Nolan's Ark Page 5

  “You’ll drive Goliath?” Rage asked. “Won’t you Mr. Nolan?”

  Nolan responded with a curt nod. “That’s the plan. Goliath’s the only MBT with a coded ignition and I’m the only one here tonight who knows the code. And that’s how it’s going to stay. So yes, I’m driving the big one.”

  “That’s great,” Rage said. “And one of my men will drive Jaws and one of Jezebeth’s will take Kong. Sound like a plan Butch? Mind if I call you Butch?”

  “Nolan,” Nolan said. “Call me Nolan. And do me a favor will you? Tell your drivers to just drive and leave the dashboard alone. When we get somewhere safe I’ll show your troopers how to handle the intricate details of these beasts. There’s a lot of things – dangerous things – that are better left alone for now. Until then, it’s just a regular bus alright?”

  “You’re a good man Mr. Nolan,” Jezebeth Black said, emerging at Rage’s side. She was out of breath after sprinting across the lot with everyone else. Her wrinkled cheeks were bright pink under an excess of makeup. “When the dust clears we won’t forget this.”

  “No we won’t,” Rage said. “May we start taking our people over to the MBTs Mr. Nolan? May we start deciding who’s going where?”

  “Go ahead,” Nolan said. “When you’ve decided line them up outside for a head count and wait for me.”

  “Of course.”

  President Rage barked out instructions to his followers about boarding the MBTs. Some of the hangers-on pushed forward, desperately trying to listen or just to get further up front so they had a better chance of claiming their spot. Arms flapped in midair, gesturing wildly to get noticed. Almost everyone was yelling, trying to get the President’s attention.

  It was the same with Jezebeth Black and her people.

  The noise of squealing, frantic voices made Nolan dizzy. He was thankful that he only had Diesel to look out for tonight. He’d brought Diesel to the party because of the dog’s calming influence on him. Nolan knew the Paramount party would be surrounded by wall-to-wall pretentious assholes and he’d been right. Entertainers and politicians, it was a recipe for narcissism. Nolan had felt like a ticking bomb all night but thank God for his old pal walking at his side. Diesel’s silence was the best conversation in the world.

  Rage and Black ushered their people to the MBTs. A swarm of overexcited bodies pushed forward like bargain hunters storming into the mall on Black Friday.

  Nolan’s eyes narrowed.

  Somebody was eyeballing him up ahead.

  He’d already noticed the bulky redhead standing at Rage’s back all night. Ever since Nolan had first started rounding the suits up the giant man-leech had shadowed the President’s every move. And the leech had been giving Nolan the evil eye since then too. Nolan didn’t know if the guy wanted a fight or if the redhead was a Goliath fanboy with a mancrush. They came in all shapes and sizes after all.

  Nolan decided to ignore it. Now wasn’t the time.

  On the other side of the lot, he saw a group of about thirty people who hadn’t been selected to join the exodus. The outcasts. These people – a mixture of men and women of all ages – were still hanging around the lot, begging Rage and Black from a distance to allow them on board the MBTs. Some of them held their wallets and purses in the air, waving them back and forth like it was a flag. Nolan wasn’t sure if they were offering money or showing pictures of their loved ones.

  The outcasts tried to get closer to the MBTs but the SS stifled every advance. The SS would leap forward, pushing the unwanted backwards across the lot. The SS didn’t need words to persuade the outcasts – they had semi-automatic rifles and pistols. The outcasts had nothing but their wallets and purses.

  Nolan shook his head. He glanced over at the wall.

  Rage and Black were in the process of picking and choosing their traveling companions for the exodus. Once a particular individual had been selected they (full of excitement at being picked) were pointed towards one of the three stationary MBTs. As Rage had the larger following his posse took up the vast majority of space beside Jaws and Goliath. Black’s group took their place beside Kong.

  “Hey!” Nolan yelled over at them. He pointed a thumb at the outcasts. “What about them?”

  Rage glanced at Nolan and turned away. Black looked at Nolan like he was a mosquito that had just bit her.

  “Don’t concern yourself with them Mr. Nolan,” Black said. “Are the MBT doors open?”

  Nolan gave Diesel a quick pat on the back.

