by Carl Damen
Jack felt a deep unease at the show of force. Brining the military, even a domestic force, into an already volatile situation didn't seem like it would solve anything. The more he thought about it, the more he felt that the governor was being deliberately stupid. He should have just let the city burn out its frustration. It would be more costly in the short term, but it would curtail continued fighting in the long term. This would serve no other purpose than to drive a wedge between the already angered people of Philadelphia and a very disliked government.
Maybe he should tell this to Amanda, get her to put it out on the internet. The "Defend the Defenders" crowd would love it.
It was only as he was sliding back in through the window that he realized political talk was probably not the bast thing right now.
The hours dragged interminably by, and around noon Grant gave up, pulled off the highway, and parked outside of a closed restaurant. He looked to Jack, then to Amanda, and sadly shook his head. "Sorry I dragged you two into this."
Amanda smiled wanly. "No problem. I'm just glad I'll be away from here when things get worse."
Jack circled to the trunk, retrieved Amanda's luggage, then joined his erstwhile family as they abandoned the car and walked the rest of the way to the airport.
They trudged along in silence for about a mile, noticing that, as they neared the airport, they seemed to speed up in relation to the cars on the so-called freeway.
Jack cleared his throat and tried for conversation. "So, got any plans while you're in LA?"
Amanda shrugged. "I dunno. This semester's pretty much a wash, and I doubt things will be back to normal for next semester. Probably get a GED, then try to enroll in classes."
"Where?" Grant scoffed. "Those damn college hippies haven't been to classes since the first White House attack. Honestly, I'm surprised they haven't started rioting yet."
Jack chuckled. "That's only European students who do that. The Californians are all too stoned."
Amanda opened her mouth to respond, then shrugged and nodded in agreement. "I called Ware this morning, told him everything."
Grant looked at his daughter, a wary cast to his face. "And?"
"He said once he finishes college, he'll marry me. He'll come visit me for Christmas."
"He does Christmas?" Jack asked.
"Sometimes Kwanzaa, depending on which relatives are visiting."
Grant slowly shook his head. "I guess this means Hanukkah is out of the question for the grandkids?"
Amanda slowed and looked at her father over her shoulder. "Only when you're in town."
Grant nodded, and Jack thought he caught the shadow of a smile.
As they continued, the airport slowly loomed out of the fog, a long, low brick of glass and plaster stretching away into grey obscurity. It reminded Jack a little of the Metro Mall.
They eventually came in out of the fog and found themselves wedged into a crowd made nervous by the presence of National Guard troops out on patrol. They pushed their way through to a kiosk at the airline counter, checked Amanda in, and made their way into the endless line leading to the security checkpoint. Despite the noise of thousands of agitated travelers, they were able to keep up a bit of small talk.
Most of what was said was between Grant and Amanda, and as Jack stood by and watched, he found himself feeling disconnected from his family. He had only been with them for around nine months, and had just gotten used to the new status quo, to the older brother, the teenaged niece. As he watched, he realized that he wasn't truly a part of this group, never again would be. These were new people with a new life, and they wouldn't be needing him.
After an hour of waiting, of slowly moving forward, they were stopped by two young men dressed as soldiers. "Boarding passes?" one of them asked.
Grant looked around them, at the security check a hundred feet and another hour away. "It's just her, but we're going to stay with her until—"
"I'm sorry, sir," the soldier interrupted, "but I'm afraid you have to have a boarding pass to stay here."
"This is still a public place." Grant gripped Amanda's shoulder, and she squirmed under the pressure.
"We're trying to cut down traffic," the other soldier said. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave the airport if you have no other business."
"Oh, I've got business—"
Jack rested his hand on Grant's arm, and Grant tensed. "She's going to be with her mom, she'll be alright."
Grant relaxed. "Can I say goodbye?"
"Hurry it, please, sir."
Grant turned to his daughter and stroked her hair. "You're a smart kid. You do stupid things sometimes, but you're smart." He leaned forward and kissed her forward. "I'm proud of you; I love you."
"I love you too, dad."
Grant moved aside and Amanda approached Jack. "Hey, thanks for not being dead, yeah?"
Jack chuckled. "Yeah."
"And remember, the scary people upstairs really are out to get you."
"Literally?"
"You found out who owns Sky Crest?"
Jack ignored the last comment. "Just because things didn't work out so well Friday doesn't mean you should stop trying. Fight for what you believe in, but don't go rushing in head-on."
Amanda pursed her lips. "I'll see what I can do."
"Sir—"
Amanda raised her hands and gestured Jack and Grant away. "Yes, okay, they're going..."
The two men turned and left the young woman behind, the soldiers moving further down the line to cull hangers-on.
"You did the right thing," Jack said, not fully believing his words.
