Milwaukee Deep

Time remaining…0:51:19

“Okay I’m starting my climb,” Michael said as he put his left foot on the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the air vent above.

“Do you think you can fit in there, Michael?” asked Harding over the radio

“Not sure yet – give me a minute.”

Michael scaled the ladder, each step towards the entry grill taken ever so carefully, aware of the slippery ice that covered the metal bars, his left hand holding on tightly to the aluminium briefcase.

Reaching the top he pulled out his weapon. With the butt of the gun he smashed the grill inwards.

“This is going to be a tight fit,” he said into his microphone.

“Can you make it?”

Michael took a deep breath.

“Not in this suit I won’t – I’m going to need to take it off”

“Michael, you won’t make it,” Jensen’s voice informed him, “the radiation levels are too high – you’ll die before you reach the end.”

Although always aware of his inevitable fate, the thought of dying still made Michael shudder.

“Well what other choice do I have? If I go through the hive I don’t make it, if I go over it I still won’t make it. At least with the latter there’s a chance.”

Again silence.

Michael swallowed hard – the cold making it unbearable.

“I’m going.”

Michael swung the briefcase up into the opening in the vent. He then clasped his one arm around the top rung of the ladder and with his other pulled his radiation mask off. Swiftly he unclasped his belt that holstered his weapon and that too was swung into the opening. Reaching up, he pulled out the knife that had sat in the side of the belt since he arrived. With one quick motion he brought the knife down from his collar to the centre of his chest, tearing a large slit down the middle of the suit. With all of his might Michael tore at the suit, creating a large enough area and pulled out his arm. Working quickly, he switched arms and again tore at the slit some more, pulling his other arm free. In moments the pants were being pulled down to eventually leave him standing on the ladder free from the radiation suit – now black pants and a black sweater the only things he had on.

“Okay, I’m going in.”

Harding turned to Major Yandell.

“I need to talk to the President,” he said.

Yandell knew exactly where this was going

“Give me a second,” he replied.

Yandell picked up the phone and connected himself to the base operator.

“Terry, put me through to the White House.”

Yandell waited.

“I have Agent Tom Harding for President Stoker - access code, alpha one seven tango.”

Yandell turned to Harding.

“They’re putting you through,” and handed him the receiver.

Harding put the phone to his hear. He waited until Stoker answered the call.

“Mr President. It’s Tom here. We have a situation, Sir.”

“What is it, Tom?”

“Mr President, I don’t think we’re going to achieve our final objective. The weapon will detonate, but the risk of another earthquake cannot be contained.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

“Let me confirm this, Tom - the mother ship will be destroyed, is that correct?”

“Yes, Sir – the weapon has been delivered and is on board. Detonation is set - fifty minutes and counting.”

“Well that’s reassuring. In regards to the after effect – I’ll ensure we respond. We’ll contact the Cuban and Puerto Rico governments and begin evacuation.”

“Mr President, the world will know what we’ve done – they’ll know that we’ve detonated a nuclear weapon outside our treaty zone.”

“I know, Tom,” replied Stoker, “leave that to me - I’ll deal with it.”

Time remaining…0:39:27

His fingers were frozen to the bone – frost bite beginning to set in. The cold was unbearable, the feeling of dread overwhelming his every thought as the icy vent that encased him ensured his body would be frozen before too long.

“God help me,” he whispered.

Although the freezing sub zero temperature was unbearable, it wasn’t going to kill him - the extreme amount of radiation in the air would take care of that.

Immense fatigue had overwhelmed him – the first signs of the acute radiation sickness taking effect. Not long after, the nausea hit - vomiting until there was nothing left within.

Michael stopped for a moment – long enough to speak to his friends twenty thousand feet above.

“Sam,” he said softly into his mouthpiece, “Sam…Sam, do you copy?”

“I’m here,” came through the reply, “Michael, are you all right?”

He held back the sickness that was again forming in the back of his throat, his eyes heavy, the pain immeasurable, his bowels no longer under his control, the intestinal bleeding about to take affect.

“Tell Marianna that I love her.”