Zone

by Jack Lance

  ‘Hurry up, Sharlene,’ he muttered.

  The five minutes she had said she needed had come and gone. She should be coming out the front door any moment now. He fought the urge to go back inside and drag her out of the house. Hardly the most gallant of moves, he knew it would only lead to further delays. And her being pissed off at him.

  The hot August sun slowly dipped below the rows of white bungalows on Howland Avenue. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the heel of his right hand, continuing to look at the front door of Sharlene’s house.

  Aaron started pacing again. He did not want to be late and keep fourteen other crew members waiting. Even as it was, they would not have much time to prepare for their flight.

  He checked his watch one more time. Ten minutes had elapsed since he had left to start the car. Maybe he should check on her progress after all.

  Just let her do her thing, it’ll be faster, another thought cautioned him.

  Squinting, Aaron peered up into the sky, where he would be later this evening. In frustration he planted his fists on top of the Malibu’s hot roof. Sharlene still hadn’t appeared. From the corner of his eye he spotted a small red sports car approaching. The car drove past, turned into Pacific Avenue, and disappeared from view.

  He stood his ground for a moment longer, and then walked resolutely back to the bungalow.

  ‘This is taking far too long,’ he mumbled as he let himself in.

  As he had expected, she was attending to last-minute details.

  ‘Just leave me be,’ she growled at him.

  Aaron took a step back and decided not to hassle her. Clearly, he was being more of an obstacle to her than a help.

  Her earlier good mood had evaporated.

  But he had seen her like this before.

  He turned around, ambled back outside, and continued pacing.

  At length she had been able to move about in the enclosed dark space that had suddenly enveloped her as if in a tomb. As quietly as possible, holding her breath, she had turned around and crawled forward a few inches. Nothing in the darkness appeared threatening.

  But she wasn’t out of the tomb yet: a lot could still go wrong until she was back out in the light. As she paused a moment to breathe, a drop of sweat slithered down her cheek. She was afraid to tempt fate and look around. Because she might see something fearful and freeze.

  Gathering her courage, she shuffled forward. But she felt rigid with fear, and she had to struggle to avoid screaming for help.

  Screaming was the worst thing she could do, she reminded herself. She mustn’t make a sound. She must remain deathly quiet.

  Were they keeping still, lurking in the deep shadows until she came close to the tiny door that was blocking out every shard of light? Were they waiting until then to strike? Sharlene’s fingers touched something, and she almost did scream before realizing it was the door.

  This was it. She had to get out of here now. She took another deep breath and began groping for the door handle. But she couldn’t find it. God dammit to hell, she silently cursed.

  Any second now a cold claw would burst from the pitch black, grab her ankle, drag her back, and then—

  Finally she felt cool metal. She twisted the handle, the door opened, and she threw herself into the bright evening daylight flooding into the guest room.

  But she would not be safe until the door was firmly closed. She kicked it shut with a loud bang.

  Immediately she was overcome by another unsettling shock.

  I left my shoes inside!

  But then she felt the box she held pinned under her left arm, and she almost wept for joy.

  After that, her waves of panic had subsided, to be replaced by a sour mood. She snapped at Aaron when he came back into the house to see what was taking her so long, and she felt badly when he turned around and walked back outside.

  Sharlene finished packing, and close to 6:55 she wheeled her Samsonite suitcase on to the pathway leading from her front door to the sidewalk. On each side of the pathway stretched sixteen feet of sun-bleached gravel: her version of a maintenance-free garden. What good is having a green thumb, she had often said to her friends, when all I do is travel?

  She locked the door, strode toward the car, and put her suitcase beside Aaron’s in the back seat. She then slid into the passenger seat.

  ‘That took a while,’ Aaron said, unable to mask the pique in his voice. ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ she deadpanned. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

  As they drove off, Sharlene glanced back at her house. For a reason she could not explain, she sensed that she might never see it again. She didn’t want to fly today. Today had turned into a bad day.

  Keep your cool, she chided herself. For God’s sake, keep your cool.