"You know, it was in LA she got started with all this political bullshit," Grant said, staring blankly ahead. "I have to wonder... is she just going out of the frying pan and into the fire?"
6
Chapter 19
Chapter 19
The sharp buzz of something vibrating on a plastic tray pulled Amanda out of a half-sleep. She blinked, focused on her mobile twitching on the tray-table in front of her, reached for it, answered. "Hello?"
"Amanda? Are you still in-air?"
"Mom?" Amanda's stomach lurched. She hadn't talked to her mother in weeks, hadn't told her about the pregnancy, had hoped to put everything off until seeing her in person. "Shit, what time is iii—" she broke off into a yawn.
"It's just after five here, I don't know where you are. Where are you?"
"I don't know, we didn't leave until like five this morning... I think we're Central right now..."
"Listen, one of the interns just called me. Some social group just took over the airport, threatened to load up a plane with explosives and crash it somewhere unless their demands were meat."
Amanda was fully awake now. "Which group?"
"I don't—just a second." There was a sound of clicking, then, "Libre California Republica. Bunch of neo-Mexican supremacists, want to cut ties with America, citing human rights violations."
"Oh, my God, are they going to route us through Lob Hope?"
"No, no, no. They threatened to fly out a bomb-plane, remember? Everyone's going to be grounded. You're going down at the nearest port that can handle your plane. Hopefully you're close enough that you'll go back to PHL and you can stay with Grant. But don't worry, if you're far enough out, I'll drive out and get you, assuming the border isn't sealed."
"Can they do that?"
"If there was ever a time for the cartels to jump, it would be now."
"Shit..." Amanda unconsciously began stroking her belly.
"Now, I don't know when they'll make the announcement, but you can bet your flight's already been rerouted. They'll announce your destination before too long. When you land, call me."
"Mom—"
"Yeah, honey?"
Amanda knew she needed to tell her, to start getting as much advice about motherhood as she could but... "Nothing."
"Alright, sweetie, we'll talk when you're down. Gotta call the congressman now..."
"Have fun." Aman
da disconnected and sat back, awaiting the inevitable.
After about twenty minutes, it came.
A low buzz, then a nearly incomprehensible, "Hey, folks, this is your captain speaking... I hate to tell you this, but it looks like the land of sun and palm trees is going to have to wait just a bit. I've just received word that LAX has been shut down, and all inbound flights are being rerouted elsewhere."
Protest from the other passengers almost drowned out the pilot's next words. "We will be setting down in about half an hour in scenic Tulsa, Oklahoma, former oil capitol of the world!" His cheeriness sounded forced. "Until we land, please relax, and as always, thanks for flying—"
His last words were cut off by a chorus of boos and cursing.
Amanda sighed and looked at her phone. Adjusted for time zones, it was a little past seven-thirty on Tuesday morning. She needed to sleep...
Seatbelt signs lit up, and Amanda hurriedly shut off her mobile as the stewards began making their final rounds.
The flight prepared to land... then didn't. Amanda waited with rising tension as her flight continued to circle over the Tulsa airport. The other passengers, at first as sullenly resigned to the rerouting as Amanda had been, began to murmur, to occasionally shout, to verbally abuse the stewards. As Amanda watched, the once peaceful, normal folk on their way from Philadelphia to Los Angeles became feral beasts, capable of anything.
After two hours, the pilot came back on, announced clearance, and finally landed the plane.
Amanda remained in her seat as all around her angry passengers swarmed out of their seats, grabbed bags from overhead, pushed towards the single exit. As she watched the mass of people begin to froth and boil, she flashed back to the schoolyard, to her friends and classmates, venting teenage angst and fear at the police, all directed by her, all on her selfish whim. She saw Raife rushing the line, saw the battle begin, felt again the rush of power she had experienced that day, and new that, whatever else she might do with her life, she couldn't let this group of passengers go through with the course of action they had silently committed themselves to.
She waited until the aisle had cleared then jumped up, retrieved her backpack from the overhead, then sprinted down the fuselage and up the boarding tube until she ran into the back of the horde that filled the terminal. It wasn't just passengers from her flight; hundreds of other people packed the long, low room that made up this spur of the airport. Amanda climbed up on a small table bolted to the floor to see what was at the center of the crowd's attention: a small kiosk, manned by ten or so airline employees, most trying to placate their enraged customers, several making frantic phone calls, all looking terrified.
Amanda dropped back to the floor and pushed her way into the back of the crowd. As she went, people turned to look at her, to occasionally shouting at her over the general uproar at the center of the crowd. She had made it through several layers when someone grabbed her backpack and yelled, "Hey, wait your turn! I've been here over half an hour!" Amanda slipped the backpack off and continued forward.
