Hot Spot

I had the shift off, but of course, the Decepticon war machine never recharges, therefore I can't either. I was reviewing some emergency contingency plans for a human man, a fire chief who's a good mate. He wanted to know what was the best way to plan for Decepticon attack from a civilian emergency response position. How best to structure evacuation plans.

A bleep interrupted my thoughts on the chapter of shockwave generation and the effects on moving humans within the vicinity of such; it was Groove. He was on monitor duty there had been a natural disaster in the island nation of New Zealand – nice place I've heard. Optimus Prime was of the opinion that we shouldn't get involved in human political problems and wars, but natural disasters and the occasional terrorist shenanigans were right for our assistance – it was the neighbourly thing to do. I know a lot of Autobots thought it was a PR campaign to make ourselves more likable to the humans, and they're certainly free to hold that view, but thankfully they're not the ones in command nor any who carry any real weight in regards to their opinions.

Frankly, I don't care much for politics; I concern myself with safety and helping those who need it; and of course, the messy business of war. I received Prime's order and instruction to report for departure just as I was sending my own orders over the comm. to my fellows.

ooOOoo

The humans have a saying; I forget where I heard it, "sic vis pacem, para bellum". If you want peace, prepare for war would be the English translation.

Point one: Plan ahead.

There's always those first harrowing moments after an event has unfolded, natural or unnatural. Those moments where people are shocked, frightened, concerned, unsure, and a whole host of other emotions I'd be here till next Sunday describing. But once those moments have passed, the initial surprise has worn off, that's when the effectiveness of peacetime plans becomes apparent.

I made my way through the devastated streets, being lead by a man named Derek. Short, stout, over weight and rather unassuming when you first met him. He didn't exactly have that look that filled you with confidence, that was until he opened his mouth and spoke. Even though the males of the species had a deeper pitch to their voice, his was somewhat deeper than the average, it was reassuring. Even more so was how he seemed to know every plan for such a situation.

Just as I don't bother with politics I don't bother with titles, he worked for the civil defence, and that was enough for me. As soon as we disembarked we met Derek.

He looked us up and down for a moment, his eyes giving away nothing as to what he was thinking about us, positive or negative it didn't really matter. He opened his mouth:

"Right, thanks for coming: you're the guy in charge, right, Hot Spot?"

I replied in the affirmative.

"Fire truck right?"

Again an affirmative.

"Good, you follow me. The rest of you, see him".

He pointed to a slightly younger man, who's glasses were heavy with dust, amazed he could still through them.

Derek got into a 4WD and headed off into the city, a pillar of smoke was rising above the damaged cityscape.

I've been in war a long time; I've been in search and rescue a long time. Before the war that's what I did. Urban search and rescue. Sure, our reach was limited to the city state we resided in, and the worst of situations we'd been in was a building collapse due to shoddy construction processes, but it was an industrial complex, only three levels high and no fatalities. It took war to show me a whole different level of destruction, and it took stints on organic worlds to see natural disasters.

One would say this place, Christchurch, looked like a war zone, and perhaps to the innocent it did. But war showed signs of bombs, of shelling, of burnt out structures, there wasn't really too much of that. Just collapsed buildings. That didn't diminish its reach by any stretch of the imagination. Entire buildings had fallen, walls lay strewn across road ways, a bus, I saw several in my time here, were crushed. Blood smeared around the warped metal. Bodies still within. And there were people under the fractured masonry; I passed by what had been a busy café - busy from what Derek had told me. A small human hand reached out from under a rather heavy looking pile. Rescuers worked diligently on another mound near the female's hand. They knew. They knew like I knew. The owner of that hand was gone. Dead. And their efforts now had to focus on the living. The dead would be recovered later.

Autobot technology allowed us a quicker flight to this location; it was early evening on the day of the quake, about 1730hrs when I arrived at the collapsed building that was burning beneath its layers of rubble. The fear was a spread of fire, a car yard near by would be a nightmare to manage if it caught. I got to work.

