Minus America

by E. E. Isherwood

  A few seconds after his reply, the bottom dropped out of their flight path. Emily was thrown three feet in the air and tumbled back to the floor a moment later. The plane jerked like it had been hit with a godly hammer, and soon pointed down.

  Emily landed with relative grace, given the violence of the turbulence, and now was on one knee in the aisle, her skirt stretched to the breaking point.

  The plane went level, then started upward again, like a rollercoaster from hell.

  “I need to buckle up!” she complained.

  “Ma’am! Here!” Ted held out a hand to reel her into his seat. He unbuckled himself to show what he was going to do.

  She briefly looked around like there might be other alternatives, but everyone else was at their duty stations, doing their best to hold things together. He’d been keeping his seat warm, and nothing more. Now he could make a difference, no matter how small.

  “Thank you,” she said as she arrived.

  The plane bucked, and she rammed her hip into the desk, but she slammed into the seat a moment later.

  “Here, buckle this.” He held up the locking mechanism for the restraint belt, which had been hanging off the side of the swivel seat.

  “What about you?” she asked as the plane dropped into an even steeper dive.

  “I’ll hold on. You keep doing what you’re doing!”

  The sounds of the engines overpowered all talk. He recognized the dive as an escape option for whatever threats were out there. The pilot was gaining a lot of speed as fast as possible.

  Emily braced herself on his desk. He had to hold onto the side of her chair while also using the wall to steady himself.

  Oxygen masks dropped from discrete panels on the ceiling.

  The VP looked at him. “Do we need these?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet but know where it is if you need it.”

  The modified aircraft would regulate pressure better than its civilian counterpart, but he wasn’t going to bet her life on it. If it came to it, he would help her into her mask, then do his own.

  Making himself useful was now foremost on his mind, but he wanted to find his phone, too. He wasn’t going to give up trying to reach Kyla.

  The plane came out of the steep dive gradually and evened out. There were no windows in the secure area of the plane, but if there were, he’d see the ocean not far below. He knew the pilot was now low to the deck.

  The engines sprinted wide open. He recognized that, too.

  For several minutes, he and Emily sat in an eerie, jet-fueled limbo, as if expecting a missile to blow them up at any second. The air was bumpier, and the ride was rougher above the waves of the North Atlantic. His teeth rattled in his skull every few seconds as they continued their escape from the scene of the attack.

  After a couple of minutes of steady flight, he thought they might be in the clear.

  “Captain Robertson needs a medal,” he said to cut through the tension.

  She exhaled, then seemed to re-appraise him. “You should know. I’ll be sure he does.”

  He wished it had been him, but, for now, he was simply happy the Air Force had a pro in the seat.

  “We’re clear,” the co-pilot said over the speakers.

  Emily sprang out of her seatbelt like she’d been stung by a bee. She rocked side-to-side, like the plane was still doing evasive maneuvers, though it wasn’t. However, after the initial uncertainty, she tentatively walked the short way to the microphone on the wall.

  “What was all that?” she dryly asked the pilot.

  Ted returned to his seat.

  After a long delay, the pilot came on. The VP had the hand unit facing John, Ted, and the others, so they could all hear the response.

  “Sorry for the rough ride. We were attacked by a surface-to-air missile. We think it came up from a fishing boat, but it could have been a submarine. We are on a vector away from the point of attack, but we are now heading for eastern Canada. When we are clear, we’ll turn back toward Europe.”

  Emily raised the mic to her lips. “Captain, please belay that order. Resume course for Andrews. Take whatever evasive action you must, but get us on that tarmac alive, and I’ll promote you and your whole damned crew.”

  “Understood,” the pilot replied seriously. “We’re headed for Washington.”

  The VP hung up the mic, then walked down the aisle again. She glanced at Ted. “Thanks for offering your seat. You’re a team player, I can see that. Believe me, I know what it’s like to sit on your ass and watch the world go by. You won’t be in that chair forever.”