  “Begging your pardon ma’am,” Nolan said, shifting his body towards the old woman. “But I asked you a question. Why are those people not allowed on the MBTs?”

  Jezebeth Black glared at Nolan. A ghoulish smile emerged on her face, displaying a set of flawless white teeth.

  “This isn’t a TV show Mr. Nolan,” she said.

  There was a deep, bellowing laugh at Nolan’s back.

  Nolan spun around as the redhead giant walked past him, no doubt returning to his master’s side. His pink face wrinkled up with laughter.

  “Something funny sweetheart?” Nolan asked.

  “Yeah,” the man said, answering with a grizzly bear of a voice. “Actually there is.”

  “Wanna share?”

  The man stopped and turned back to eyeball Nolan. The laughter gradually subsided.

  “Look at the great Chuck Kowalski, hero of the post-apocalyptic wasteland, hero of Goliath. When the shit hits the fan for real you don’t have a fucking clue. Do you sweetheart? Ha-ha!”

  Nolan managed to smile. “I didn’t realize you were a fan.”

  “Big fan,” the redhead snapped. “I tune in every week hoping that tonight’s going to be the night your fat head gets bitten clean off.”

  Nolan shrugged. “You’re still paying my bills man. I got this great pool built in the backyard last summer – you should see it. Thanks for that.”

  The redhead’s eyes flickered. “I watch on pirate channels.”

  Nolan tut-tutted. “How very un-American.”

  The SS man took a step forward, stretching up to his full height, which was 6’5 or 6’6’. His arms were as taut as two bowstrings and Nolan could practically see a plume of hot steam rising up off the pinkish-red skin.

  “Take it easy sweetheart,” Nolan said, stepping forward.

  They glared at one another.

  “Nolan!”

  It was Rage, yelling across the lot. His handsome features were scrunched into a puzzled, angry frown.

  “Jezebeth asked you a question,” he shouted. “Are the MBTs open? Let’s get moving before those foreign bastards come back and turn us into red sludge.”

  Nolan tore his eyes off the prickly redhead. He backed off a couple of paces, shifting towards the President. Behind Rage, Nolan made out three separate groups lined up outside their designated MBTs. There were about twenty to twenty-five people in each group and they all looked impatient to get their asses off the street.

  “The President’s talking to you!” the redhead barked.

  Nolan glanced over his shoulder at the outcasts. The SS bullies were still there, threatening to pop anyone who dared to get too close to the President and the chosen ones.

  “This is bullshit,” Nolan said.

  Why couldn’t he let it go? Those people over there – the outcasts – meant nothing to him. Let it go and get the hell out of Dodge.

  He shook his head and marched over towards Rage. Diesel kept up, walking briskly at his side.

  “What the fuck’s going on?” Nolan asked the President. “You see how big those MBTs are? There’s plenty of room for everyone. Why are those people back there being shut out?”

  Rage, although dwarfed by Nolan, didn’t seem in the least bit intimidated.

  “Mr. Nolan,” Rage said. He sounded like a man trying to suppress a wave of anger. “It’s time to go. Are those damn buses open or not?”

  Nolan glared at the President.

  “Please,” Rage said. “Are they open?”

  Nolan hesitated. “Kong and Jaws are open. But Goliath’s locked. It’s like I said – that’s the only one that needs a code.”

  Nolan jerked a thumb towards the outcasts.

  “I answered your question,” Nolan said. “Now answer mine. There’s only thirty people back there at most and it looks like they’ve got nowhere else to go. Why are they being held back?”

  Rage shook his head, then turned his back on Nolan. He walked over towards the MBTs, yelling boarding instructions to the passengers.

  Nolan clenched a fist in anger. “Motherfucker.”

  He watched as the people standing outside Kong and Jaws pulled the folding doors open. After that they ran inside like there was a stream of hot lava at their feet.

  The people standing outside Goliath watched on in envy.

  “Nolan!” Rage said, clicking his fingers several times. “Open Goliath for Christ’s sake!”

  “Nolan you deaf prick!” the redhead roared. “When the President tells you to do something you do it. Understand?”

  “Thank you Blaze,” Rage said.

  There was an irksome smile on the Presidential face.

  Nolan exploded with laughter.

  “Blaze?” he said, turning back to the bodyguard. “Is that your real name? What the…? Are you a wrestler or something Blaze?”

