by Rand, Thonas
Snap!
The chain link of the handcuffs broke…
The thing was on its feet…
Staring at Mark in a sprint…
His eyes widened in fear. “Oh God,” Mark muttered his last words.
Jimmy was in the cockpit by himself and was at a loss of what to do. “Call it in and tell them that the captain was attacked by a passenger and then what?” he asked himself. “Okay, just do it, Jimmy.” He adjusted his headset and microphone, reached for the radio controls, but stopped when he heard a soft thud sound. He took off his headset and heard someone knock on the cockpit door. Jimmy looked at the door monitor and saw the captain standing there.
“Captain!” he said aloud.
He heard him knock again.
Jimmy turned to open the door.
He didn’t realize that the knock was actually the captain’s body banging against the door.
He unlocked the door and opened it. “Did you forget the door code?”
It wasn’t the captain that stood before him…
“Captain?”
His discolored eyes didn’t see Jimmy…
“Are you alright?”
It only saw an answer to feed…
He didn’t understand when the captain attacked him, so violently, that they crashed against the instrument panel as it jumped on top of him with such force, that its legs flew up and kicked the cockpit door shut.
Jimmy’s muffled cries of pain were barely heard through the closed door…
Charlie struggled to get by scared passengers that ran in the opposite direction, and then he came upon a sight that he couldn’t fathom—Peter and Elizabeth, who he could barely recognize—were eating the flesh of the air marshal that they had killed. George’s head was lying backwards toward the floor, and his dead, open eyes stared at Charlie upside-down. “Jesus!” Charlie said in disgust.
Elizabeth heard him, and it came at him to kill…
Karen was overwhelmed by the anxious passengers that didn’t listen to her and wouldn’t calm down, mainly because she wasn’t calm herself; she was more in a frenzy than they were—“Please, I need all of you to get back in your seats and fasten your seat belts!” she demanded.
“Where’s the captain?” one passenger asked.
“He’s unavailable right now!” Karen answered.
“Is the plane going to crash?” another passenger shouted.
“Shouldn’t there be an air marshal to handle this?” another one said.
Karen couldn’t take anymore, so she turned around and left them.
“Where do you think you’re going?” one asked angrily.
She ignored them and went through the privacy screens back to the first class section, when she walked in, she said. “Mark, I need your help—”
He wasn’t there, no one was, and then she heard something on the other side of the cabin, a strange noise. She walked over to the other aisle slowly and peered over—the freed handcuffed creature was hunched over Mark, it had torn his chest and stomach open and was devouring his intestines—Karen wanted to scream but she clasped her hand over her mouth and let her eyes scream in terror—it didn’t know that she was there and she started to back away. Mark was still alive as his arms flailed in reflex, and then he raised his head and looked at Karen.
They weren’t Mark’s eyes anymore…
It roared at her, and then the other one turned and saw Karen. It immediately ran after her. She shouted in fear and ran back to business class; she tore through the privacy screens and then pushed her way past passengers, knocking some of them down. They didn’t know what was happening and then the creature came through the torn screens. It quickly forgot about Karen as it attacked the closest passenger. Newly dead Mark came in on the other aisle and began to attack people. Passengers ran for their lives, some tried to fight them, but they were too strong and vicious, biting and clawing at anyone within their reach.
It was pandemonium.
Paul’s face was pressed hard against the headrest of his seat as he fearfully peered at what Charlie faced a few feet away—the dead girl ran at him quickly, her eyes were ferociously wide, and it startled Charlie so much that he turned and fled. He ran by, and Paul saw the wild girl coming his way, so he ducked and slid down to the floor of his seat and pressed his back against the window in hopes of not being seen. It ran by but stopped. It saw Paul and came straight at him, he shouted in fear as her rancid face lunged at his.
“Get away from me!” he shouted.
He kicked her hard, breaking her jaw, but she kept coming at him, screaming madly in a distorted broken jaw howl. Paul kicked her again, and she fell facedown in front of him. He raised his boot over her head and brought his heel down on the back of her skull with everything he had. Bone cracked. It still tried to bite him, so he rammed her head many times until his boot and pant leg were blood-soaked. He crushed her head to a pile of flattened skull. “Jesus, almighty!” he spat out.
He looked over his seat at what was going on—passengers were running madly from those things, whatever they were, and there were more of them now—people that were once normal, were now insane creatures that were killing and…he couldn’t believe what he was seeing…they were eating the people that they killed. This made no sense. This was madness. Paul saw George’s body a few seats down from him. His body was sprawled across a row of seats, his neck and chest torn to shreds, quarts of his blood were painted all over him, the seats, and the floor. He was dead. Paul scanned his eyes around the body, searching for something, but he didn’t see what he looked for—
George’s gun.
Something moved…
Paul looked closely…
George’s body moved…
The corpse’s eyes blinked…
Paul couldn’t comprehend it…
George rose to his feet…
Paul gasped as he watched George roar madly with freakish colored eyes, and then he chased after a passenger. He, it, caught the young girl and bit into the top of her scalp. She screeched in agony as most of her hair was ripped off. The girl’s father tried to protect her, but the thing that was George attacked and killed him as well. The mother was next.
Paul had to get away from this, but there was nowhere to go; he had to go somewhere, couldn’t just sit there and wait to be killed. Against scared judgment, he took off toward the front of the plane where Charlie went.
“What the fuck is happening?!” Jeffrey shouted at Charlie.
