Tick Tick Boom

“Bomb.”

They’re shouting in the corridor outside my room.

“Bomb.”

I hear again. My head has just hit the pillow after a long night on watch. I was hoping they didn’t need me.

“Get Wallace. Now.”

I heard. Shit. After 10 years on the bomb squad hearing your name in that tone is never good.

The door to my room bursts open.

“Wallace, CO wants to see you.”

I remain on my bed. I’m groggy, but awake.

“Now.” The voice says.

“Where the fuck’s Wallace?” CO Greene has pushed his way into my room, past the messenger he sent. “Wallace, when I say I need you, I don’t mean at your convenience; I mean right the fuck now.”

I snap to attention and stand straight, still in my boxers, hoping I was not exposing myself.

“Put your pecker away Wallace, this is not that kind of mission. We got a bomb on the perimeter and we need your ... professional expertise.” Greene was not one to give out accolades, so calling me professional or an expert was hard for him. This is serious.

A t-shirt and pair of khakis hits me in the face before I can get my salute down. I catch them with my descending arm; I struggle into both. First the shirt, then the pants. I buckle and run after the CO. He’s already halfway down the hall, barking orders out to me.

“Carl has already loaded your tools onto the Jeep.”

Greene looks like a younger version of Idris Elba, but without the British sophistication, he’s pure Southern through and through.

“Where am I driving to, sir?” I say my first words since waking. They catch in my throat and come out as a croak.

“You? Nowhere. I’m driving you. I gotta fill you in on what’s going on.”

We climb into the Jeep. My full disarming bag is in the back. Carl knows me well. He should, we’ve been paired together 5 years. In that time, we’ve become closer than brothers.

Our reputation proceeds us everywhere we are stationed: We’re the best in the business. We’ve seen everything. We get shit done.

Carl was thrilled to get back to DC, it’s where he grew up and did his basic training. I don’t much care where I am as long as I’m needed. Low-key and quiet, nothing much excites me; which is odd for someone in my line of work, or so I am told – but I developed that attitude during my upbringing: being adopted and kicking around foster homes prepares you to not get excited about anything.

I look around, no sign of Carl.

“Where’s Carl, sir?”

“Other side of the compound. We got two of these fucking things.”

“What things, sir?”

“Bombs, Wallace. Some chowder-head threw two bombs over the fence early this morning. Security was doing a perimeter sweep, thought someone had dumped garbage. Guards mistook them for pillows, the dogs went nuts, when they opened them ...”

“The alarm sounded,” I said, finishing his sentence.

“Carl’s already dealing with his on the south side. You got the north.”

We drive in silence. I look around the Washington Navy Yard where I’d only been stationed a few weeks. We were sent because they’d been getting threats and finally took them seriously. Good thing.

“Where’d you get that name from?” CO asks.

“Wallace? Family name, sir.”

“Your first name.”

“George ...” I pause. “My dad had a thing for irony. Said a tough name will test your mettle.”

Greene just nodded. “Sounds like a prick.”

“Couldn’t argue more even if I wanted to, sir.”

Greene pulls up in front of the site with squealing tires, klieg lights have been rolled out, putting the pillowcase center stage.

“Sure looks like a pillow, sir. “

“It isn’t ... get going.”

“What kind of time?” I ask the security guy holding back the dogs.

“Timer said 30 when they found it. You might have 10 now,” he says, eyeing his watch.

“Wallace,” Greene shouts, pointing to the bomb-suit in the back.

“No time, sir.” I find it encumbers my vision and mobility. Bag in hand, I double-time it towards the bomb.

I approach, dropping the bag a few feet from the pillowy object. I open one end. Yep, a bomb. I look closer. The device is not attached to the pillowcase. I take my scissors and cut the case, exposing the bomb; there are pillowy fibers surrounding the device. Probably why it made little noise when hitting the ground; good thing we have a patrol out every hour or this could have caused major damage.

I survey the unit and notice more wires than usual. There’s red and green, but also blue, black, purple, orange, gray, pink, and tan. I follow the leads. Where do they go within the device?

The walkie-talkie in my bag squawks. It’s Carl.

“Ever seen anything like this, George?”

“Strange config, but ...” I lift the device slightly. “Armed when it hit the ground.” I look at the counter, less than 7 minutes. “You tried picking it up?”

“Nope.”

I do. I can see the switch that was pressed to activate it; though my bet would be it armed on contact with the ground. Maybe if I ... A beep sounds, then a click. I look at the counter. It’s running double time; I’m down to 5 minutes, at twice the speed.

“Shit.”

I grab my snips.

“Talk to me, George.”

“I must have activated a speed-up default when I lifted the son-of-a-bitch. I’ve got maybe a minute or two to decide.”

“Decide what Wallace?” CO Greene has approached. He’s 5 feet behind me.

“Sir, I don’t think you should be here.” I say, looking at him over my shoulder.

“I’m responsible for these men ...”

“I don’t have time for speeches, sir ...”

Greene scowls at me. I’ve been here long enough to know he doesn’t like to be interrupted. You can pick things up about people pretty quick if you pay attention.

“Get on with it then.”

I eenie-meenie-miney-mo in my head. Tan and pink seem out of place. They’re my best options. I snip them both. The counter jumps 15 seconds. Shit, that’s not good. I feel a trickle of sweat run down my back and the shoulders of my shirt get moist.

I take a flyer and snip the red. Another 15 second jump. What the fuck. I can feel panic setting in. Not good at all. I take a deep breath. You’ve been here before. You’ve got this. I remind myself, but I have no protections and this thing is speeding up. I’m walking a very fine line and I don’t want to let my new posting down. I have never been more nervous and my usually impecable instincts have failed me. I’m in bad shape and time’s running out. I look at the bomb and …

One more chance. Black it is. I snip it and wait: 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … The counter hits zero. Fuck. I drop my tools and look up at the sky, waiting for the inevitable. Am I prepared to meet my maker? I’d better be. My cockiness … I shake my head.

There’s a pop, a barely perceptible fizz … I jump back and crab walk a few feet away from the unit. I bump into something causing me to lose momentum. Greene? I’m sitting on the ground getting ready to turtle; but in truth what comes next no position is safe. I’m as good as dead. I close my eyes. I feel something hit my shoulder with a powerful thud; feels like a hand. Is Greene still here, the man has a death wish? We’re gonna die together … now I’ll have to spend eternity with his angry ass. This keeps getting better. I look over at my failure.

The device makes another small popping sound and I open my eyes. A puff of smoke, a single flame, the B.O.O.M. appears in red on the screen.

“You’re dead, Wallace,” Greene growls, leaning over and whispering in my ear.

“Happy birthday, hotshot,” Carl’s voice comes through the walkie. He’s laughing. “Hope it was memorable.”

I collapse on the ground. Hands covering my face. My breathing returning to normal.

“Next time, don’t be so cocky,” Greene says. “Now, both you and Carl have leave for the day. Go before I change my mind.”

I collect my things and amble back to the Jeep. Everyone is smiling and laughing.

“Fuck all of you,” I say with a grin, giving the universal one-finger salute above my head as I wave.

The laughter increases, along with slaps on the back and well wishes for a good birthday.

“We’re getting off the base for a day. Gonna show you a good time in my town,” Carl says in my ear.

“Before I go I need to change my pants,” I say.

“Yeah. Why’s that?” I can hear the joy in his voice. His plan had worked perfectly.

Fucking Carl.