  Olive shrubs and palm trees slid past the car window. The August heat shimmered in a sky colored azure blue like the Pacific Ocean.

  ‘Are we going to make it?’ she asked at length.

  ‘I’m doing my best,’ he replied gruffly.

  She looked askance at him. ‘Are you mad at me, Aaron?’

  She could not blame him if he was. She had spoiled the mood by keeping him waiting and by snapping at him.

  ‘No, I should have kept better track of time,’ he said, unjustly taking the blame and not wanting to create a scene.

  ‘I had to find another pair of shoes in the attic,’ she explained, ‘but the door closed behind me. I was suddenly trapped in the dark, and my imagination started running away with me, as usual.’

  Aaron nodded, seeming to understand. ‘You’re OK now?’

  ‘I think so.’

  He fell silent after that.

  Sharlene stared out the passenger window, immersed in her own thoughts. She clenched the crucifix on her necklace, took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. It was a familiar ritual. Breathe quietly, stay calm, she reminded herself as if it were a mantra, and perhaps her wounds would eventually heal. But no, she told herself for the hundredth time. Her wounds would never heal.

  In the other lane an endless line of cars stood impatiently idling on the hot tarmac. Up ahead must be either roadworks or an accident.

  Aaron took the exit for Los Angeles Airport. Without her being aware of it, they had almost reached their destination. While Aaron steered the car toward the employee parking area, she unzipped her compact cosmetic bag and searched for her lipstick.

  On an impulse, she kept throwing worried glances up at the sky above them. Her next shift was waiting for her on a flight from Los Angeles, California to Sydney, Australia.

  Flight 582.

  TWO

  Pilots

  At 6:35 sharp, Jim Nichols stepped into the Oceans Airways crew center at LAX, shoving his shirttails deeper down his pants. His stomach had started to protrude in recent months, and his uniform was feeling a little snug. He was an hour early, as was his wont. Unlike some of his colleagues who made a sport out of clocking in the minute their shift started, Jim was always early. And today was no exception.

  Even today was no exception.

  Jim had assumed he would be the first crew member to check in, but someone he knew very well was perusing the newspaper while sitting in one of the lounge’s maroon lazy chairs. Upon spotting him, Jim pushed his worries aside and walked toward him with his hand outstretched.

  ‘And here I was thinking I was the early bird,’ he chirped.

  ‘We both are, I guess,’ the man said solemnly. Dressed in the same navy-blue uniform Jim was wearing, he arose and shook Jim’s hand.

  ‘Everything OK, Ben?’

  ‘Fine. You?’

  Jim sat down without answering the question.

  In his early forties, his hair cut short and dark without a trace of gray, Ben Wright was nearly a head taller than Jim. Not an ounce of fat sullied his lean physique. Today he was serving as the relief pilot who would be taking over from the cockpit crew at set intervals. Jim flew with Ben frequently, as well as with Greg Huffstutter, t
he copilot on this flight.

  Oceans Airways was a smaller company than Delta Airlines, where Jim had launched his career. At Delta it was not uncommon for crew members to meet each other for the first time during a flight. On some flights, Jim was well underway toward his destination before he determined whether or not he liked a fellow crew member.

  At Oceans, Jim knew most of his co-workers. He had long ago pegged Ben and Greg as thorough and dependable professionals. Ben tended to be down-to-earth and candid, while Greg could sometimes be a little obstinate. But he too was a kindly soul.

  ‘So, what have you been doing with yourself these last few days?’ Jim asked.

  Ben shrugged. ‘Nothing much. I had a cold. Must’ve left the air conditioner on for too long.’

  He coughed as if to prove his diagnosis. ‘So I stayed home most of the time and caught up on some reading. You?’

  Jim paused a moment to choose his words carefully. ‘I’ve been working in the garden. Jody was mighty pleased.’

  Ben gave him an amused grin. ‘Were you?’

  Jim chuckled with him. ‘Oh, you know, maybe it’ll grow on me someday.’

