Father of The Sun

This is continued from JBaz's 'So The Story Goes' writing prompt. Read his opening section here:

"Carl! What's–"

Jaylene stops short, distracted by something strange going on outside the window...

Out on the patio, under the hot noon sun, their little inflatable paddling pool is boiling. Literally.

The seething water throws the floating toys around like a miniature storm. An inflatable duck swells and expands until – BANG – it bursts.

"Jaylene! The kids!"

Carl is already in the carport, throwing gear into the trunk.

"What is this, Carl?"

"It's Hyperion..."

"What?"

"It's Project Hyperion! It's the lab. They had test cycles scheduled for today... But– I can't explain! There's no time! We have maybe three minutes to get out of here!"

Even with the stove off, the tomato sauce continues exploding all over the counter and up the walls. The kitchen looks like a crime scene.

Jaylene runs to the kids' bedrooms.

Layla's got her headphones on, watching cartoons on her tablet. She's eight years old with her own iPad. They'd argued about that, but Carl reasoned that this is just how kids learn these days.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

But a little ignorance is much worse.

Jaylene yanks the headphones off Layla's head.

"Baby, we gotta go. Don't be scared, but we just have to hurry."

Layla is about to complain about her mother's rude interruption, when they both notice a sharp smell in the air.

On the windowsill, sitting in the New Mexico sunlight is her red dragon plushy. But it's smoking. Rippling plumes of chemical vapors rise from the burning toy.

The synthetic material turns brown and crinkles as the heat overtakes it. Then suddenly it melts into a pool of plastic residue, bubbling and spitting and dripping onto the floor.

"Mummy! What's happening?"

"Let's go, baby, right now..."

They rush out into the hallway where Layla's teen older brother, Conan, is already waiting. He has his backpack loaded, his sunglasses on and his skateboard in his hand.

"Mom, we knew this was coming."

"You knew? What–?"

"What they really do at dad's lab..." Conan growls. "I do my own research."

"C'moooon!" It's Carl, sounding desperate from the carport. "Let's move!"

They pile into the Silverado and Carl starts the engine. The AC blasts from the vents – and Carl turns it up even more.

Behind them the carport door rolls up. Sunlight pours in, immediately heating the room. It's a blistering day in the New Mexico desert – like there's any other kind.

As they back down the front driveway, Jaylene sees flowers exploding.

The beautiful blooms of marigold and lilies she'd spent the spring planting, are burning and popping like floral fireworks.

Carl screeches a ninety degree turn back onto the street, then guns the car forward and towards the main highway.

As they speed past rows of large suburban bungalows, Raylene sees bird baths boiling over, plastic greenhouses collapsing, the hoods of cars sitting out on their driveways smoking and buckling...

Then a dog lying on the sidewalk, its tongue lolling, exhausted by the heat – suddenly bursts apart, throwing blood and entrails across the pavement.

"Mooom!" screams Layla, and Raylene cradles her young daughter's head against her chest.

Carl is focussed on the road ahead, determined.

"It only targets static heat signatures, right Dad?" says Conan. "If we stop moving, we become a target."

Carl doesn't reply.

"That's what it does, right? It's a thermal amplifier. A heat ray."

Carl doesn't answer. He's looking ahead at the road surface and the shimmering mirages which are rising from it. He guns the engine.

"We can reach the silo," Carl mutters. "We'll be safe if–"

Then, a hundred yards ahead, the road suddenly lifts into the air, bending and cracking, like some titan is emerging from the ground beneath.

Carl slams on the brakes as the sections of roadway slam back down, sending up dust and sand in a wide cloud. The car squeals to a stop in front of the crater which has opened up before them.

Their way to safety is blocked.

Conan grabs his father's shoulder and points up the highway to the nearby ridge of mountains.

"That doesn't look good."

The town's reservoir is nestled in those foothills. And above the reservoir, fat cumulonimbus clouds of vapour are forming. Low and giant and spreading across the sky.

But the edges of the clouds are not fluffy white pillows of undulating vapour. They are flames.

The sky is on fire.

To be continued...

... maybe