  She smiled pleasantly for a moment before getting back to the other information desks.

  “Thanks,” he said to her back.

  He found himself impressed with her performance since comms had been lost with the mainland. She didn’t wither in the fury of the missile attack, either. And, if he was being honest with himself, if she wasn’t who she was, he might even be a bit attracted to her.

  His phone caught his eye in the aisle next to his workstation.

  “Kyla!” he thought.

  He leaned over to pick up his phone but found himself glancing up the aisle toward the vice president’s skirt. He maintained his professionalism and averted his eyes, but immediately noticed John Jefferies doing almost the same thing. The other man leaned sideways in order to see ahead. In that crazy moment of coincidence, he wondered if he was checking her out, too.

  Then he saw John’s gun.

  Bonne Terre, MO

  It wasn’t only dark in the mine. It was absolute. Tabby might as well have been wearing a blindfold with a shopping bag over her head for good measure.

  She inhaled, held it, then released the anxiety with her breath.

  As she breathed to keep calm, she patiently waited for the backup generator to kick on. The mine’s electrical system was designed so it didn’t depend entirely on the power grid of the town of Bonne Terre. The gas-powered unit should have been providing light the moment the electricity from the city failed.

  “What the hell?” A small flame came from the wreckage of the elevator. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to illuminate ten or fifteen feet at the elevator’s landing.

  In the confusion, she couldn’t remember if the lift had been going up, filled with kids, or was coming down, empty.

  She crept over to the still-shut gate. Her heart slammed against her ribs because she didn’t want to see a dead body, much less an elevator shaft full of them. However, she was in charge. She had to look.

  As she put her face to the bars of the jailhouse door, someone spoke, seemingly from right next to her face.

  “Empty! Audrey made it out!” Peter’s voice was ecstatic.

  Tabby saw no bodies.

  “How do you know she’s safe?” she asked. It didn’t look like anyone was inside the remains of the elevator car, but she wouldn’t be positive until she was up top with a full head count.

  Peter laughed nervously. “You work here, don’t you listen to the car when it goes up? I heard it get to the top, open its door, then shut it again. This junk is just empty, uh, elevator guts.”

  “Who is Audrey?” Because Peter had never stopped his ham-handed flirting during and after the tour, she assumed he didn’t have a girlfriend back wherever he came from.

  “Oh, a girl I’m crushing on. I have since the sixth grade.” He chuckled. “Now she’s safe up there while we die down here. I’m willing to make the sacrifice.”

  “Whoa, sport. Take a chill pill. No one is dying here.”

  He chuckled. “If you say so. I distinctly remember you saying this mine has but one entrance. I’m assuming this pile of junk is it?”

  She shook her head in dismay. “Yes, but we have safety equipment up top. Dad will call the fire department and they’ll have us out of here in no time.”

  “If you say—”

  Peter tripped over something and fell backward on his butt.

  “Ouch!” he cried out.

&nb
sp; At first, he patted his palms on his pants as if he’d hurt himself, but when he noticed what caused his fall, he scrambled over to it.

  “It’s a girl,” he said with fear ripe in his voice. “And she’s hurt.”

  They both squatted down next to the small-framed student. The black hair was familiar, and once she got near to the girl, she knew it was the same young woman who’d been standing next to her before the elevator crashed.

  Tabby put her finger on the girl’s neck, like they taught her in those first aid classes. Because she was a tour guide, and a SCUBA support person, she had to know how to care for the injured. Nothing this serious had ever taken place in the mine.

  “She’s alive,” Tabby said with relief.

  Peter could barely contain himself. “Thank God! Audrey! Why didn’t you get on the elevator?”

  “Let’s give her a little space,” Tabby said to him with a little sympathy.

  She studied the girl for injuries but didn’t see any. Her legs were easy to check because they were mostly bare. Her red shorts were wildly inappropriate for the chilly mine.

