| Joe kicked the motorcycle’s engine back to life. |
| He spun the bike and raced
|
| towards the city. |
| Passing under the cold glow of screen after menacing screen.
|
| Reports coming in of an incident in the outer rim. |
| Reports of an armed
|
| assailant. |
| Reports of a growing threat to public safety
|
| Climb, climb
|
| Joe tore through the streets. |
| A missile aimed at the metal spire towering above
|
| the city. |
| The great steel arm holding a torch of fear. |
| The main telescreen was
|
| designed to be visible from almost anywhere in the city. |
| The destruction of
|
| that screen would be felt by every man and every woman in the city.
|
| He thought of the children. |
| How, for the first time, they would know a world
|
| without that screen. |
| Without the constant, mind-numbing barrage of
|
| misinformation. |
| Silence. |
| Had he ever encountered silence? |
| Soon
|
| Climb to the top of the world
|
| The street was ending. |
| Joe revved the engine. |
| No hesitation. |
| No fear.
|
| The motorcycle bounded over the curb, launched off the steps in front of the
|
| tower, and landed jarringly upon the hard, slick marble of the plaza.
|
| Losing traction, the tires skidded out ahead of the heavy iron frame.
|
| The bike pitched. |
| Joe kicked hard against the bike. |
| Inertia kept him glued to
|
| it. |
| He rolled over on to his stomach and clawed frantically at the smooth
|
| marble, trying to slow himself
|
| And as you stand tall, you will see…
|
| The bike would not be slowed. |
| It slid rapidly toward the main entrance.
|
| The steel doors secured tightly for the evening. |
| The wheels caught on the
|
| final few steps leading up to the doors. |
| The bike spun upright and left the
|
| marble floor. |
| 600 pounds of iron and chrome roared, end over end,
|
| towards the entrance, crashed into the steel doors, and exploded.
|
| Joe’s momentum halted just inches from the steps. |
| Sirens erupted around him
|
| That when you fall…
|
| He pushed himself to his feet and ran towards the flames. |
| Hurdling the mangled
|
| carcass of the bike, he entered the tower lobby and headed for the stairs.
|
| Flight after flight, Joe took two and three steps at a time. |
| His chest nearly
|
| collapsed under the strain. |
| His legs never hesitated. |
| Finally, he reached the
|
| door leading to the roof. |
| Joe kicked hard and stepped into the cool night air.
|
| He had to act quickly. |
| He threw his bag down next to the transmitter.
|
| Reaching inside, he wrapped his hands around the detonator. |
| Holding it tightly,
|
| he turned and started back to the stairs
|
| You will fall from a height
|
| Most men will never reach
|
| He’d taken three long strides when the explosion ripped his feet from the
|
| tarred roof. |
| Joe didn’t hear the explosion. |
| The shock wave of the blast knocked
|
| him unconscious instantaneously
|
| Light had nearly reached the plaza. |
| He watched as the flames erupted from the
|
| top of the shimmering tower, setting aglow the clouds above. |
| Among the debris
|
| cast off the bulding by the explosion, he spotted what could only be a human
|
| body, twisting lifelessly as it plummeted towards the earth. |
| Light held onto
|
| the hope that the falling body was not the one he feared it must be.
|
| As it approached the ground, Light’s fears were confirmed as he made out the
|
| glare of the flames above reflected in a scarred blast shield. |
| He watched as
|
| Joe’s body landed with a dull thump upon the small patch of grass in a
|
| courtyard on the south side of the building
|
| By the time Light had reached the boy’s body, a crowd had gathered.
|
| As he stood in the center of the circle of onlookers, another explosion
|
| rattled the ground. |
| Then another. |
| And another. |
| In the distance he could see,
|
| one by one, the telescreens splintering and erupting into flames |