Flight 3108

by Mikeworth, Sharon

  “Here we go,” Mitch told him, flashing him a quick glance.

  The long strip of runway grew bigger and bigger, coming closer and closer, until their wheels were making contact with a hard jolt that made Mason glad he’d buckled up.

  “Christ!” he heard Mitch cry as they lifted back up a fraction and came down hard again. This time Mitch committed to it and jammed on the brakes as the plane roared down the runway, shaking and bucking.

  Mason drew back in his seat and pressed his foot down like that would do any good as they hurtled down the asphalt strip.

  Just when it seemed they were destined to slide on past and slam into concrete wall directly across from them, the airplane began to lose speed and then finally, slowly, ground to a stop.

  “Something is very wrong here,” Mitch said in a strangled voice.

  Mason jerked his head around. The pilot’s hands were still clenched around the controls, his eyes wide and staring. “Something is very wrong here,” he said again.

  Besides the obvious power loss?

  “The runway’s not right. It was never this rough.”

  “It certainly didn’t seem like it.” Uneasily Mason studied the vague outline of the terminal building nearest to them.

  “And we weren’t gone that long. There should be a number of backups in place to keep the center running. At the very least battery-powered lights and radios. Where is everyone? What the hell is going on?”

  Now that they had successfully landed, the man seemed in danger of losing it. “I’m sure they just had to close the airport for some reason.”

  Mitch continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “Even if the main communication system is down, there should be a skeleton crew on hand.” He gazed over at the dark buildings in the distance. “And what about the travelers stranded when their flights were cancelled?”

  He was right. They should be seeing some signs of activity. There should be emergency illumination, vehicle headlights, flashlights… something.

  The flight deck door opened behind them and seemed to snap Mitch out of it. He began flipping switches and checking things as Deb stepped in and shut the door behind her.

  “Rough ride, huh?” she said.

  “You can say that again,” Mason replied, wondering how much she grasped about the queerness of their present situation.

  They were quiet for a moment, then Mitch told Deb to sit down if she was going to be in there. “I need to taxi us around.”

  She unfolded the little seat and lowered herself onto it.

  They watched out the window as Mitch got the plane rolling again, took it around, and eventually brought it to a stop in front of the second concourse of the first terminal.

  When Mitch finally, mercifully, killed the engines—dark and deserted or not, Mason thought anywhere was better than being on that plane a minute longer—Deb stood up.

  “What should I tell them?” she asked.

  Mitch gazed straight ahead at the unlit silhouettes of the airport buildings, and said nothing.

  Mason released his harness. “I’ll come speak to them with you.” He pushed himself up and awkwardly climbed out of the co-pilot seat. “I assume we can disembark?”

  Mitch turned his head slightly, eyes shifting, and met his gaze. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  Mason stared back at him for a beat, then forced his feet to move, and followed Deb out the door.

  Dustin turned away from the window he had been looking out as Mason approached. It was clear from the man’s set expression that he was just as uneasy about the desolation of the airport as he and Mitch were.

  “What’s up, bossman?” Dustin asked softly as Mason stopped beside him.

  Mason kept his voice equally low. He could see several people already standing, looking their way. “There should be someone around. Even with a power outage.”

  “And there’s not.”

  Mason shook his head. “And Mitch—the captain—said something was wrong with the runway.”

  “It sure seemed like it.”

  Mason nodded in agreement. “Okay. Nobody seems to be coming to us, so…”

  “Maybe you and I need to go check things out before everyone leaves the plane.”

  Mason stepped over and looked out at the dark, deserted-looking structures across from them. “I don’t know. Some of them won’t like it.”

  “We’ll give them a choice then.”

  “Well, before I do anything, I want my gun. As soon as we can make that happen.”

  With no operator or ground staff to position a jetway or anything else for them, it was decided in a discussion between Mason, Deb, and the captain, that Mason (who volunteered) would go out one of the window exits over the wing and jump the eight feet or so down to the tarmac. Normally in an emergency situation a slide would be used, but though nothing specific was said, it was clear that they were all hesitant to take such measures. After being deployed a slide would have to be repacked and refitted onto the aircraft before it could be used again, and the eerie emptiness of the place had them all ill at ease and unsure of their situation.

  Deb pulled the release latch while lifting with the lower handhold, expertly removed the exit door, and placed it across the seats where it wouldn’t block the way.

  Mason waited until she had moved, and then took a last look around at the passengers assembled near him. Other than Deb and Mitch, who had insisted on remaining behind with Marica and Barry until help could be summoned, everyone had elected to go ahead and exit the plane. Mason didn’t blame them. He hoped he never had to step foot in it again. All those motionless, silent bodies. But he didn’t plan on going far, at least not initially; after all, the plane could be their only means of escape.

  You’re being ridiculous, he scolded himself. Surely there was a reasonable explanation for what was going on.

  But was he being ridiculous? Something was very wrong here, and it seemed too much of a coincidence that right before they returned to find the airport inexplicably abandoned, their flight had been sucked into that weird wind tunnel.

