by T. L. Payne
He was nearly giddy with joy as the bus approached Rockford International Airport. From the gate he could see the huge white tents with red crosses on them. He didn’t see many people and thought maybe everyone was still sleeping. It was still very early, at least by his old world standard of time.
The bus pulled through the gate and around the side of a group of tents. It stopped in front of a tent with a sign that read, “Red Cross,” and another that read, “FEMA Disaster Recovery Center.” Erick shot to his feet and rushed down the aisle before the driver even opened the door.
“Sir, return to your seat and wait your turn,” the driver said over his shoulder.
The FEMA official stood and grabbed Erick by the arm.
“Okay, okay,” Erick said, as he returned to his seat next to Marty.
“I know you are anxious to get to Amy and the baby, but don’t piss these people off. They don’t look all too pleased to be helping us anyway,” Marty whispered.
“Okay. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Erick said.
Glancing at the officials wearing polo shirts, Erick said, “In my anxiousness to get here, I had not considered it all that unusual that they were acting unfriendly. But, now that you mention it, it does seem odd.”
“They are probably worried about their own families. I know I would be if the only living member of mine wasn’t sitting right here with me,” Marty said, nodding toward his mother. She sat with her head hung low, still twisting the granola bar wrapper in her hands.
Erick thought of his own mother. He had not seen her for years. He had no idea where she even lived these days. They had not spoken since he left for college. His dad could be dead already for all he knew. Erick hadn’t heard anything from his dad since he was sixteen years old. Erick had been all alone in the world throughout his adult life before he met Amy. Now she was his whole world. And his world had just doubled with the birth of his daughter.
When it was Erick’s turn to stand and move into the aisle to exit the bus, he resisted the urge to shove everyone out of the way and bolt off the bus. He wanted to run screaming his wife’s name, but he controlled himself. His outward restraint looked nothing like the inner turmoil he felt at the moment he stepped down off the bus. He waited patiently in line to be processed into the shelter. He calmly gave the lady seated at the in-processing table his name and the name of his wife.
“Her name is Amy Elizabeth Wynn. That’s, w-y-n-n,” Erick said, spelling their last name for the lady.
“Oh, the woman with the adorable newborn. Yes. Oh my gosh, your daughter is so darn cute,” the woman said, showing the first genuine smile Erick had seen from any of the staff there that morning.
“When can I see her?”
The woman leaned over and said something he could not hear to the man standing next to her. Erick’s head dropped. Fear gripped his throat. He feared something was wrong from the woman’s hushed tone.
The man nodded and motioned for Erick to follow him. A sense of dread washed over him. Apparently, his daughter was okay because the woman was so cheery talking about her, but something might be wrong with Amy. He knew childbirth at home without proper medical attention could be dangerous—even deadly.
The man led Erick through a maze of the large, event-sized, white tents. When they stopped, the man pointed to the door and said, “Just tell them Marcus cleared you to come back here.”
Erick looked back over his shoulder as the man walked off. He stepped inside and immediately saw his wife’s curly, red hair. She was seated with her back to him. His knees felt weak. Tears streamed down his face and an immense sense of relief flooded through his body. He had found her. She was alive and appeared to be well. He took a tentative step forward and stopped. He was about to meet his daughter, and suddenly he felt incredibly ill-equipped to be a father. His dad had sucked at it. He wasn’t sure how to be a dad.
What if I suck at it too?
The joy was replaced with panic. The women around Amy looked up. Surprised looks crossed their faces. A woman in a flowered dress pointed to Erick, and Amy turned and looked over her shoulder. Her green eyes widened, and her mouth opened. She stood and slowly turned toward him. At that moment, Erick’s heart filled with more love than he had ever felt in his life—more than he knew he was even capable of feeling. Every doubt he had ever had about whether he would be a good father left him. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would never leave his little girl. He would do whatever was necessary to care for her. He would die to protect her.
“Come meet your daughter,” Amy said, tears streaming down her pale, freckled cheeks. Erick rushed over and threw his arms around his wife and daughter. The group of women surrounding her stepped back as the two of them held each other and cried. Erick brushed loose strands of hair from his wife’s face and kissed her softly on the lips. He looked down at the most beautiful being he had ever laid eyes on.
“Hello, honey. I’m your dad,” Erick said as he stroked their daughter’s curly, red hair.
* * *
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Preview of Turbulent
Chicago O’Hare International Airport
Chicago, Illinois
Day of Event
* * *
Terminal Three of Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport was filled with pissed off passengers. After a four-hour delay, Maddison Langston was feeling cranky herself. Her flight from San Diego had arrived at eleven that morning. At three that afternoon, her connecting flight was still not boarding, even though the plane sat at the gate.
When the lights in the terminal cut out and the flight departure screen went blank, Maddie sighed.
Looks like my flight will be delayed. Again.