  ‘Have you given anymore thought to … Well, you know.’

  Jim did know what Ben was referring to. He had confided in Ben several months earlier, and that may have been a mistake. Ben didn’t need to know everything.

  Least of all about the last few hours.

  That was something best kept to himself.

  ‘Well, it’s been on my mind a lot,’ he said vaguely. ‘But I haven’t made a decision yet. I know I’ll have to soon, though. I can’t keep postponing it forever.’

  The grin disappeared from Ben’s face. ‘If you need someone to talk to, I’m your man.’

  ‘Thank you, Ben. I’ll keep that in mind.’

  ‘I’m serious, Jim.’

  Jim pushed his unease away and slapped his colleague on the shoulder. ‘Believe me, Ben, if I need advice, I know where to find it.’

  In the crew center Jim fetched the flight plan from a dispatcher – the airport’s ground crew – and sat down beside Ben. He checked the weather and other current information for their departure airport LAX and arrival airport SYD – Sydney Kingsford Smith International – and also for Canberra, their alternate airport located thirty minutes from Sydney by air.

  Their estimated flying time was thirteen hours and thirty-eight minutes, with a theoretical fuel burn of 324,024 pounds. They would carry more than that on board, of course: they needed extra fuel to reach their alternate airport in case for any reason they were unable to land in Sydney, and they needed enough fuel to keep flying for at least another thirty minutes should they need to circle an airport before they were permitted to land. In addition, a specific quantity of spare fuel was mandatory. In sum, his calculations amounted to an FOB – fuel on board – estimate of 361,703 pounds. Later, in the cockpit, he would be able to adjust variables based on these estimates after he had seen the actual payload. If they took on more or less weight than expected, they would need to make a correction in their fuel consumption projections.

  Jim studied weather reports for his route. Everything looked in order. Wind directions and velocities indicated a favorable jet stream, something any airline appreciated since it meant less fuel consumption and therefore lower fuel expense – an increasing concern for all airlines. His one concern upon final review of the various reports was a rather large stationary storm front hovering between Tahiti and the Cook Islands. An unusual phenomenon for this time of year, and one that could cause considerable turbulence.

  As Jim leafed through the flight plan, other crew members started coming in and going about their business. For intercontinental flights they had ninety minutes preparation time, and every second counted. The airline gave them time to do what needed to be done, without much wiggle room.

  Around 7:15 all sixteen members of the crew were assembled in Oceans Airways’ crew center at LAX, except for Greg Huffstutter. Sharlene Thier smiled when Jim’s eyes met hers. Jim knew her better than anyone else present, save for Aaron, and he had heard through the grapevine that she and Aaron had become an item. He shook her hand first, then welcomed the others, who introduced themselves. Some faces Jim recognized, others he did not. He may have flown with them before but there were many more flight attendants than pilots, and cabin crews normally suffered a large turnover.

  Aaron Drake finished the introductions assisted by Sharlene, who as assistant purser was responsible for Tourist Class. Jim had a tendency to call the purser chef de cabine, as they did in French airlines. To him, it was a classier-sounding title.

  As required by flight protocol, Aaron and Sharlene then discussed the service and rotation system with the cabin crew and reviewed the so-called ‘disaster scenario,’ agreeing on who would manage which exit in case of an emergency. After the briefing, Jim took time to chat with Sharlene.

  Greg Huffstutter was last to arrive, which was unlike him. He had been stuck in traffic, he explained apologetically. Ever since he had received his pilot’s license two decades ago and was hired by Oceans Airways, he had been as dependable as Old Faithful. He had his routines, from which he never deviated. Greg did not like change, it was as simple as that. Maybe, his co-workers conjectured, that was why he had remained single. Now in his fifties, he no longer anticipated meeting the right woman. It didn’t matter to Greg, Jim knew. His copilot had a passion for Superman, Batman, Spiderman, the Fantastic Four, and other superheroes. He was addicted to comic books and his attic was crammed with thousands of boxes full of them, collected since early childhood. Ben, one of the few people who did not get along famously with Greg, called them ‘fairy tales’ and had asked him once when he planned to finally grow up. Greg had responded that everyone had some kind of idiosyncrasy, and there was no need to worry until and unless you acquired more than one.