  Blaze’s eyes twitched. Nolan imagined an army of tiny red-haired gremlins messing around with the wires in the big man’s head.

  “Open up that goddamn silver bus,” Blaze growled, stepping closer. “That’s a direct order from your Commander-in-Chief, the President of the United States.”

  Diesel growled as Blaze came a little too close.

  Nolan held his hand up in the air. “I’d stay right there if I was you Bla
ze,” he said. “My boy doesn’t like you.”

  Nolan gave Diesel a gentle pat on the head.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck what your dog likes,” Blaze said. “What’s the code for that silver one?”

  Diesel’s growl picked up a little steam. A trickle of warm drool spilled from the side of the dog’s mouth and Nolan knew his pal wasn’t bluffing. Diesel had never been one for bluffing. His dark brown eyes had locked onto Blaze, who was a single wrong step from big trouble.

  Nolan placed a hand on Diesel’s back – a private signal that meant stay put.

  The engines of Kong and Jaws snarled in unison as they sparked into life. Nolan heard a round of cheers inside both MBTs. This was in stark contrast to the glum silence outside Goliath.

  “Mr. Nolan,” Rage said. “It’s time to go.”

  “Tell your goons to lower their weapons and let those people on the MBTs,” Nolan said. “Sam Taylor put me in charge of this getaway and if you want his MBTs you do what I tell you. I don’t know what it is about them, if they’re not important, rich or good-looking enough for you, but I don’t care. They’re coming with us.”

  Blaze’s guttural laughter filled the parking lot once again. He stared at Nolan across the lot. His eyes were icy blue orbs, lit up by a crazy Joker-esque grin that practically orbited his head.

  “Are you as tough as they say you are Nolan?” he said. “They say that Butch Nolan is the baddest man on the planet. They even make online memes about how tough you are. Former UFC champion, accomplished swordsman and apparently a crack shot too. That’s quite a crown you’re wearing boy.”

  Nolan smiled. “You jealous Blaze?”

  Blaze’s eyes went up and down, as if he was assessing Nolan’s physical condition. Nolan’s muscular frame was exposed under a simple black t-shirt and jeans combination. He wasn’t a dresser upper by nature and he sure as hell hadn’t bothered to dress up for the Paramount party tonight. Nolan’s limbs were long and lean in comparison to Blaze’s bulky slab of muscle. If Blaze was Atlas then Nolan was a bronze statue of Apollo.

  “What the hell’s going on here?”

  President Rage placed himself in between the two men. At six feet tall, Rage was no slouch himself but Nolan and Blaze standing on either side made the Commander-in-Chief look like a scrawny schoolboy trapped in between giants.

  “We need to go!” he yelled. “It’s a miracle those jets haven’t hit Paramount yet but they’ll come back. If they find out they missed me then they’ll come back. We need to get that silver bastard opened up. I’m going with you Nolan. C’mon, let’s do this.”

  Blaze’s foot slid an inch closer to Nolan. “Move.”

  Nolan’s hand was still on Diesel’s back.

  “Easy boy.”

  Diesel’s focus remained on Blaze. His ears were pinned back and the tail was a black spear. He was a good dog, Nolan thought. Diesel knew an asshole when he smelled one.

  “Let’s just leave this son of bitch and go sir,” Blaze said, turning to the President. “Let him rot here tonight. Or better still…”

  Blaze pulled the pistol from the Kydex holster over his gun belt.

  Rage stroked his chin thoughtfully.

  “We need this man,” he said, staring intently at Nolan. “He’s the only one who knows the ignition code for Goliath.”

  Blaze’s eyes narrowed. “Then we’ll get the code off him. I can drive Goliath sir.”

  “Good luck getting that code,” Nolan said, winking at Blaze.

  “This man’s a liability sir,” Blaze said, staring at Nolan.

  Nolan ran a hand over the dark stubble that peppered his chin. He pointed at Blaze. “I don’t trust this guy. He’s not setting foot on any of my MBTs.”

  Rage groaned like he’d been hit with a liver shot. “This man is my Chief-of-Security.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Nolan said. “Tonight’s as good a time as any to fix those mistakes.”

