Flight 3108

by Mikeworth, Sharon

  “But what for?” Juan asked. “What would cause that?”

  They pondered this for a moment, and then Dustin scrubbed a hand across his bristly hair and said what they were all thinking. “Maybe we should get back on that plane and hightail it out of here.”

  In the dimness, both Mason and Juan nodded.

  “But we don’t want to jump the gun,” Mason said after considering it. “I think we should wait until morning if it comes to that. Let the others rest and recover a little, and then—”

  “And then we get the people off the plane,” Juan broke in.

  He was right. That had to be done either way. As soon as possible. “Yes, we need to do that first thing.”

  “We’re gonna need Rocky,” Dustin said.

  Mason nodded tiredly. “All right, let’s quick do this sweep and get back. My neck is killing me and I could use an hour or two to rest it. And someone’s going to need to go out and tell the captain what’s going on, too.”

  “Rocky can do it,” Dustin said, “or I will.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  The three of them followed the beam of Mason’s Maglite along the trunks of the two palm trees rising up beside a Mexican-themed eatery.

  “I told you,” Juan said.

  Mason stared in consternation at the brittle brown fronds. The trees were dead all right. Not half dead, but no hope of ever coming back dead. Both of them.

  They’d noticed other things as well. Practically none of the storefronts were locked or had security gates across them, like everyone had all of a sudden ran out of the airport, leaving everything where it was without even a moment to spare; some of the poles for the queue lines in front of the ticket counters had been knocked over; and there was an odor. It reminded Mason of the way the cab of the stairs truck had smelled—musty, moldy, and faintly sour.

  What in God’s name was going on here? “Does anyone else here feel like they’ve stepped into the Twilight Zone?”

  “No kidding,” said Dustin.

  Juan stepped back, turning off his light. “My battery’s almost dead.” Though he had been using it sparingly, his phone’s torch app was quickly sapping it.

  Mason made a split decision. “Let’s head on back. It’s too dark too see much, and our batteries are only going to last so long.”

  Back in the seating area where they’d left the others, Mason had expected to find a lot of them still up, nervous and worried about their situation—and there were a few awake, sitting or standing, staring into the darkness—but most were lying down across the seats or on the floor, some of them with their heads propped on the smaller bags they’d carried off the plane. He himself was so tired and emotionally spent from the trauma of the flight and what they were going through, he felt nearly sick. And his neck was killing him. He wanted about four aspirins and a solid eight hours of sleep, but he’d settle for closing his eyes and resting a bit.

  Rocky stood up and started over to meet him as Dustin and Juan began searching for a place to kick back in. The guy was amiable and relatively young (maybe thirty), but from his demeanor and slightly scruffy state of his jeans and T-shirt, seemed like he’d been around the block a few times.

  Mason looked around at the other passengers and saw everyone had already begun to form into cliques. Peter, over by Don and Gina. Brenda with an elderly man (Ed, he thought his name was) he hadn’t had much contact with. Tyler with Gwen and Kimi. But not Becka, who lay relatively alone not too far from Reba, the woman who’d been praying on the plane and the other couple whose names he hadn’t learned yet. It was apparent she had chosen a spot as far away from Kayla and Noah, the teenage pair she had initially been seated with, as she could get.

  Rocky reached him, and Mason murmured, “Nothing, no one,” in response to his unspoken question. “We’ll search the airport better when it gets daylight.”

  Rocky nodded and glanced behind him at the resting people. “I don’t think I can sleep right now. I’ll keep watch if you want to relax for a while.”

  “Okay, good. I doubt I’ll sleep either, but it’d be nice to stretch out for a bit.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he added as Rocky went to turn away. “Someone needs to inform Deb and the captain that we’re staying put until daybreak. Do you mind walking out there?”

  “Sure, no problem. I’ll run over and let him know.”

  “And, Rocky… tell him we’re going to be moving the bodies first thing.”

  Rocky swallowed, then nodded and started back toward the door they’d entered through.

  Where was she? Jess had been folding laundry when he’d left to wash the truck and gas it up for the coming week. And now the television she’d been watching was off and she was nowhere to be found. “Jess?”

  “I’m in here,” she answered from the other end of the apartment.

  He moved through the living room, down the hall, and into the back bedroom. And there she was, holding his cell phone in her hand with a look on her face he had never seen before.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t answer, just continued to drill him with eyes that were almost frightening in their intensity.

  “What is it?” Concerned, he moved closer to grasp her arm. But then she dropped the phone, letting it thump to the floor with no discernable change of expression, reared back, and slapped him hard across the face—

  Mason snapped awake and jolted upright.

  He looked over and saw the faintest lightening of the sky outside the windows—the palest touch of dawn—and then dropped his head into his hands.

  That had been the beginning of the end.