Sitting in the dim light, Maddie pulled her cell phone from the Silent Pocket faraday backpack Uncle Ryan had given her. Although she had promised him she would keep her phone in the bag while she was in the airport, she was having social media withdrawal. She was not as concerned about a thief scanning her RFID chips as he was.
She pulled the charging cord from the pack and started to plug it into an outlet before realizing that it would not charge with the power off. Maddie tapped a social media app on her phone, but it would not load. Her phone did not have a signal. After shutting it down and restarting it half a dozen times, it still wouldn’t connect to her wireless service provider.
To pass the time, she listened to songs from her music library. She usually listened to her favorite music using streaming services. Luckily, she had a few games on her phone.
Maddie looked up to see an angry man in a sport coat and trousers with one knee on the American Airlines service counter. The terrified woman behind the desk had her back pressed against the wall as far from the out-of-control passenger as possible.
Maddie pulled the earbuds from her ears.
Two men had gripped the arms of the angry man, who was yelling obscenities at the woman, as the woman yelled for security.
“Why can’t you tell us what the hell is going on? My flight was supposed to leave three hours ago. Now the lights are out, and it is freaking hot as hell in here,” another passenger yelled at the petite woman.
“I do not have anything to tell you. I am in the dark too,” she said.
“Oh, is that your attempt to lighten the mood? Destress the situation? Did they teach you that in customer service school?” the man mocked.
“My cell phone isn’t working. I need to use a phone. I have to call my hus
band. He’ll be expecting us to arrive in Nashville any minute,” a woman called out.
A tall man in a sports jersey and jeans stepped forward. He towered over the other passengers. Holding an arm up, the man said, “Listen up, folks. All this yelling and getting aggressive with customer service is not going to get us answers that the woman clearly does not have.”
“Well, someone sure as hell better start explaining pretty damn fast,” the man in the sport coat barked, shaking his arms lose from his captors.
“Look around you. It is a chaotic mess in here. It is not just American Airlines flights that are delayed. No planes have taken off or landed here in over an hour. The power is out to the airport, and something has disrupted the phones, including cell phones.”
An explosion rattled the windows. The ear-piercing sound of metal on concrete was followed by the cockpit of a jet skidding down the runway. Maddie had not considered that planes might collide mid-air without access to tower control for guidance. People hurried from the shopping area of the terminal, dragging their wheeled bags behind them. They huddled near the window, staring at the burning wreckage of the plane on the tarmac.
Maddie rose slowly to her feet. Grabbing her backpack from its position beside her, she flipped it over her shoulder, and reached for the extended handle on her suitcase. The terminal was in darkness, dimly lit only from the windows where a surreal show of flames and black smoke was casting long shadows toward the center of the concourse.
As Maddie stared out the window with her mouth open wide at the flaming, smoking, twisted mass, a second Boeing 737 dropped from the sky in pieces, scattering onto the runway and bursting into flames. The lights were out and there was no cell service, and planes were also colliding in the sky above them.
Maddie came to a startling realization. It had happened. The EMP or electromagnetic pulse her dad and Uncle Ryan talked about had really happened. Her hand shot up to cover her mouth. Maddie’s feet would not move, even though her brain said run.
She could not catch her breath. While her fellow travelers stood with eyes peeled to the horrid sight and their mouths wide in shock and terror, Maddie ran.
Her bag’s wheels skipped off the floor of the concourse as Maddie bolted toward a family restroom. Her backpack smacked the wall as she spun around to turn the lock. Maddie dropped her pack and suitcase by the door and slid to the cold tile floor. Hugging her knees to her chest, she sobbed, rocking side to side. Mixed with the crushing fear was a pang of guilt. She had mocked her dad for his paranoia. A wave of grief threatened to crash over her without mercy. As she cried, the years of repressed grief burst to the surface as she recalled the training and warnings her father had tried to communicate to her throughout the years.
Maddie had not cried this much since the accident. The day her dad died. The day her world changed forever.
As the tears flowed in torrents, Maddie rested her head on her arms. She was startled by loud banging behind her. She jumped to her feet and spun to face the door, her heart pounding against her chest. In the blackness she could not see her hand in front of her face. Maddie pulled her phone from her back pocket and activated its flashlight feature. Holding it over her head, she turned and looked around the small room.
I cannot stay in here forever.
How long before a plane came crashing through the terminal? How many were up there circling the airport? How many had diverted from their flight paths to land after they lost their navigation system and contact to the control tower? Pilots would only have line-of-sight to avoid a mid-air collision. How soon would it be before they ran out of fuel? Maddie's thoughts raced.
She had to get some place safe right now. That was what her dad always told her. The longer she hesitated, the more dangerous it would be.
Maddie stood and blew her nose. She bent over to reach for her pack.
She froze.
Maddie's heart dropped. She was stranded in one of the country’s busiest airports in the middle of one of the most populated cities. And she had never felt more alone.
Maddie turned and put her back to the door. She slid once more to the floor, curling her arms over her head.
Dad was right.