Further in she was ignored; the passengers were too focused on heaping abuse on the airline workers, demanding compensation for their time, pleading for special accommodations. Near the front, Amanda could start making out individual voices, recognizable phrases.
"—I don't give a good goddamn about Mexican politics, my family is waiting—"
"—the whole fucking reason I left Philadelphia!"
"—can't seriously expect us to pay for hotels! You're the ones who grounded us!"
"They can't all be booked! Try again! This just started—"
Through a forest of gesticulating arms Amanda caught a glimpse of a grey counter, of red-vested airline employees pleading with the crowd, looking around for help, completely out of their depth.
She broke through the front rank and made eye contact with a terrified young woman who couldn't have been more than five years older than Amanda.
"Where is security?" Amanda shouted, her voice almost completely drowned out.
"What?"
"Security! You need help!"
The woman's eyes opened wider. "I don't know! This isn't the only terminal!"
Something clicked as Amanda realized the true scope of what was going happening; there was a reason they had been in a holding pattern for over two hours. When her mother had said that everyone would be grounded, she had meant it.
Amanda stood still for a moment, felt other people pushing up behind, crowding in from the side; there were angry people who wanted her space so that they could be heard.
Sudden inspiration struck, and Amanda found herself climbing up on the counter. There were cheers behind her, and she felt several hands touching her butt, pushing her upwards. She saw the fear in the eyes of the airline employees, saw as they glanced around, desperate for escape.
She stood, her head nearly scraping the low ceiling, then turned to face the crowd. "Hey!" she shouted, waving her arms. "Everyone, shut up!"
It took several more tries, but the sheer hight she now had over them got their attention, and soon a curtain of silence settled over the crowd.
"What the hell do you all think you're doing?" Amanda continued when she was sure she could be heard.
Dead silence.
"You think you're the only ones stuck, the only ones inconvenienced? There are literally thousands of flights landing, tens of thousands more being cancelled right now. You think you've been dealt a shit hand? The whole country's been dealt one. We are stuck! And nothing you can do, nothing you can say to these people—" she pointed back to the frightened employees "—is going to change that! You have literallyno other choice than to sit here and wait for a while!"
There was a moment of silence as the crowd digested this, then someone from a few rows back yelled, "Why should we listen to you? You're just a kid!"
"I'm twenty-five!" Amanda yelled back; she was glad her backpack was gone. She turned slightly and pointed again at the employees. "And how old do you think these people are, huh? You think they're big airline decision-makers? They're here to help you and your luggage get to the next flight. And guess what? There is no next flight. So go and sit down, or go to the food court, or something, but leave these people alone, yeah? I'm sure they'll send someone along to talk with us, just as soon as they can. Until then... Play the shit hand; you don't have another choice."
There were coughs and shuffles and mutters, but eventually the crowd began to expand and dissipate, people breaking off in clumps to return to the little islands of chairs spread over the terminal.
Amanda knelt, then slid off the counter. She turned to see the woman tentatively smiling at her.
"Thanks," the woman said. "We're trying to call an airline rep. I think Homeland Security will get her first, though. Maybe another couple of hours."
Amanda acknowledged the information with a nod. "Glad to help." She looked around, taking in the terminal, and the prospect of the airport beyond. "What do you have to eat around here?"
Minutes later, as Amanda headed off in the direction of a restaurant the employee had suggested, she felt the adrenaline glow of what she had done begin to fade, and she realized... she had enjoyed what she had done. She had captured the attention of an audience, had influenced policy through her words, had helped to make the world a better place. If she had done this last Friday, had tried to reason with the police, Raife would still be alive, the whole of the situation back home never would have happened...
As she walked, she silently swore to herself that this is who she would be, this is what she would do. This was how she would shape her future... and it would be glorious.
Amanda sat in an insufficiently padded bucket seat, trying to balance her mobile on her knees while her hands were busy with eating a taco. Responses to the Libre California Republica's actions were flooding in from every quarter: From the Right were panicked shouts that the United States was dissolving, that nothing but swift military action could solve this problem; f
rom the Left were panicked shouts that all of the LCR's demands be met, and the South-West be immediately ceded to Mexico. And there was Terstein right in the middle, urging paranoia on one hand and hope on the other. The only voice that was conspicuously absent was that of Edarus Latterndale; his whereabouts were still unknown.
Some had risen to put words in the president's mouth. Press Secretary Eli Rosencrantz had bravely gone on air to acknowledge that yes, something bad was happening. National Security Adviser Loblen Mistaren insisted that, while the president's primary concern was to peacefully resolve the Defender debacle, he was sure the president would swiftly decide on a course of action to deal with the growing crisis in California. Unfortunately, Mistaren would not be able to conference directly with the president; he had returned to his hometown of Philadelphia to offer his military experience with quelling the fighting there, and was stuck for the time being.