  The girl stirred after a few seconds. “Mom?”

  “No, we’re not her,” Tabby replied. However, that made her realize she needed to get in touch with her own mom and dad. “Peter, make sure she’s okay. I’ll be right back.”

  “I will,” the boy agreed.

  The speaker box was still affixed to the wall, so she trotted over and pressed the button. “We’re fine! The power is out, but no one is hurt.”

  She waited for a response but had no patience. She pressed the button and repeated herself.

  After another brief pause, her patience went down to zero. “Come on! Pick up, dammit!”

  “Where am I?” It was another male voice, distinctly Southern, from the far side of the landing.

  “Hey! Donovan, is that you?” Peter called into the darkness.

  Tabby recalled there were three kids with her when the lights went out. At least she accomplished job one of any tour guide: come back with the same number you started with.

  “Where are we?” the girl asked from her spot on the ground.

  Tabby went over to her. “Are you okay?” She tried to help the girl to her feet, but it took the boy’s added grip to get her all the way up. They both had to steady her for a minute while she recovered.

  “I’m fine,” she eventually replied. “I think I passed out. I’m supposed to check my blood sugar when I get up top. I think I’m due for, you know, another injection.”

  “Diabetes?” Tabby asked matter-of-factly. It was tour guide 101 not to make guests feel bad for their personal challenges, so she hoped mentioning it was okay.

  “Yes,” she said weakly.

  Tabby took a deep breath, then went back to the speaker box. “Dad? Mom? Anyone?”

  Nothing came back, which made her insides feel like jelly. However, she kept herself upbeat when she turned to her new friends. “I’m sorry the lights are off, but at least we can see each other from these little flames.”

  “If I had my phone, I could use the flashlight app.” Peter said it sarcastically. “But Mrs. Pinkle made us turn in all our phones while we were still on the bus.”

  Tabby had been so busy avoiding Peter and his annoying questions the past hour, she’d failed to notice the kids didn’t have any phones out. That was unusual; teachers usually didn’t care.

  She continued. “Light or no, all we have to do is wait here and rescue will come and get us.”

  Tabby coughed for a few seconds, slapping her chest when it got bad. “My oh my. Where did that come from?”

  Probably the fire, she thought. The small flame chipped away at the broken wood floor inside the elevator car. However, it was more than that. A small stream of liquid dripped into the fire from high above.

  Rather than dwell on things she couldn’t control, she reached out and touched each of the three kids, as if to bring them closer.

  “We may be here for a while, so I’m going to go get us some lights.”

  “W-wait a minute—” Peter tried to say, before Tabby interrupted.

  “I’m sure you remember my name from the tour, but I don’t know all of yours.” She sounded upbeat for their sakes.

  “I’m Peter,” the annoying kid said before either of the others.

  “I’m Donovan,” the Southern boy declared sadly. “My momma always calls me Donny.”

  “My name is Audrey,” the black-haired girl added.

  “Oh right,” Tabby thought. The girl Peter said he was crushing on. It didn’t really matter to her in the scheme of things, but she was about to suggest they break one of the cardinal rules of tour leaders. This was only slightly less important than bringing the same number back.

  “Okay, y’all,” Tabby drawled, feeding off Donny’s Southern energy. “We have to split up.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Newport News, VA

  Kyla swiped around on her phone looking for online information about the attack taking place above, but none of the big news sites had anything about it.

  “See anything?” Ben asked.

  “Nothing but the usual politics. Central News just updated this story about the president’s billionth scandal an hour ago. That is the most recent thing they have posted. I—” She froze at the cracking sound from elsewhere in the ship.

  Ben acted like he didn’t hear it.

  “Yeah, I saw the same, but my stupid internet shut down.” Ben tapped his phone, then set it down. The signal strength of their phones went in and out at the best of times while inside the ship. “What are we going to do? What if this is some sort of terrorist attack?” He spoke quieter. “We could get trapped down here…and captured. That would be bad.”

