~~~
Five minutes later, he was banging on his mother’s front door. “Ma! It’s us! Let us in!”
The lock snapped loudly, and the door swung open. His mother motioned them through, slamming the door behind them and throwing the deadbolt once they were inside. “Did you see anything?” she asked, peering through the peephole.
Confused, Jack shook his head. “No. Everything looks normal.”
“Is that your son?” a man’s voice called out from the next room.
Jack’s pulse quickened. “Who’s that?”
His mother waved him off. “Don’t worry. It’s only Mr. Carhart, from next door. He can’t get in touch with his family in Atlanta.”
She ushered them into the living room where they found Mr. Carhart sitting in an easy chair nursing an enormous glass of scotch. He looked miserable.
“Where are the girls?” Becka asked immediately.
Jack’s mom pointed at the ceiling. “Upstairs, napping.”
“I’m going to go check on them.” Becka looked at Jack with an obvious invitation to join her.
Jack hesitated, looked at his mom and then back at Becka. “I’ll be right up.”
“Okay,” Becka said.
As Becka climbed out of sight, Jack turned to his mother. “Have you heard anything else about what’s going on?”
She motioned towards the couch. “Yes. But you’re going to want to sit for this…”
Eight
Boise, Idaho
Bump.
“Welcome to Boise, ladies and gentleman. The time here is ten forty-three AM. The temperature is seventy-eight degrees. We hope you enjoyed your flight and that you choose to fly with us again.”
Huh?
“Please remain in your seat with your belts fastened until the aircraft comes to a complete stop.”
Kevin Salerno opened his eyes and blinked.
His mouth was gummy and dry, as if someone had stuffed it with damp wool.
“You must’ve had a long trip,” a voice on his right said. Kevin turned his head, following the sound. Sitting next to him was a middle-aged woman with big hair and a little too much makeup for her age. She held a paperback on her lap with her thumb tucked in to save her place. She looked like she was expecting an answer.
“Uh huh,” he said noncommittally.
The plane was still rolling, but Kevin unbuckled his seatbelt anyway. His seatmate gave him a disapproving frown. The plane bumped to a stop, inched forward a few feet, then stopped again. The plane repeated the process twice more before they reached the gate. A chime sounded overhead, and all of the cabin lights flickered to life. The air conditioning kicked in, sending a stream of cool air against his forehead.
“Long trip,” Kevin offered up to his nosy neighbor.
The woman smiled. “I’m going to see my grandkids. What about you?”
Kevin rolled his eyes. Why do people always wait until landing to start talking? Can’t they just leave well enough alone? “Well, I hope you have a good visit,” he said, ignoring her question and fiddling with his seatback.
She smiled, obviously believing he really gave a shit. “Me, too. Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Neither,” he said, offering no explanation.
She gave him a puzzled look.
“Look, Miss…”
“Martha.” She smiled.
“Martha.” He tried to force a smile, but failed. “I’m sorry, but I’m not very pleasant when I first wake up. I’ve had a really long week, and I just want to get home. I really hope you have a good time in town.”
Martha’s smile collapsed. “I just…”
“I know,” Kevin said. “You just wanted to talk. Not today, though.”
He turned his back on her, leaving her hanging mid-sentence, and stood to retrieve his carry-on from the luggage bin above. Starting in Shanghai the day before—or was it tomorrow? He always got confused—he had been on the move for twenty-two hours. This was the final leg of his trip. All that remained was an hour’s drive home. He was so close he could taste it.
Ten rows forward, in what passed for Business Class in modern American air travel, the flight attendant disarmed the door. It popped open with a whoosh, and instantly the cool and humid ten-thousand-foot pressurized air he had been breathing since Seattle was replaced with the dry air of southern Idaho.
People began filing off of the airplane slowly at first, then picking up speed as they realized their brief period of captivity was finally over. As Kevin entered the jetway, he felt a deep sense of calm wash over his body. He had been on the road for the past two weeks negotiating a deal between his employer and a Shanghai component supplier. He was sick and tired of the road; he only wanted to be home with a beer in his hand and his feet propped up on the railing while he watched the sun set over the western mountains.
The line stopped moving. Passengers collided with each other, slow to react to the sudden stoppage. A chorus of groans echoed up the jet way. Kevin craned his head to see what was going on at the exit, but it was no use. There were too many people.
“Come on,” he muttered. “Move your asses…” In his mind’s eye, he could see his motorcycle waiting for him in the extended-stay parking lot. Another twenty minutes and he’d be roaring west to his cabin in the Boise foothills.
Someone screamed. A gun went off, the sound roaring through the confined space of the jetway like summer thunder. Kevin’s insides turned to ice. He ducked down instinctively, trying to make himself a smaller target. A moment later, the flow of traffic reversed, and he found himself riding a panicked wave of humanity back toward the airplane.
Nine
Fire: The Collapse Page 9