Zone

by Jack Lance

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Titles by Jack Lance published by Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Part I: 6:32 p.m. – 2:36 a.m.

  Chapter ONE: Sharlene and Aaron

  Chapter TWO: Pilots

  Chapter THREE: Passengers

  Chapter FOUR: Princess of the Pacific

  Chapter FIVE: Airborne

  Chapter SIX: Behind the Door

  Chapter SEVEN: Anxieties

  Chapter EIGHT: Cat

  Interlude I

  Part II: 2:36 a.m. – 3:52 a.m.

  Chapter NINE: Cacophony

  Chapter TEN: Squawking

  Chapter ELEVEN: Pursued

  Chapter TWELVE: Jerrod

  Chapter THIRTEEN: Cassie

  Chapter FOURTEEN: Pamela

  Chapter FIFTEEN: Anomaly

  Interlude II

  Part III: 3:52 a.m. – 5:08 a.m.

  Chapter SIXTEEN: Emilio and the Outlaw

  Chapter SEVENTEEN: Occupied

  Chapter EIGHTEEN: Jody

  Chapter NINETEEN: Phyllis

  Chapter TWENTY: Where We’re Not Going

  Chapter TWENTY-ONE: ‘They’

  Chapter TWENTY-TWO: In the Dark

  Interlude III

  Part IV: 5:08 a.m. – 5:47 a.m.

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE: Silence

  Chapter TWENTY-FOUR: The Door

  Chapter TWENTY-FIVE: Catastrophe

  Chapter TWENTY-SIX: Pursuit

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN: Searching

  Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT: Destination

  Interlude IV

  Part V: 5:47 a.m. – Later

  Chapter TWENTY-NINE: Alone

  Chapter THIRTY: Ditching

  Chapter THIRTY-ONE: Evacuation

  Chapter THIRTY-TWO: The Axe

  Chapter THIRTY-THREE: Zone

  Chapter THIRTY-FOUR: Butterfly

  Titles by Jack Lance published by Severn House

  PYROPHOBIA

  ZONE

  ZONE

  A Paranormal Thriller

  Jack Lance

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  This first world edition published 2015

  in Great Britain and 2016 in the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  19 Cedar Road, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM2 5DA.

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2016 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  Originally published in the Netherlands as Zone

  by Luitingh-Sijthoff in 2012. This English edition

  translated from the Dutch by Lia Belt, with

  additional editorial input from Bill Hammond.

  eBook edition first published in 2015 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Copyright © 2015 by Jack Lance.

  The right of Jack Lance to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Lance, Jack, author.

  Zone.

  1. Air travel–Fiction. 2. Suspense fiction.

  I. Title

  839.3’137-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8569-2 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-677-0 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-735-6 (e-book)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

  are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described

  for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are

  fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,

  business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited, Falkirk,

  Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  Asmara, Alexander and Rina

  You’re showing me worlds I couldn’t have imagined.

  A 747 is coming down in the night

  There’s no radio, no sign of life

  We were strangers in the night

  Strangers in the night

  Going nowhere

  Saxon, 747

  (Strangers In The Night)

  Prologue

  Everything changed on a balmy day in March when the first flowers started to bud. She returned home at three o’clock in the afternoon, after cheering on her boyfriend Ross’s baseball team. Two patrol cars were parked outside her house, one in the driveway and one at the curb. Bad news, she thought when she saw them. This can only mean bad news.

  She went inside, heard people talking in the living room. Her father, sitting in his big green armchair, was leaning forward, hiding his face in his hands. Standing in the room with him were two uniformed police officers and a man dressed in a gray pinstriped suit. The pinstriped man, his hands folded as if in prayer, was speaking softly to her father.

  Her father lowered his hands and glanced over his shoulder. His red-rimmed eyes met hers. He reached a hand out to her.

  ‘Sharlene,’ he croaked. ‘Come here.’

  Hesitantly she shuffled closer to Dean Thier, the father she had always known to be so strong and who now appeared utterly broken. As she did so, the policemen and the man in the gray suit stepped aside to make way for her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Sharlene whispered.

  She was strangely convinced she already knew the answer, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to believe it. She kept hoping that what she was experiencing was some kind of nightmare, a terrible dream from which she would soon awaken.

  Her father embraced her. She felt the damp of his tears on the side of her face.

  ‘Would you like us to step outside, sir?’ the man in the suit asked.

  Dean shook his head. ‘No. That won’t be necessary. I can handle this.’

  He cast Sharlene a look of utter despair. ‘It’s … It’s your mother.’

  That was what she had feared. Instead of her mother, the police were here.

