Dateline

New Year's Eve, 1647 local / T plus 10 hours, 47 minutes

Outside LaGuardia Airport, New York City

Abel Stone tapped his fingers against the keyboard as the Volta inched it's way along Grand Central Parkway towards the airport. The journey had been quicker than he'd hoped - until now. Traffic had increased at every intersection, every car headed towards the airport. It seemed that everyone had the same idea; get out, get away. Hopeless. Surely they could see there was no point?

The Volta inched it's way forward a car length, the navigation screen showing an updated ETA of 1805, and increasing. Too late. Much too late. He did the math inside his head for the hundredth time; 6 hours flight time to Edwards. Assuming all would be ready, another 30 minutes on the ground before they could leave. Too close. Far too close.

He glanced at Alison, sitting rigid in the passenger seat, hands clasped, staring forward through the windshield as if willing the cars to get moving. "It's all right, Ally. It's going to be alright."

Alison merely nodded once.

It was getting dark now. The tail lights of the cars ahead were a sea of bright red, as far as he could see.

To his left, across the other side of the freeway and the concrete divider, he could see the airport. As he watched, an aircraft took off and climbed away, turning quickly towards the west. A good sign: the airport wasn't closed... yet.

Hemmed in like this, they weren't going anywhere. Would they be better on foot? Maybe. The airport perimeter was right there. No chance of getting through on foot though - the executive entrance was on the far side, past the terminal building. That might prove tricky. Dangerous even.

Another five minutes passed. They hadn't moved. On the screen, the ETA clocked up to 1830.

He was about to open the door and tell Alison to follow when a noise drew his attention back to the airport. A small airliner was taking off, engines screaming on full power. It's nose was pointed high in the air - too high - and slow. As he watched, a wing dropped and the plane began to veer, turning towards them.

"Holy shit," Able breathed, realising that something terrible was about to happen. "Jesus!"

The plane stopped making height, merely turning harder as the left wing dropped further and further. Abel held his breath as the plane, so low and so close he could only see the nose and the bright light of it's nose wheel over the highway divide, turned directly towards them. The noise of the engines rose to a crescendo. The navigation light of the right wing rose into view as the plane rolled to an impossible angle, and the sound changed to that of a roaring, tearing impact as the plane crashed into the ground. The night lit up as the plane exploded, and the SUV shook violently.

The plane tore through the airport perimeter, smashing through fences and access-ways, then slid in a fiery, disintegrating mass across the freeway, flattening cars and concrete dividers, knocking vehicles out of its way like they were child's toys; flattening others beneath it as it continued on into the scrub on the far side. The scene looked like something from Dante's Hell with the orange-red glow of the many fires among the wreckage.

It had gone through just a few car's lengths infront of where they had been stuck. Another fifty feet, and they might not have survived. The passengers of the car ahead got out and ran, leaving them blocked in. The car in front of that was on fire.

Abel looked, and saw an opportunity. Selecting Manual Driving Mode on the Volta and entering his private override of the safeties, he gunned the motors. The Volta was a concept car, a new product of the Stone Industries venture into the electric automobile market. A large, bulky four-wheel-drive, it was designed to be a true go-anywhere vehicle that combined state of the art technology with rugged capability. Able hoped there might be military applications down the line. The car was virtually unstoppable.

Pushing the abandoned car ahead into the flaming wreckage, he pushed the throttle harder, the torque of the motors turning the SUV into a bulldozer. Once in the trail of destruction left by the crashed plane, he turned left, following the blackened trail of destruction. The Volta bounced over broken bits of concrete, past flaming debris and through pools of burning aviation fuel. Crossing the ground between the freeway and the airport fence, the Volta nearly bogged down. The car's intelligent traction control raised the suspension and sent power to the wheels individually, giving the chunky tires enough grip to haul the vehicle out and onto the airfield. Behind, a few cars tried to follow but got stuck before they reached the perimeter.

Able floored the accelerator and the motors powered the SUV towards the private aircraft hangars. When they got there, they found them open, and empty.

His plane had gone. Possibly stolen. Never mind; nothing he could do about that. There was another hangar and dispersal area on the far side that might still have a plane he could commandeer.

He swung the Volta towards the commercial aircraft stands, the quickest route to his destination.

He had the Volta up to fifty when an airport transfer bus suddenly drove out in-front of him from behind an American Airlines 757 on the stand. He slammed the brakes on, but couldn't avoid clipping the rear of the bus. The Volta spun and tipped over, its stability control not able to compensate for the impact. The car rolled, airbags suddenly inflating. Alison screamed, and the world went dark.