  Jim warmly greeted his partner on this flight. The last time they had been inside a cockpit together had been two weeks prior, during a flight from LAX to Bangkok. On that flight, Greg had served as commander and Jim as copilot.

  ‘Well, Australia awaits,’ Greg said. ‘No matter how often I go there, I can’t get enough of the place.’

  ‘Isn’t that the truth?’ Jim said with a smile.

  And it’s far, far away from my problems, he added to himself.

  Aaron had parked his Chevrolet Malibu and he and Sharlene had hurried into the terminal building together. Inside, after going through security, they hurried on to the crew center.

  The first person Sharlene saw was Jim Nichols, and when she did, her eyes lit up.

  Life is a congruence of coincidences, and her friendship with the captain was evidence of that. After one of her first flights with Oceans Airways, long before Aaron had entered her life, Jim had approached her in a hotel bar in Singapore. Neither of them had viewed the encounter as another episode in the never-ending love sagas involving an airline pilot and an attractive, single flight attendant. All they had done that evening was talk, which had been therapeutic for her. Maybe she owed it to Jim and to that night in Singapore that she hadn’t immediately quit her new career as a flight attendant. What would her life have been like if she had? It would probably have remained cheerless, and she would never have met Aaron.

  She shook Jim’s hand and chatted with a few co-workers. The crew briefing was a routine matter and she felt herself calming down, largely because she was working and had other things to occupy her mind. After the briefing, Jim approached her again.

  ‘It’s been a while since we flew together, Sharlene.’

  ‘A couple of weeks,’ she agreed.

  ‘You’re radiant,’ he said, nodding toward Aaron, who was talking to a crew member named Jessica Orrigo.

  She blushed prettily.

  Jim grinned, but Sharlene noticed that the circles beneath his eyes had darkened since their last flight together. He looked tired, worn down by something or someone. When Greg Huffstutter entered the roo
m, Jim turned his attention to him.

  Aaron finished his conversation with Jessica and walked over to Sharlene. ‘Thank goodness!’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m glad to see you smile again.’

  ‘Like I told you, I was just nervous because I locked myself in the attic. I’m fine now.’

  He grinned in relief. ‘Everything’s going to be fine in the end, you’ll see.’

  That was typical of Aaron, Sharlene mused. He always thought everything would turn out all right. If only she could feel that way.

  Although she managed to be the flawless, smiling, friendly assistant purser, the feeling that she should not be flying today persisted, shadowing her like an ominous squall hovering on a distant horizon.

  But she had a job to do, and there was no going back.

  THREE

  Passengers

  As the evening sun faded over LAX, the heat became more bearable. But the still air, suffused with kerosene fumes and other toxic cast-offs, remained damp and clammy. Taxis, shuttle buses, limousines, and cars drove on and off the gray, desiccated tarmac outside the Oceans Airways terminal.

  Inside, long lines formed before each of the three counters that had opened. The check-in procedure was slow, since suitcases needed to be checked one by one before being set upon the conveyor belt taking them out to the loading dock. Carry-on luggage went through a similar screening process. Security staff kept an eagle eye out for anyone acting suspicious. Today there was a disturbance caused by one of the last passengers to arrive. His name was Joe Tremain.

  At five foot two, Joe was a small man who had endured any number of disparaging nicknames: leprechaun, toddler, midget, hobbit, and Shorty, to name but a few.

  The only thing big about him was his mouth, and he used it to compensate for his pint-sized appearance. His big mouth had landed him his first job as an assistant buyer, where he was on the phone all day, mouthing off to everyone, and no one needed to see his diminutive size. Later, he moved into telemarketing, another job at which he was successful. Years later, after Joe launched his own thriving business, he started receiving what had always eluded him: respect. Today, more than two hundred people worked for him.