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ Dean went on quietly. ‘A very serious accident, I’m afraid. It wasn’t even your mother’s shift today. She was covering for another crew member. If she hadn’t …’ He swallowed hard and turned his face away.

  Sharlene couldn’t speak. She just stood there listening to words that her brain could not process. She wanted her father to stop talking. She wanted him to take back his words, to say that it wasn’t so, to admit this was all a horrible misunderstanding.

  Her father turned back to her, his eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘She had a flight to Phoenix this morning,’ he managed. ‘But something went terribly wrong. We still don’t know what happened. Engine failure, perhaps. The plane crashed just outside a Phoenix suburb. There was a fire … There are no known survivors. My beloved Claudia … Your mother … She’s …’


  Dean was unable to complete the sentence. His voice broke, he buried his face in his hands, and he wept openly.

  Sharlene went cold. She felt as if a tub of ice water had been dumped on her. She stood there, trembling, staring first at her father sobbing uncontrollably, and then toward the uniformed officers and the man in the suit, their own eyes filled with sadness and sympathy. She was only fifteen years old, and she had no idea how to handle this.

  She ran up the stairs to her bedroom and locked herself inside. For a span of time impossible to measure she sat there, staring with glassy eyes while her body shook uncontrollably as if from an epileptic fit.

  Then the dam burst, and it wasn’t until the next morning that the tears subsided.

  Several relatives dropped by to see her and her father. The last thing Sharlene wanted to hear was how very sorry they all were. She only wanted her mother to come home from the airport in her red Camry LE as she always had.

  Sharlene rejected the notion that her mother would never be coming home again. This had to be a nightmare. When was she finally going to wake up?

  She told her father how she felt. He put a hand on top of her head and kept staring in the distance, his eyes hollow and empty, void of emotion.

  It was a balmy day in March, and the first flowers were starting to bud.

  I

  6:32 P.M. – 2:36 A.M.

  ONE

  Sharlene and Aaron

  A wave of panic washed over the white bungalow at 94 Howland Avenue, located near Pacific Avenue and a mile-and-a-half from Venice Beach.

  If it wasn’t exactly panic, it was something close to it. Sharlene Thier, wearing nothing but a white G-string and a silver necklace with a gold crucifix around her slender neck, was searching for her makeup kit. Her clothes were still in the dryer and her uniform was wrinkled. If they weren’t in the car in fifteen minutes, they wouldn’t make it to the airport on time.

  Aaron Drake, already wearing his airline purser’s uniform, snapped the lid on his suitcase. Shaking his head, he glanced toward Sharlene’s open suitcase, and then folded out the ironing board to quickly press her crew shirt and slacks for her. She would have to iron the rest of her clothes after they arrived in Sydney, and she could buy makeup at the airport.

  That afternoon, on Venice Beach, they had lost all track of time, as most newly minted lovers do. A phone call from an acquaintance had interrupted their carnal intimacies and brought them back to reality. A dash back to her bungalow, a shower, a few minutes to change into work clothes, and he was ready to go. She, however, was still padding around in her underwear.

  ‘I thought you liked me for my charm and my body,’ he called out as he carefully ironed her slacks. ‘But you’re only using me as your maid.’

  ‘Maids are important people,’ she quipped in a voice tinged with fluster. Crouching down in front of the dryer, she turned off the machine even though the cycle was not finished. As she tossed her moist clothing into a hamper, she added, ‘Unlike many other women, I can appreciate a man who won’t shirk his household chores.’

  ‘Yeah, go ahead,’ Aaron groused. ‘Rub it in. Is that all I’m good for? Nothing else?’

  Sharlene brushed back a lock of golden hair, and gave him a fetching smile and an alluring view of her apple-shaped breasts. ‘Come on, now. Is it really that bad?’

  His eyes feasted on her. ‘Damn, I wish we had more time,’ he said devoutly.

  ‘Men!’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘You really do all have a one-track mind. Have you forgotten the beach already? The spot behind the boulder?’

  ‘That was ages ago.’

  ‘That was only a few hours ago,’ she countered. ‘Just wait till we’re in Sydney. I hope you aren’t planning to spend your time there chasing kangaroos and wallabies.’

  ‘They’re cute, but actually I’m becoming very much attached to something far cuter.’

  ‘Good. Now get back to work. Just so you know you won’t be getting something for nothing.’

  He heaved a sigh. ‘Keep this up, and I’ll stuff you into a kangaroo’s pouch once we’re in Australia.’

  Sharlene hid a smile. ‘Well, that would be fine, as long as you get stuffed in there with me. I imagine things could get quite cozy.’

