An excerpt from The Philosopher-King by Rob Jacobsen.
It only took five seconds.
The first second: the initial blast concussed the barricade, jolted Porter’s bones. A flash lit the whole street up a hundred times brighter than the hottest noonday sun. The noise was like a burst of wind violating his ears. It felt loud, but the noise was muted. So loud it was impossible to hear. A wave of searing heat radiated over his skin.
The next second: a piercing whine swelled up inside Porter’s head, like a stressed, off-key note interminably scratched away on a cheap violin. He could see cops shouting, jaws crashing up and down, reminding him of a chaotic children’s puppet show. But all he could hear was that ringing, that whining.
The third second: with the better part of its main floor obliterated, especially the inside corner facing away from the water, the whole riverfront tower dropped half a story, awkwardly keeled to one side, then began a slow spiral. Like a teenager twisting to flop onto his bed after a long day at school. Most of the rebel sycs were too busy clawing at their burnt fleshing or rolling on the ground to put out the flames that engulfed them to notice the tower’s fall.
The fourth second: an industrial downpour of metal and concrete shards rained against the barricade. Smashed into The Tower. Shattered glass, pulverized pavement. Everyone ducked and threw their arms over their head as though that would protect their skulls from a plummeting hunk of fiery steel. The riverfront tower was at 45 degrees now, diagonal across the street, set to crash into The Tower just above the barricade. The Kid saw it coming and hauled Mary-Beth toward the middle of the street. Toward Porter.
The final second: the riverfront tower dragged its roof against the side of The Tower, gouging, sheering. Then it slammed against the ground. A dense cloud of dust and powdered concrete billowed out, sweeping into the nose and lungs of Porter and his two followers. The massive, deadening thud of the riverfront tower’s impact brought life back into his ears. The grating whine dulled, but refused to vanish. Sounds of screaming and shouting and crackling fire flooded back in.
One bomb. Five seconds.
Everyone was coughing, sneezing, trying to hack the dust out of their throats.
“You guys okay?” The Kid choked out.
Mary-Beth and Porter nodded. Gunfire had ceased. Porter stood up and rotated slowly, a full circle, taking in the fullness of the destruction. Several cops and sophs flocked to the crash site, desperately searching for people trapped in the rubble. On the other side of the barricade, a dozen or more bodies laid near the base of the riverfront tower, some burning, most in pieces, all still and lifeless.
The effects of the bomb were magnificent. Shock and panic if you were lucky. Pain and agony if you weren’t.
“Good girl, Busy,” Porter whispered.
He tried not to look at the bodies. Chances were that some of them were gang members. He didn’t want to see that. It was never his intent to kill them, or anyone, with the bomb; it was simply meant to destroy the new Vitalis project.
The base of the riverfront tower was completely charred by the explosion. What was left of the walls were bent, twisted, melted, split. It hardly resembled a building anymore. More like the outcome of a child given paper and a black crayon. But behind it something glittered, something shined. Something reflected the setting sun.
The river. Their way out.
“We’re going to make a run for it,” he said.
“What? Where?” asked The Kid.
“The river. It’s open.”
“We can’t,” said Mary-Beth. “They’ll shoot us or arrest us or something.”
“If we stay, we’re dead. Twyla Lee had plans to throw us in the furnace.”
Mary-Beth grabbed his arm. “We’ll drown. There’s nowhere to go.”
“You have to trust me,” Porter said. “I need you to get rid of that fear. You see my courage? I need you to become that courage.”
She looked over her shoulder at the river glinting. The dazzling sunlight.
“We have to go now. Through that hole there.” He pointed to a break in the barricade where shrapnel from the explosion had torn through. “Then to the river. Run as fast you can. Don’t stop and don’t look back. Once you’re there, jump. Then we’re free.”
The Kid and Mary-Beth stared at him with disbelief.
“Now!” Porter shouted. “Go!”
With The Kid out front, the trio pushed through the mess of the barricade, stepping over a dented garbage can and the remnants of a shattered bar table. Mary-Beth and The Kid were already halfway to the base of the riverfront tower by the time Porter stumbled his way through the barricade. His handcuffed wrists made the already tricky obstacle climb that much more difficult.
A woman’s voice cried out. “Hey! They’re getting away! Shoot him!”
It was Twyla Lee.
Porter ran as hard as he could. Feet slapping the pavement, knees pumping, elbows jerking awkwardly thanks to the handcuffs. He hurdled a burning corpse. The crack of a gunshot rang out behind him. Then another. He didn’t see what they hit. The Kid and Mary-Beth had already disappeared into the burnt out guts of the building.
He was just about to launch himself into the charred remains of the riverfront tower when something ripped through his shoulder. Blood spurted from his chest. The impact, like a white-hot spear driven through him from back to front, knocked him off balance, sent him to his knees.
Another bullet ricocheted off a distorted steel beam beside his head.
Swallow the pain, Porter thought. You don’t need your shoulder to run.
Twyla screamed, “Hit him again! Again!”
More gunfire.
He shoved himself to his feet and dove into the smoldering remnants of the Vitalis project’s home base. Hot ashes stuck to his hands, singed his hair. Something snagged his pants, but he kept going, shredding the leg.
Another bullet imbedded in a wall to his left.
He crawled, scrambled, climbed over a fallen cement pillar, busted in half. The burning hot wound in his shoulder was excruciating, spreading down his arm and back.
Only one more step to the edge.
And then, without even turning back to look at the city he’d been held captive in his whole life, Porter flung himself over the side and hit the water headfirst.