Derek wouldn't say anything else to me until the fire was out the next day, it was pretty obvious he realised I was a fire truck so I probably didn't need to much instruction as to what reason I was there for.

Helicopters with monsoon buckets provided to be a great asset, the city itself near large bodies of water so it didn't take long for them to make flights back and forward. The rescue work was at times impeded upon by the flames that'd flicker up between the remains of this once proud structure. Derek did tell me though that he thought it was an ugly building, one that filled him with concern as he'd heard stories about the way it moved in aftershocks from staff.

Guess those stories were now a cold reality. I felt a moment of pity for all who had said this building was safe; that's not a guilt I'd like to live with.

There were already cordons up around the streets leading towards this site, army personnel and police already stationed there, giving assistance both in direction around and to other locations of interest to those who came up to them.

A small park near to our location was already teaming with doctors and nurses, tents were already erected, a generation giving power to lighting and other necessary resources. They were organised. It was impressive.

With Inferno's assistance it didn't take long for the fire to come under control. At this point in time I was directed by Derek to go out into the suburbs near by – there were some houses on fire.

Within under an hour the fire we were sent to was well and truly out, the neighbours of these buildings still standing there, watching, looked impressed. I was unsure if it was from the intensity of the fire, the fact we contained it, or if it was me.

Derek arrived in his dirty, smoke stained 4WD. He got out, gave me some instruction for another job. I was happy to help. Nothing worse than standing around doing nothing. Must have been worse for the humans who had nothing to do.

Driving to our next target gave us time for quiet reflection. The suburbs we passed through, the damage to the houses, to the buildings, it was quite unusual, especially in how it struck, and what structure decided to fall. There were homes that looked as if they could have stood against another 7.1 but had fallen into the dirt, whereas one home we passed, that looked as if a stiff breeze would topple it, stood tall, defiant, a green sticker on its window. It was okay for full use by its occupants.

And it wasn't just the buildings the planet had decided to alter, the very roads we drove over were warped and deformed, in some places you'd have a hard time believing there had ever been a road. Dirt and silt had pushed up against the asphalt that tried to subdue it, liquefaction in almost every street we drove upon. Massive piles of it already being gathered. Humans working under the dim evening sky, shovelling it to the sides.

"You know",

Derek stated over his radio.

"I was reading the emergency plans a few weeks ago, having a look over them, and I thought to myself, what a load of crap, who rights this shit?"

He laughed, but it was a subdued kind of chuckle.

"But now look at it, its coming together nicely. As nicely as it can do under the circumstances, I suppose".

We pulled up to a school; there were humans in vast numbers milling about. A BBQ [Jazz told me the name of it later] was up and running, the humans stood around various safe heating devices, wrapped in blankets, water containers near them filled, cups of tea and coffee being handed out.

My job here was to help pull tankers of water to residential areas that had difficult access. Derek smiled at me and said, with a hint of cheekiness, "you can go on two feet or on wheels, your choice, mate".

I met quite a few humans during this task.

Jack was a 24 year old student, he was in his last year of law at the local university, he was of average height, but probably a bit underweight for his frame. He sported a head of sandy blond hair, but it was filthy now. His little abode was red stickered. He'd been at home when it struck, studying for a test he had. He made for the security of the table when it hit. An old oak desk his grandfather had owned and had left to him as a hint to study a little harder. Jack watched from under his shelter as the floor of his living area fell away and a small volcano of dirt and silt spewed upwards, covering the entire lower level of his house. The upstairs partially collapsed outwards and landed on the neighbour's garage and car. Thankfully they were not home.

When the shaking stopped, Jack told me he took a few moments to compose himself before making towards his back door, taking particular care around areas of broken glass.

"I've been wearing shoes inside since the September quake".

He informed me proudly.

He grabbed his little box of supplies and made it into the back yard, where he resided now in a tent he and his flatmates had got together. A small gas burner sat propped up between some bricks taken from their collapsed car port, boiling the water in a kettle for another cup of coffee.