  Ben was a brown-skinned man with wide-set eyes and a high forehead. Kyla would guess he was Italian or Greek, but she’d never asked. They worked together well enough, but their association ended at the gate to the naval base. The only personal information she gave him was about fake boyfriends.

  She put her phone away, acting like she didn’t hear the gunfire, either. “Yeah, well, now you’re making some sense.”

  “So, what are we to do? We’re unarmed. Untrained. And we’ve got no tools beyond our laptops and my spare tire.” Ben patted his bulging stomach poking out from his maroon polo shirt. Kyla was a bit out of shape, too, though lately she’d been walking in the evenings to keep her butt from growing any larger. It didn’t hurt to stay fit when you worked on a ship full of single men.

  Thinking about men reinforced the notion she didn’t want to die inside the ship, either. Not that dying outside would be preferable. Avoiding it altogether was her plan.

  “C’mon. Let’s go.” Kyla bundled up her laptop in its case and hefted the strap over her shoulder. She was going for the exit, but she didn’t want to leave the expensive laptop behind. Whatever else was going on, she’d be fired for losing control of a secure laptop used for nuclear-related programming.

  “Lead the way, young lady,” Ben advised, like he was happy to go, but also happy to have someone in front of him.

  Her stomach turned to mush when she opened the door.

  “We’re screwed,” she blurted out.

  The unmistakable rattle of gunfire seemed to come from everywhere. It was impossible to tell sound direction while in the ship because the vibrations jumped onto the beams and danced in all directions. However, her best guess was that it came from the front of the ship. That was the way the last sailor ran, too.

  She breathed in and out like she was about to do the fifty-yard dash.

  “We go this way.” Kyla pointed, then walked deliberately toward the rear of the vessel. If she thought too hard, she knew she’d go back into the computer room and crawl into a corner.

  They’d gone about fifty feet when they reached a metal stairwell to the upper decks. Kyla stopped and listened for a few seconds but didn’t hear any gunfire close by.

  “After you,” Ben said lik
e it was no big deal.

  “Fine,” she replied. She cinched the laptop strap and started up the steep flight of stairs.

  “This is six,” she said when she reached the landing.

  “Crap. That guy said the upper decks were gone. What do you think we’ll find?”

  Kyla looked back to Ben because there was fear in the man’s voice. “We can do this. Just keep going up. There’s no one around.”

  They went up another level without incident, seeing nothing of note but a wayward uniform shirt hanging off the side of one riser.

  She expected to be relieved the higher she went, but fear gnawed at her gut with each step up. Normally, the stairwells would be filled with sailors going to their duty stations. During a typical drill, it was a model of military efficiency as up and down passed within inches of each other.

  Now it was only the two of them, though more and more uniform shirts and pants had been tossed around the floors. It made her think the laundromat had exploded and blew clothes all over the ship.

  They continued to deck 4 and stood at the foot of the next flight to deck 3. A mess of uniforms had been strewn on the stairs, from top to bottom.

  Kyla hesitated. “I know we should run up and get the hell out of here, but something doesn’t feel right about this. What’s this mess about? Why all the shooting? You think there are really terrorists on board?”

  “What the hell else would it be?”

  Kyla shrugged. “I don’t know. This is a shakedown period. Maybe this is how the Navy shakes down a carrier? Simulate an attack. Tell half the ship to get off. Tell the other half they’re under attack.”

  She’d been on the ship for the past six months and nothing like this had ever been suggested or whispered about. She wasn’t in the Navy, but she spent a lot of time with sailors, as well as with Uncle Ted. He’d told stories. The military had their hazings and secrets, but her contacts in the Navy would have told her to be ready for this.

  “Just keep going up,” she said with less enthusiasm.

  She’d put one foot on the bottom riser when a shape came tumbling down the narrow, clothing-filled stairwell. It wore multi-cam fatigues and sported two big, black boots.