  Things had begun to escalate after that and before the night was through he had felt it perfectly in his right to pick Jess up and slam her onto the bed, not hurting her, but scaring her, she told him later, though she hadn’t shown it at the time, to stop her from going out the door with the bag she had packed and possibly doing something stupid, something like cheating on him in retaliation. Because she had been wrong, dammit. He had gotten a strange call on his phone, which he had accidently left behind, from a number she had looked up that belonged to a woman named Shelley, and there had been a woman at work named Shelley that Jess had also looked up by going online and reading the profiles for his co-workers, and the woman had hung up when Jess answered—but it had all been nothing but a coincidence. A wrong number from someone who happened to have the same name as the receptionist in the company’s human resources department.

  Jess’s last long-term boyfriend, Reese (stupid name), had been a cheater, and Mason himself had already given her reason to believe he might be just like him. Yet he had reacted with anger (no doubt partly due to the stinging slap she’d administered), lost control, and allowed himself to resort to physical means to restrain her. Something she had believed afterwards to be unforgiveable. “You’re just lucky you happened to have been born a man!” she’d screamed at him when he’d finally let her up. “Or else I’d show you how it feels!” And of course, she had left him anyway. She would have eventually listened to reason. And probably wouldn’t have cheated on him. She wasn’t even that kind of woman. But he’d ruined it all by pinning her down, and subduing her, as she’d called it. “Like one of your goddam security guards!”

  And that had been it. She had no intention of letting there be a strike three. Strike one had nearly done them in, and then him getting physical with her had only solidified what she had been suspecting all along—that he basically lacked character, an attitude that had so offended him that night and partly led to his snapping.

  He stood up and began weaving his way over to where Dustin and Juan had bedded down, still mulling over everything.

  The first strike had been an old girlfriend, named Candy of all things, that he’d stopped to chat with one day at the midtown dive where she bartended. Jess knew about Candy and that she worked there. So when Mason casually mentioned he’d gone by, supposedly to speak to them about some contract work for the ear-
splitting concerts they frequently hosted, a half-truth she’d seen right through, Jess had immediately pounced and read him the riot act.

  And why had he gone by there that day? Habit? He and Jess had not been together that long and he had always enjoyed being around Candy, who had a wicked sense of humor, even when they weren’t romantically involved. But it had been inappropriate. Especially considering Jess’s past problems with Randy Reese, as she called him. She’d barely forgiven Mason. True, she had slapped him that last night, but that was completely irrelevant and unrelated as far as he was concerned to how he’d put his hands on her later. Her smacking him was like a kitten pawing at a bulldog and didn’t give him reason to manhandle her like he had after the fact.

  Once again he tried to shake himself out of the past as he came to a stop before Dustin and Juan.

  They weren’t asleep and sat up when they saw him. “What’s up?” Dustin asked.

  Mason hesitated before answering, realizing he didn’t see Rocky. “Where’s Rocky?”

  Dustin jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “He finally laid down. I told him it was okay.”

  Mason peered over, and there was Rocky lying on the floor with his legs drawn up and his head resting on his arm. “It’s probably good he’s getting some shut-eye.”

  He turned back to them. “We need to begin soon. I thought I’d go over and talk to Deb for a minute.”

  “All right,” Dustin said. “Just let us know when you’re ready for us.”

  “Bring back some coffee,” Juan murmured, only half kidding, as he moved away.

  A hot cup of java would be good right about now.

  6

  MASON LED DUSTIN, Rocky, and Juan outside, where he had three cups of coffee fortified with cream and sugar waiting for them on the steps. “Mitch turned on the APU—the auxiliary power unit—long enough to get some air flowing and make some coffee before he shut it down again to conserve fuel. I couldn’t bring enough for everyone, so it’s just for the burial crew. I hope you like it sweet.”

  Each man picked up a cup and began sipping it appreciatively. Mason had already had some and could feel the caffeine buzzing through his veins. His little nap had refreshed him somewhat, too, and he was anxious to take care of the unsavory task ahead of them so they could move on. To what, he didn’t know. He had deliberately tried to not think too far ahead since waking up, but full daylight, and whatever it brought, was coming on fast.

  “Okay, Deb says the only thing to do for now, considering the situation, is to take everyone and lay them out on the other side of the plane.”

  “Damn,” Rocky said. “We’re just gonna put them out there and leave them?”

  “I don’t like it either.”

  “If we could at least cover them a little better.”

  “And say a prayer,” Juan put in.

  “I think we can get someone,” Mason said, “that lady Reba maybe, to say a few words, but I’m not sure—”

  “We’ll get the blankets off the other planes,” Dustin said. “Deb can help.”

  Mason nodded. “Okay, you go get Deb and start searching, and Juan, Rocky, and I will start getting everyone off the plane.”

  The sun was well up by the time they found what they needed and completed the gruesome business of removing and covering the bodies, their number now increased by one. During the night, the first officer had quietly passed away. Marcia had finally regained consciousness, though, and seemed no worse for the wear except for a lingering weariness and headache.

  With everyone standing in attendance (Marcia, supported by Deb, and the captain included), Reba, who was glad to help, said a few words and led them in prayer. Then with no further ado, they made their way back across the strangely weathered pavement.

  But not before Mason made some disturbing observations. A few of the glass panes in the taller section behind their terminal were cracked and broken, there were discolorations trailing down the outside walls, and the tops of the vehicles around them were covered in a fine layer of dust. The surrounding parking areas and roads were still ominously empty, as well. Some of the others must have noticed the same oddities, but if they did, they weren’t saying anything.