  Blaze spat at Nolan’s feet. Both fists were tightly clenched, attached to arms as thick as oak branches. “What’s the code?”

  Nolan snarled. “Fuck you.”

  A horrendous explosion ripped across the dark night. For a brief moment, it sounded like Hollywood was going through a giant paper shredder. And then, far beyond the Paramount lot, a fresh column of black smoke spiraled towards the sky.

  Nolan looked over that way. Just for a second, but a second too long.

  Blaze leapt forward. With a grunt, he sucker punched Nolan on the temple, following it up with a vicious left hook to the ribs.

  Nolan winced as the blows landed. He dropped onto one knee with a groan. It was always the shots you didn’t see that put you down. Nolan knew that much from his fighting days. No time to brace yourself for impact.

  It was only after he’d been down a few seconds that Nolan realized his hand was no longer on Diesel’s back.

  One hundred and thirty pounds of snarling Rottweiler launched itself at Blaze. Diesel was a dog-shaped missile made of flesh, blood and teeth.

  Diesel pushed Blaze onto his back with a thud. The gun slipped out of the bodyguard’s grasp and he screamed in agony as he felt Diesel’s teeth for the first time.

  Diesel shook his head in a savage, unrestrained frenzy, annihilating the hand that had been holding the gun.

  Nolan began to crawl towards the violent skirmish. Scalding drops of sweat ran down his face and into his eyes. He felt sick. He knew he had to stop this battle before the SS came along and stopped it for him.

  “Diesel!” he cried out, sounding like a man doped up on horse tranquilizers. That sucker punch to the head had Nolan seeing colored lights in his mind’s eye. Every inch of progress along the parking lot felt like swimming a mile through quicksand.

  Nolan ran into a sudden roadblock.

  He narrowed his eyes, focusing in on a pair of slick, well-polished Italian shoes, just inches from his face. Nolan tilted his head upwards and saw President Rage standing over him. Rage’s face was a portrait of disappointment.

  “I think Blaze was right after all. You will be staying behind Mr. Nolan.”

  Screams and werewolf-esque snarls flooded Nolan’s mind. He saw Blaze and Diesel fighting one another – a battle for the ages. Blaze was much, much bigger and heavier but just as Blaze had taken Nolan by surprise, Diesel had taken revenge by doing the same to Blaze. The damage was already done. Blaze’s hand had been mangled to a bloody pulp.

  “Stop,” Nolan moaned. “Diesel…stop.”

  Rage squatted down and picked up the gun that Blaze had dropped. He frowned and wiped down the barrel with his sleeve, like he’d found something offensive on the surface.

  Nolan reached for the President, eyes bulging in horror. He tried to move but his brain and legs were still on a different planet. Different solar systems. He felt like a slug in a sprint – losing, losing, losing.

  Rage narrowed one eye and took aim. His finger caressed the trigger and he turned to Nolan. The bastard grinned.

  Nolan clawed at thin air, begging with the hands that had once made him champion of the world.

  “Pleeaaase…the code is 9…”

  There was a loud bang, followed by a shrill whimper.

  Nolan hissed. Then he hit his head off the ground several times, cursing himself for taking his eyes off Blaze.

  When Nolan looked up he saw Rage helping Blaze to his feet, pulling his Chief-of-Security away from the still, silent Rottweiler. Dark blood flowed down the grimacing Blaze’s right hand. Nolan’s groggy attention wandered past the two men as he dragged his massive frame towards Diesel who was lying on his side, blood spilling out of a single gunshot wound to the chest.

  You bastards.

  He managed to push himself up onto all fours. Then, seconds later, he felt something like a steel bat slamming off his chest.

  Nolan dropped back onto his face.

  Blaze kicked him again when he was down.

  “Motherfucker!” Blaze hissed. “You motherfucker!”

  He leaned down and with a single, murderous punch sent a thousand black and white stars dancing in front of Nolan’s eyes.

  Nolan’s head bounced off the ground. He felt something crack, like the sound of a branch snapping

  “WHAT’S THE CODE?” Blaze roared. His face was inches away from Nolan’s head. Now it really did sound like a grizzly roaring in Nolan’s ear.

  Nolan flipped onto his back. He reached up for the sky and felt the heat coiling around his arms like a serpent.