  Pushing his turbulent thoughts aside, he locked eyes with Dustin, returned the nod he gave him, and then bent his body and maneuvered himself through the opening.

  Placing his feet carefully, he moved out a little and straightened up. Am I really standing on the wing of a plane? Ahead in the distance, the landscape and the sky above appeared bluish in the moonlight, the stars tiny pinpricks of white. Except for the soft sighing of the wind, it was utterly quiet. And lifeless. Even in a blackout, even with the airport temporarily closed, even after God knows what kind of event, there should have been something going on somewhere. Security guards or a police presence of some kind, maybe even military personnel, with battery-powered radios and vehicles on the premises, not to mention the nearby roads and highways, and backup lights in the buildings and along the runways. What would cause them to go out too? And what would cause everyone to leave so unexpectedly?

  Something happened that had prompted an evacuation of everyone, and that something had also resulted in a blackout. What could it have been? Maybe they all needed to get their asses strapped back into their seats and get the hell out of there.

  “You okay?” Dustin asked, jerking him back to the matter at hand.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” He lowered himself down and scooted to the edge of the wing until his legs were hanging over, then without overthinking it, let himself drop.

  He hit the pavement harder than he expected with a jar he felt through his entire body, sending him to his hands and knees, and barely managed to keep from smacking his forehead on the hard surface.

  Holding his hand to the back of his neck, he pushed himself upright and moved away from the plane, pulling out the mini Maglite Deb had given him.

  Leaving the flashlight off for now—with the moon shining brightly it wasn’t necessary—he turned and set off for the terminal.

  There were many ground support vehicles parked in
neat rows or in seemingly random spots around and in between the concourses and the planes grouped around them—baggage carts, dollies, tow tractors, and farther out, tugs and fuel tankers—but only one close by he thought he might be able to use. He could see the ghostly white stairs of a passenger boarding vehicle rising up, glowing faintly in the moonlight, near a partially extended bridge.

  On his way across, he clicked on the Maglite and shined it over at the structure the bridge jutted from, but the windows only reflected the beam back at him.

  It was still creepily hushed and desolate, except for the sound of the breeze and the crunch of his shoes.

  Twisting around to glance back at the waiting plane, his foot brushed against something and he nearly tripped.

  Bringing the beam of the flashlight down, he discovered it was a tuft of grass growing out of the pavement. Swinging the light left and then right, he saw there was grass and weeds sprouting up all over the place. He pointed the beam down again.

  The asphalt beneath his feet not only looked bleached out, it was cracking in places, like the weathered pavement of an abandoned airport, not the tarmac of a modern, well-tended one.

  He stood that way, staring down dumbly, until a faint shout echoed behind him and got him moving again.

  Throwing up his hand even though he wasn’t sure they could see it, he tried to puzzle it out. Had Mitch been wrong and landed them at a different, no-longer-used airport? But no, that didn’t make sense. Maybe a few planes and support vehicles might have gotten left behind for some reason when it closed, but not this many.

  He made it to the stairs and approached the cab of the truck that powered them. The front of it looked like a regular pickup—and it wasn’t old at all. It appeared to be a newer model. It didn’t make sense.

  Nothing made sense. Putting his misgivings aside, he grabbed the handle to the door and realized someone had left it partially open. Would the key be in it?

  Stepping up, he slid into the seat, and there it was, sticking out of the switch.

  He grasped the key, turned it… and nothing. The motor didn’t even turn over. He tried it again—and still nothing, not even a clicking sound.

  He shoved the door open and climbed out, glad to be back in the fresh air. The interior had a peculiar musty, almost sour smell to it.

  Okay, what now? He walked away, angling toward the end of the building, shining the Maglite ahead of him.

  There. He moved the beam back over to whatever it had reflected off of on the other side of a belt loader.

  It was a tall rolling ladder probably used for some type of maintenance, with a small extended platform at the top.

  That’ll work.

  He walked over and leaned hard into it to get it going and swiftly pushed it over to the plane, the noise of the wheels sounding absurdly loud in the silence.

  Parking it under the rear exit door, he waited at the bottom until everyone had deplaned (they could have jumped from the wing as he had, but probably not without injuries—sprained ankles and head wounds at the very least), and then with Dustin’s help, shoved it over to the nearest cargo hold and began searching for the rolling suitcase that held his 9mm Beretta and the lightweight belt holster he preferred. Although his managerial position with the security company was an unarmed one, he did have a concealed weapons permit that allowed him to carry it for private use. He’d been taking it with him for years, but this was the first time he felt like he might actually need it.

  5

  DUSTIN AND MASON led the way, followed closely by Rocky, Juan, and Peter, who seemed determined to insert himself whether he was wanted or not. The rest of the party trailed behind them, perfectly willing to let the men take the initiative. Nearly all were brandishing some type of light source, whether it be a flashlight, penlight, or cell phone.

  Mason, slightly ahead of Dustin, made it to the top of the steps first, reached out and tugged on the door, expecting it to be locked—and it popped open, surprising him so much he let it fall shut again.