  Back inside, it was much brighter now that the sun was shining, and everyone was eager to connect with someone and begin the process of returning to their homes. Many were concerned about their loved ones worrying and wanted to contact them. Mason had only Bruno, being fed and checked on daily by his neighbor, his stepmother, Tilda, whom he was not particularly close to (his father had been killed in a car crash three years before, a decade after his mother, who’d been born with a heart defect, had passed away), a few friends, and Jess. Although he couldn’t really claim to have her anymore.

  Except for Mason and his crew and a few other silent, tight-lipped passengers, including Kimi and Tyler, who now appeared to be relying on Gwen as much as she was relying on them, the rest of the survivors seemed intent on behaving as though they’d merely returned to an airport hit by a power outage. Kayla and Noah, in particular, seemed determined to view the whole thing with a sardonic amusement he wasn’t sure was entirely put on.

  Mason realized that Becka, standing alone as usual, was staring over at him intently. She knew. She knew as well as he did that something truly bizarre was going on. She still appeared frightened but not about to come undone as she had before. She seemed to have gotten a handle on her emotions. He had a feeling she’d learned to do that at a pretty young age, unless her weight gain was a recent occurrence. He decided to see what she had to say.

  “What do you think?” he asked as he approached.

  “I think we ran through the goddam Bermuda Triangle,” she quipped.

  Mason barked a laugh, then winced as it echoed around him. Wait, she wasn’t serious, was she? No, the girl’s mouth was curling up into a wan smile.

  “It is weird though, right?” she said.

  Mason gazed back at her, wondering how much he should say.

  She gestured around her. “It’s not like they suddenly evacuated everyone. It’s like they suddenly evacuated everyone about five years ago.”

  The Bermuda Triangle, huh? Not once during their troubled flight or since they’d landed, had he thought about that old legend. But technically they had been over that area of the ocean if Mitch’s calculations were correct.

  “But it can’t be time travel,” came Kimi’s voice behind him. “Not according to the dates.” He turned and saw she had brought Tyler with her.

  “What dates?” Becka asked before he could.

  “There’s a news kiosk over there.” Kimi pointed to a place not far from them. “I walked over earlier while you were… while you were…”

  “And what did you find?” Mason prompted, sparing her from finishing.

  “Newspapers and magazines all dated four years ago.”

  Mason frowned. “All of them?”

  Tyler nodded with her. “All that we saw.”

  “For the sake of argument, why not time travel?”

  Becka looked at him as if he were stupid. “Because this place doesn’t seem like it was evacuated last night. It seems like it was evacuated about… four years ago.”

  Mason blinked at her and then got it. “Bringing us to the year we’re in now.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You know this is crazy, right?”

  “What’s crazy,” Tyler said, “is what this means.”

  This ought to be good.

  “I mean, we came back to the airport we left from, and we didn’t travel backwards or forwards in time, yet it’s all changed. It’s the same but it’s all different.”

  Mason opened his mouth to tell him to lower his voice—the others were beginning to drift over—then thought better of it. Best if they heard it now.

  “It’s the same, but it’s different,” Tyler repeated, like this was particularly meaningful. “And right before that, we went through that vortex tunnel thingy.”

  �
��And landed here,” Kimi blurted. “On another Earth close to our own where something happened four years ago!”

  Mason’s eyes went wide, despite himself. It was ludicrous, of course. But what else explained… He halted the direction his thoughts were taking. They didn’t have time for this.

  “Listen,” he said. “We can try to make sense of things later when we have more information. For now, I propose that Dustin and I, and whoever else wants to join us, carry out a thorough search of the entire airport and the immediate area.”

  Gwen pushed forward. “You’re not just going to leave us here, are you?”

  “No, no,” he said. “Of course not. I promise you, we’ll be back.” He turned to Deb standing by Marcia. “Deb, do you think you could rustle up some food and drinks for everyone left here?”

  She sucked air in between her teeth. “I don’t know. There’s not much left on the plane. Mainly snacks and some water and soft drinks.”

  “Whatever you have. Bring it over, along with anything else you think we can use.”

  Both she and Marcia nodded. Though still pale, Marcia seemed to be getting her strength back.

  A couple of minutes later, Mason, Dustin, Juan, and Rocky were turning to head out, along with Peter who had also decided to come, when Deb hurried back over.

  “Make note of anything you think we might need,” she told Mason. “Throw blankets and travel pillows and such. Just in case.”

  “Will do.” He watched until she had rejoined Marcia, who stood ready to go back over to the plane, then started toward the others waiting ahead.

  It was exactly as Becka had said. Everything seemed to have been abandoned around four years before. Yet their flight had taken off from this very airport—and it was the Fort Lauderdale International Airport; there was enough signage everywhere to confirm it—barely twelve hours before.

  “What’s your take on everything?” Peter asked, sidling up to Mason.

  Fuck if I know. “I can’t even hazard a guess.”

  “Well, you’re the guy in charge it seems, Mason. Surely you know something.”