition had somehow come to the fore, and it told him to slow down, be aware. Danger was ahead. This pause also allowed a very out-of-breath Viktor to catch up with him again.

Together they stopped moving, stopped breathing—and just listened.

Gunshots. One. Two. Three. Then silence.

Next voices. Arguing. Laughing. Drunken voices.

Then more gunshots. Then more drunken discussions.

“This is not a gun battle,” Hunter said to Viktor.

Viktor nodded in agreement.

“What is it then?” Hunter asked.

They both listened again. Two more gunshots. Then a slight clanging sound—as if the person doing the shooting was firing at a piece of metal.

Viktor’s face lit up.

“A prison door,” he said in a desperate whisper, looking off into black space. “They are trying to shoot the lock off of a prison door. To get to whoever is inside.”

Hunter’s brain nearly exploded at this point. He was so close to be stopped here. What a disaster! The problem was they had no weapons with them. It was obvious the people up on the next floor did.

“What can we do?” Hunter asked Viktor helplessly. Even in the chaotic circumstances, the irony of that question was not lost on him.

Viktor just stared off into space for a few more moments. Then he said simply: “Just follow me.”

Now Viktor took the lead. Moving slowly and steadily, he went up the stairs ahead of Hunter, who crept slowly behind.

There were five soldiers in Blue Force uniforms. And indeed, they were taking turns firing at a huge lock that was holding tight a large ironclad door. This door led into a jail cell.

The five soldiers were so consumed by what they were doing, they did not see Viktor and Hunter—not at first anyway.

They were slightly crazed, these soldiers. A couple were bleeding from what appeared to be serious wounds, yet they seemed not to be at all affected. They were holding pictures—of a person Hunter could not make out—in front of them as if these photos were a talisman. And they were firing away at the mighty lock, which held this door shut. From behind the door, soft sobbing could be heard.

Viktor never stopped. He climbed right to the top of the stairs and stood before the five soldiers.

They saw him only out of the corner of their eyes. Only after one man fired off several rounds, which nearly broke through the lock, did they finally stop.

“Who the fuck are you?” one of them roared at Viktor.

“I’m here to tell you to stop what you are doing,” Viktor replied calmly.

The soldiers looked at him and laughed. One indicated to the man with the gun to point it toward Viktor.

He did, and with a drunken, crazed smile, fired off two rounds at Viktor’s heart. But even though the bullets came out of the rifle, they did not hit Viktor. Instead they bounced off the wall directly behind him, and just above Hunter’s head, covering the Wingman in bits of stone and dust.

The soldiers were drunkenly astonished. How could their friend have missed at such a close range?

The man who seemed to be in charge took the rifle, aimed, and fired at Viktor himself.

Once again, the rifle discharged, but the bullets pinged off the wall behind Viktor, again showering Hunter with a storm of concrete debris.

He fired again. Same result.

He fired off an entire magazine. Still Viktor was unharmed.

At this point two of the men peed in their pants. A third threw up. The two others simply went pale and stared at him.

“I said, stop what you are doing and leave here now!” Viktor roared at them.

This time they listened.

The five men pushed their way past Hunter and toppled down the stairs, screaming and shrieking as they went.

Now it was Hunter’s turn to be astonished. Would he lose his lunch or his bladder, too?

He picked up the rifle that had done the shooting and looked at Viktor. There wasn’t a mark on him.

“W-What? How?” Hunter began stammering.

Viktor just shook his head. “I … I don’t know,” was all he could say.

Suddenly the building was rocked with a stream of artillery shells. The noise alone almost knocked Hunter on his ass. The tower began swaying. Its steel girders began moaning.

“We haven’t got much time,” Viktor said. “Whatever you have to do here, do it now. And quickly …”

But what
was
that exactly?

Hunter had obviously been drawn to this place at this time for a reason of literally cosmic proportions.

But what was it?

There was really only one answer. What he’d come all this way for was behind the locked door.

He stood before it and listened and just as another barrage of artillery shells hit the tower, he again heard the sobbing.

He picked up one of the rifles dropped by the fleeing soldiers and aimed it at the already battered lock. He pulled the trigger once and hit the lock square on, sending a shower of sparks all over him and Viktor. The lock split in half and fell to the stone floor, still hot from where the bullet had hit it.

Hunter turned to Viktor, who took a step back.

“No, this is your dream,” Viktor said to him; Hunter was quite aware of his odd choice of words. “You go in first …”

Hunter turned back to the door, then gave it a swift kick. It opened, slowly and with a long squeak.

It was dark inside. A single window allowed light in from the outside but it was small and the bars made the light very dim. This was a jail cell, there was no doubt about that now.

Hunter took one step inside—and at that moment everything changed. He felt his body become charged with a new electricity—not the false energy Viktor had pumped into his veins. No, this buzz was coming from an entirely different direction.