  He stood there for a second, then grasped the handle and pulled it open again.

  Pointing the Maglite ahead of him, he moved on into the inky blackness, away from the moonlight shining in.

  It was so dark it was disorienting. He stopped in the open space running between the eerily vacant seating areas and shined the beam around to check on the others.

  Behind Peter, who had first seemed determined to face everything head on with them but had nevertheless lagged behind the other four men when they’d entered, Mason could see Tyler ahead of Gwen, and right behind them, Kimi.

  “Do you mind?” Peter said, holding his hand up.

  Mason lowered the beam, waited for the last stragglers to make it out to where he was, then started after Rocky and Dustin who had begun edging down the main thoroughfare.

  The others stayed behind them, loosely clumped together, as they moved past the bathrooms, shops, and waiting areas by the various gates. Everyone was shining their lights around as if someone might be lingering that could help them. But who would be there, alone in pitch darkness?

  “HELLO,” Peter suddenly called out, the sound of it echoing, low… low. “Jesus,” Mason cried, flinching. From the sound of it, some of the others had been caught off guard as well. There were angry exclamations, but there was laughter, too. It was the nervous kind, but Mason was glad to hear it, nonetheless.

  “How ‘bout let’s keep it down,” Dustin suggested, brushing past Peter, “until we see what’s going on and who’s in the vicinity.”

  “Isn’t that the goal, here?” Peter barked after him, ruining the mood he had just lightened. “To locate help?” He stopped and threw his hands up. “To find out what’s going on? To tell them they need to take the dead bodies off the fucking plane?”

  “Dude,” Tyler admonished as someone behind them whimpered. The plump teenage girl, Mason thought. Becka. Her name was Becka.

  Peter rounded on him. “What? What, dude?”

  “Easy,” Mason said.

  “Easy? I have lost my wife!”

  Juan walked out of the pool of shadows where he had been standing and silently moved up behind the irate man.

  “We got a problem, ese?” he murmured into Peter’s ear with an accent Mason was sure he’d thickened on purpose, and Peter jumped and spun around.

  Before things could go even further off the rails, Mason decided he better step in. “Peter!”

  He instantly turned to face him, probably glad for the excuse. “What?”

  Mason opened his mouth to tell him they needed to have a little chat, when Gina, on the other side of Don, spoke up. Except for Dustin, the remaining passengers were all crowded in together now, like sheep when threatened.

  “There,” she said. “Did you hear that?”

  Everyone stopped talking, and for a moment, Mason could hear the breathing of the people closest to him. And then out of the silence, something reverberated faintly.

  They waited, but the noise, whatever it was, was never repeated.

  “What are we going to do?” Becka wanted to know, sounded tearful again. “Just roam around a creepy airport all night?”

  Dustin came back over to them. “Has anybody managed to get a signal yet?”

  No one had. And several people including Gwen, Brenda the lady who’d sat by the obese man, and Reba the religious woman were tired of trying and already wanting to rest.

  Getting off the plane was enough for them for now, Mason saw. “Hey, everyone,” he said to get their attention. “Hey, how about we find somewhere to bed down for a few hours?” He threw his hand up to forestall any objections. “Just until daybreak when we can see better.”

  “I don’t know,” Dustin murmured beside him. “I’d feel better if we could at least check out this terminal building.”

  He had a point. None of them were going to rest well without knowing if someone was there that could help. Or if someone was there that might come out of the darkness at them.
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  “All right. Let’s find a place for everyone else to stretch out for a bit, and we’ll go check things out right quick.”

  “It’s a big airport,” Dustin reminded him.

  “We’ll only search the immediate vicinity.”

  He nodded. “This concourse, through the middle, and along the other concourse, at least.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  No one seemed keen on settling down right where they were, so they continued moving through the darkness, following the illumination of their lights, all of them probably glowing like a bunch of fireflies, to the last section of seats before the way narrowed.

  “I’d love to keep going,” Gwen said, working her way toward the back corner where moonbeams could be seen streaming in. “But I can’t walk as far as I used to.”

  Tyler, Mason was glad to see, was urging Kimi ahead of him toward the same corner. “Okay, you guys,” he called out softly. “Rocky’s going to stay with you here, and Dustin, Juan, and I”—Peter better not open his mouth, he was not coming—“are going to go make a quick sweep of the building.”

  He waited until Tyler looked over and acknowledged him, and then turned and headed out, with Dustin and Juan close on his heels.

  Though Mason was bursting to talk to them, he waited until he was sure they had gone far enough before finally coming to a halt. “Shit,” he exclaimed. “I don’t know what the hell is going on.”

  “Neither do I,” Dustin said. “But it’s weird and I don’t like it.”

  “Amen to that,” agreed Juan.

  Mason rubbed the back of his neck where it had begun to ache again. “Okay, let’s recap. The runway seems to have deteriorated.” Along with the surrounding tarmac, which was now cracked and grown over, like years had passed instead of hours. “The power is out here and in the surrounding areas at the very least.”

  “And everybody has been evacuated,” Dustin finished.