"Always thought it was stupid to have a kit like this, and then there's the question of where to keep it? The roof could cave in on it. So after the September one I got two, one by the back door and one in the shed".

Jack rubbed his hands together and smiled at me. I could see he was rather excited to meet an Autobot. I could only smile back at his enthusiasm.

Such plans would definitely come in handy for Jack and his flatmates over the coming weeks.

From Jack's canvas abode I travelled down the dirt covered street, a young woman flagged me down from the side of the road.

"Can I help you miss?"

I had asked.

"Hey, look, I know you're an Autobot and all".

News travelled fast, despite the collapse in electricity and communication network overloads.

"I'm happy to assist in anyway, miss, Autobot or not".

"Well, I live just over there, and our car port came down, dodgy building before the quake, haha, built without consent by the previous tenants…. Anyway, my neighbour in the unit next to me took off but they had left a gas heater under the car port and we're a bit to nervous about going in to check if there's gas bottle in it; heck, we don't even know if it's a risk".

I transformed, she looked up at me, made a comment about how I was shiny. Good sense of humour I could see in this one.

I came down the driveway of this block of units, three other humans who were sitting casually on the front steps of the first unit, drinking coffee under their green stickered status, got up and accompanied me.

The eldest male, a Scottish man, told me about the young idiots that they had been living next door too and a string of profanities followed suit.

"So, what do you think?"

"Gas bottles of this make are rather sturdy and it'd take a lot more than a tin roof and a few cinder blocks to cause a rupture, but I'll dispose of it for you".

"Seems like the thing to do".

She replied.

I reached in casually and removed the gas heater, bottle and all. A quick scan revealed that it wasn't in the best of condition.

"The morons living there just took off, even left the mains on; we can't get into the property without breaking something".

The Scottish man added.

I got the door of the empty unit open for them, and the Scottish man entered. When he came out he looked rather unsettled.

"Problem?"

I asked.

"No, not unless you count two kilos of mince on the bench".

"So they just took off?"

I inquired.

"Yip".

"And left their mains on? Meat products on the bench? Gas bottle under a collapsed building?"

"Yip".

"Guess not everyone is prepared".

"Nope".

ooOOoo

A human scientist, well known for his theories and probably the author of their modern way of thinking, Albert Einstein once said "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity – and I'm not sure about the former".

To say that stupidity was something only seen in the human race would be rather unfair. There are plenty of Autobots I've met who are, as Spike says, a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. And having been on various alien worlds housing all manner of species, I can assure you, stupidity isn't confined to humanity.

Point two: Stupidity.

In times of disaster, natural or otherwise, you see all sorts of responses, some like Derek, where people are thoughtful, logical, task orientated, people like Jack, who are prepared as a civilian can be. You see honour, courage and bravery, you also see the negative. In the case of that neighbour and their gas bottle, stupidity, or at the very least thoughtlessness.

I passed various structures, destroyed and unstable where humans mingled close to it, some entering into it to retrieve items of value to them, sentimental, fiscal or business. I wouldn't class entry into such damaged buildings as stupidity, probably closer to ignorance and stress. But then you see a few things that make you sit up and nod, yip, that guy's a moron.

His name was Bob, but I'm as sure as Cybertron is made of metal, that that was not his real designation.

I met Bob in a rather frustrating, teeth grinding fashion, if I had teeth.

After five minutes of slow driving over roads that looked more like something you'd find in the Australian outback or deepest darkest driest Africa Bob came into my life. The road I was travelling was severely damaged, liquefaction had ripped up the roading, and in some parts, you would be hard pressed to believe there had even been a road there. The ground was uneven, unstable, and in possession of pot holes of various sizes.

I was aware of Bob travelling in excess of 70kilometres an hour behind me, at first I was of the mind that he had somewhere to be urgently, being a rescuer or a medic or someone who had justification for driving like that. He passed me, leaning out his window swearing at me, rather unpleasant I thought. I noticed a hand gesture that Jazz had once told me was not very polite.