  In recent weeks Aaron had discovered many new sides to Sharlene. Her routine – or rather, her lack of routine – had not escaped his notice. But it mattered not. It matched her personality, and was high among the reasons he had fallen in love with her. That, and her physical attributes. He found everything about her irresistible, from her wavy, silky hair cascading down to the small of her back, to her round ass and long sexy legs and perfectly formed feet.

  They both worked for Oceans Airways, based in Los Angeles. He had risen to the rank of purser and she to the rank of assistant purser. Unfortunately, their schedules didn’t assign them to the same flights as often as he would have liked. For six months he had been trying his damnedest to get her to notice him whenever they did find themselves together. Finally, after a flight to Tokyo nine weeks earlier, he had succeeded – putting it mildly.

  Since then they had been alternating between her place and his. Last night had ended in her bungalow. The next bedroom they would share would be in Sydney, thousands of miles away from Los Angeles.

  But first he had to get her uniform ready.

  Sharlene could not seem to get a grip. Her thoughts were bouncing all over the place, like a nest of startled hares. She glanced at her small, empty Samsonite suitcase. Then she turned and snatched her toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, her Helena Rubinstein day cream, and a few other jars and bottles from the shelf beneath the bathroom mirror. These items she tossed into her toiletry bag.

  ‘What else?’ she mumbled to herself.

  ‘What was that?’ Aaron called from the bedroom.

  Sharlene frowned. Normally adept at multi-tasking, this evening she felt like a sieve.

  Aaron switched off the iron. ‘Your uniform’s ready,’ he called to her.

  Sharlene strode into the bedroom, her eyebrows arched in surprise. ‘You’re the best.’

  ‘How much longer do you need?’

  ‘Five minutes. You go on ahead and start the car. I’ll be right out.’

  He nodded and grabbed the car keys.

  After she donned her uniform, she shoved her feet into her pumps. Now all she needed to do was pick out some leisure wear from her wardrobe and find the rest of her makeup. She felt certain she had not yet collected everything she needed. At the very least, she would have to cram some essentials into her smaller case in order to apply lipstick and some rouge to her cheeks on the way to the airport. All she needed then was to make a quick final tour of the house to make sure all appliances had been turned off, tidy up in the kitchen a little, and lock the front door behind her.

  Muted, but still audible, she heard the tune of ‘Love Is in the Air’ emanating from her purse in the living room. It was a ringtone she had downloaded after that special night with Aaron in the Tokyo Grand Hotel.

  As Sharlene turned on her heel, she heard it snap off from her right shoe.

  Shit! That’s all I needed!

  In that instant she lost interest in the phone call. Whoever was calling her, he or she would have to wait.

  By the time the phone stopped ringing, she had taken off the pump with the broken heel. She stood staring at it pensively. Which pair of shoes should she wear now? She was not one of those women who had a closet full of footwear. Pumps, high heels, and bootees held little interest for her. To the surprise of every female friend she had ever had, she owned only a few pairs of shoes, and what she had was stored in a cramped, wedge-shaped attic located above the guest room.

  Sharlene sighed, removed the other pump, and walked in stocking feet into the guest room.

  The scene awaiting her in her small storage space, the place she jokingly called her personal archive, was, as always, a complete mess. Boxes, folders, clothes she never wore an
ymore, knick-knacks of every description – a disorganized mountain of clutter and debris. Since she had no choice, and no time, she leaned into the unlit space and, with more desperation than courage, groped about in search of another pair of shoes. She moved some stuff aside, cursing out loud when she scraped her knee on a bent nail.

  ‘Sharlene, what the hell are you doing?’ she scolded herself.

  She needed to keep her mind off Aaron for a moment. He was waiting in the car for her, no doubt thinking she was almost ready. It would never enter his mind that what she was actually doing was wading into her own private labyrinth of chaos and confusion.

  Finally she saw it, a white shoe box. Inside, she was sure, was a pair of pumps.

  ‘Thank goodness,’ she mumbled.

  She drew the box toward her and started crawling backwards out of the crawl space.

  Suddenly the meager light in the space turned to pitch black.

  The tiny door leading out behind her must have closed, she thought.

  Sharlene inhaled sharply. Cold sweat oozed from her pores. She was afraid to move; she couldn’t move.

  She not only disliked the dark.

  She detested it.

  Aaron dumped his suitcase on the back seat of his blue Chevrolet Malibu and drove in reverse from the driveway on to the street. He had negotiated a good deal on the car at one of Tommy Jones’s dealerships, the self-crowned ‘Automobile King’ of greater Los Angeles. He got out of the Malibu and started pacing up and down the sidewalk, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers. He kept glancing at his watch. A little after 6:40. The hours had zipped by. Officially their shift started at 7:15. He would have to floor it once they were on the road. How was it possible, he wondered, that after an entire day together they still risked being late for work?