Her friends had called her father, Greg Langston, a doomsday prepper—a title that brought Maddie embarrassment. Before he died, her father had taught her and her brother, Zach, survival skills and how to prepare for disasters. She never took it as seriously as she should have.
“What do I do, Daddy, what do I do?” she cried.
Her mind raced, searching for answers. Images of her rolling her eyes as her dad lectured and instructed her and Zach on what to do in a world-ending scenario brought a new round of guilt and shame.
“You were right, Daddy. I am so sorry I mocked you. I didn’t listen to you, and now the shit has hit the fan, and I do not know what to do.”
She slumped to the floor and curled into a fetal position. Time seemed to stand still in the tiny, cold room. She stared at the shadow cast by her cell phone. Her mind went blank. She slid into a familiar numbness. Sleep had been her comfort, her only solace in the days and weeks after her dad had died. She wanted to go there. She let her breathing slow.
She was shaken back to reality by the sound of the growing chaos outside the bathroom.
Maddie heard her dad’s voice in her head.
“Maddison Grace Langston, pay attention. Someday you might find yourself alone when the shit hits the fan and you will need to know how to survive and get home.”
She sat up, brushing loose strands of hair from her face.
The get-home bag her dad had given her containing all the essentials to survive on the road was in her dorm room in Ohio. It would do her no good now. But she had the Every Day Carry items with her. Uncle Ryan had picked up where her dad left off in making sure carrying her EDC was a habit. Maddie looked down at the plain, waterproof backpack on the floor next to her. There were times in the last few years she had resented Ryan for trying to take her dad’s place. At that moment, she was grateful he had.
Maddie rose to her feet and walked over to the sink. She looked in the mirror. Mascara streaked her face. Her hazel eyes were bloodshot. She ran her hand through her long blond hair, pulling it into a messy bun on top of her head and securing it with the hair tie from her wrist. She stared at herself in the mirror.
“You’ve got this, Maddie. You can do it.”
She pointed to the mirror with her index finger.
You have to.
Unzipping her carry-on bag, Maddie was relieved that she had brought her hydration pack on the trip. Knowing she would need to run every day to maintain her current level of endurance, she had thrown it in her bag. Pulling the vest pack from her suitcase and emptying all the pockets and pouches, she quickly inventoried its contents. With the Jelly Belly Sports beans, sports gels, and energy bars, she had about ten thousand calories with her. Her hydration bladder and water flasks held at least two liters of water. She added the weight up in her head. She would be carrying around ten pounds.
When running a marathon or endurance race, she didn’t take the hydration bladder or as many energy gels. There was an aid station along the route, and her crew would take position between stations in case she needed a quick pick-me-up. Maddie had carried that much weight when she did backcountry and trail runs, so she knew she could.
In a Ziploc bag were two headlamps, extra batteries, a compass, and a multifunction mini tool—all requirements from her last race. From her everyday carry pack, she removed the emergency bivvy bag, her Sawyer MINI water filter, and a LifeStraw personal water filter. Maddie shoved them into kangaroo pouch of her vest pack, along with a Ziploc bag of socks and thermals. The last thing in was a weatherproof jacket.
Maddie undressed and pulled on her running tights. After putting on a tank top, she put on a fresh pair of socks and slid on her running shoes. She wished she had not chosen to bring the red ones. They would stand out too much, but there was nothing she coul
d do about that now.
Gathering up the water flasks and bladder, Maddie filled them in the sink. She pushed the bladder into the pouch and placed it in the hydration vest pack.
Placing her arms through the arm holes of the vest, she adjusted the straps across her chest. Her runner’s pack was a vest-style. It wrapped around her, fitting snuggly against her body. She tugged on the cords. It felt snug and secure. After placing the soft flask in the front pockets, she strapped one squeeze flask to her wrist. Lastly, she pulled on her dad's Marine Corps Marathon headband, and adjusted it to cover her ears.
She looked down at the half empty suitcase. Her clothes lay strewn about the floor. She picked them up and threw them into the bag. Maddie did not consider herself overly materialistic, but her suitcase contained some of her favorite clothes. It pained her to just leave them there.
This is crazy. How am I going to run all the way to St. Louis?
From her Silent Pocket faraday backpack, Maddie retrieved her earbuds, car keys, and a pack of gum. As she placed them in the right side pocket, her hands shook so badly that she dropped her car keys on the floor. She was alone in Chicago and the end of civilization as she knew it had occurred—just as her dad had predicted. She was scared shitless and was not afraid to admit it. Maddie shook her head, attempting to fight back the tears that threatened to spill down her face.
Harden up, Maddie.
No one was coming to save her. If she were going to make it, she would have to protect herself. She could not afford to let self-doubt and indecision keep her prisoner in the airport.
St. Louis was about three hundred miles away. The previous week, she had run the New Hampshire 100-mile endurance race in twenty-six hours. So, with needing recovery time between runs, it would take at least a week or more to get home.