The attention he gave me to "flip me off" was taken from the road. His car hit one of those pot holes and the front of it slammed rather violently into the edge of it, the front right wheel breaking free and bouncing up out of the hole and continuing along the road, missing by the narrowest of margins a human male on a scooter.

I stopped, transformed and approached. The man climbed out, Bob stood, swearing. Looked up at me and with a sneer:

"Look at my fucking car bro!"

"Yes, it seems rather… damaged".

I bend down, pick it up, and crush it into a small cube, before dropping it carefully on the side of the road.

"Enjoy your walk home, you idiot".

I transform and drive off.

I would learn Bob's name about three hours later when he attempted to climb over a cordon, in view of soldiers.

ooOOoo

I love city life. The noise, the activity, the people, whatever species. The only thing I agree with Tracks about is just how vibrant New York is. Always busy, never sleeping, always something happening, not always positive, but something. I find my homes in the larger population centres. Some yearn for the quiet life of smaller towns, suburbs and rural areas – as the humans class them; and while that's fine for them, its just not me. Even if the war finished tomorrow, I'd still have a home, and a job, a purpose, in a large city – and the larger the better.

New Zealand, well, it's a small country with comparatively small cities compared to other nations. Their biggest centre of population is only about 1.2 million, and actually spread out over a large area, and you really don't have to drive far to find yourself staring at cows and sheep… lots of sheep. Cute really.

The Decepticons aren't concerned with local population numbers when they attack, and for the most part, smaller towns that support power stations and other fuel depots are their preferred target. I've been in quite a few smaller towns and find them to still have that buzz, that noise. Even in the dead of night when they're occupants are tucked up in their beds, the towns still have noise.

Then there's nature, the rural zones, I've passed through many of them, been to a few good bush fires, and even in times where nothing is happening, something is always happening. One of Ratchet's favourite sayings in regards to the twins: "Nothing is always something".

And nothing always is. Even when the humans slumber, or the lights are off, there's always a cricket chirping, or an owl hooing, or a dog barking mindlessly at some ninja like cat.

But not now;

Point three: silence.

Its an eerie feeling. Even my servos are unnerved. The total lack of anything. Occasionally in the distance the silence is made even more obvious by the sound of search. A wall falling, a truck engine, the whirl of a helicopters blades – maybe Blades? Whatever it is, its something you have to experience for yourself to truly appreciate the complete and utter creepiness of it. Its when you hear those bangs, far off in the distance, heralding the reality of the situation, its in the quiet after you notice that the insects are gone, the birds too are silent. There are no dogs barking, despite having seen a few of them during the light hours.

I feel as though I'm violating this sanctuary, I stop on the side of a road for a moment, near a primary school. I kill my engines and listen with anticipation until they hum down. Then I listen.

There's nothing to hear, but that just makes you stretch all the more.

I wonder about the humans still living in those homes with the green stickers, the green stickers that offer up some sense of security – but I doubt they feel that way. The buildings that collapsed killing so many, they had green stickers from the last quake. I wonder about them sitting in their dark homes, surrounding a small candle, a torch, maybe a gas lamp, the fire fighter in me hopes they take precaution. I wonder if they sit, staring into those flickers of light, and are afraid to move, to talk, for fear of disturbing that silence. Does it even bother them? Or are they pleased to be free of the sounds of their homes and city collapsing around them, the twisting of metal, the sound of masonry tearing down through buses, the horrible cries and screams of their friends, family, work mates, and those who before the 22nd were utter strangers, but now find themselves with a new face in their life.

I wonder about every last one of them.

The humans have a saying, its an apt one in this situation.

Quiet as a tomb.

ooOOoo

Author's NB: A lot of buildings are being inspected, red stickers/piece of paper means absolutely no entry, building unsafe, yellow sticker for limited use, like you can go in there and get stuff but don't linger, and green for no problem for use, but maybe some cracks and stuff that needs to get checked out later.