Charlie didn’t hear him; he was too busy going through drawers looking for anything that he could use as a weapon. He didn’t find anything of use and then he saw a fire extinguisher. He grabbed it, felt its weight; it would have to do.
“Did you hear me?” Jeffrey said.
“Yes, I heard you. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but arm yourselves with anything that you can find. Any passengers try to attack you, kill them,” he said in cold seriousness.
“Why? Why are they attacking people?” Richard asked nervously.
“I don’t know why, but I saw a man that was dead get back up and attack the captain.” Charlie looked where the captain’s body was lying—it was gone. “Where’s the captain’s body?”
“How the hell should we know, maybe he’s flying the plane!” Jeffrey said frustrated.
Charlie looked at the carpet and saw a blood trail leading to the cockpit door, he moved toward the door and then Paul got there.
“What are we going to do?” Paul asked them.
Charlie raised his hand for him to be quiet as he approached the cockpit door. He listened but didn’t hear anything.
“Jimmy, it’s me, open the door,” he said to the camera at the top of the door.
Nothing happened.
“Jimmy?”
Nothing.
Charlie gripped the fire extinguisher tightly and got ready as he reached for the keypad by the door.
He typed in the code…
The door mechanism unlocked…
H
e grabbed the latch and opened the door…
Shock burned their eyes…
The outsides of the windows were slicked in streams of the atmosphere as the jetliner cut through the thinning night; dawn was near. Lightning flickered miles away, and it illuminated the cockpit slightly and revealed its raw humanity…
It was coated in blood.
Some of the instrument panels were damaged from the fight—alarm lights were flashing red, in tune with audible alarms that wailed—up against the front instrument panel, was the captain, he was on top of Jimmy, who was dead. The undead captain was consuming his flesh piece by piece from his exposed ribcage. It was clawing underneath the ribs for the meaty organs.
“Fucking hell!” Richard cried.
The captain turned, grinded its teeth, snarled, and then jumped for them.
Charlie slammed the door shut. “Goddamnit!”
The door locked, and the captain began to pound and slam his body on the door to get out.
“We’re fucked!” Jeffrey said.
A corpse appeared out of nowhere from behind them and attacked; Charlie was quick and bashed the thing in the chest. It staggered back against a wall and came back at them.
“Bash its head!” Paul ordered.
Charlie slammed the heavy extinguisher on the thing’s head, breaking its skull wide open, and it dropped dead, permanently.
“I saw the air marshal shoot one of those things twice in the chest and it didn’t die,” Paul said.
“Where is the goddamn air marshal?” Jeffrey wanted to know.
“He’s dead,” Charlie answered.
“Not anymore; he’s one of them now.” Paul said.
Other groups of passengers got to them and they were fighting off the undead in a running battle with anything they had—food trays, bottles of alcohol, luggage, anything—many of the passengers were wounded, bit, scratched, and they didn’t look good.
They were going to turn…
Soon.
Charlie got close to Paul, Jeffrey, and Richard. “Listen to me, it’s obvious that if one of those things bites or scratches you, then you will become one of them.”
“How’s that possible?” Paul asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s happening all around us,” Charlie answered. “You have to protect yourselves.”
“How? We don’t have any real weapons,” Jeffrey said.
Charlie reiterated, “I already told you, use whatever you can find!”
“We have nowhere safe to go on this plane!” Paul said.
Charlie thought hard. “At the flight attendant station in the center of the plane on this deck is where they keep all the food carts and other equipment—“
“—You want us to have dinner?” Richard said.
“No, you fool!” Charlie shouted. “Didn’t they teach you anything in the Army? If you can make it there, use the carts and anything else that’s large to block the aisles at the stations; they’re the tightest choke points. If you can block off the aisles, you can make a stand.”
“You didn’t include yourself in that plan, where are you going?” Paul said.
“My wife, I have to find her. I haven’t seen her down here, so she must be somewhere on the upper deck.”
“Let’s do it, then!” Jeffrey was ready, and he looked to the other passengers that were there. “Listen! We’re going to the central food station to use the food carts and anything heavy to block off the cabin so those bloody things can get at us! We have a better chance if we stick together!” he said, then with Richard led the way.
Paul was about to go with them. “Good luck,” he told Charlie.
Charlie grabbed him by the arm. “Keep an eye on the passengers that have been bitten; you know what’s going to happen, don’t turn your back on them.”
“I know,” Paul said. “We’re going to crash anyway, right?”
“Not if I can help it. After I find my wife, I’m going to get in the cockpit and land this monstrosity.”
“Be careful.”
“Right. You, too.”
Paul left and Charlie, reluctantly, went upstairs.
Paul came by a bar and grabbed a heavy bottle of alcohol to use as a club. He saw Jeffrey and Richard leading the group up ahead; they were fighting many of the undead, and the group was pushing them back. Two passengers used a food cart like a battering ram to hold the things off and others bashed in brains with fire extinguishers, heavy drawers, whatever they could use as weapons. Paul joined the fight with a rage and began killing anything dead that he could reach.
Blood and brain matter splattered everywhere.
Including those of the living.
It was a bloodbath…
Charlie was immediately confronted by the turmoil when he reached the top of the staircase. Two corpses attacked him; he kicked one away and busted the other’s head open. The other attacked again, and he gave it the same treatment as the first. The upper deck was just as bad as below—the undead were attacking anyone they could, while groups of the living fought them off. Many of the dead were being destroyed, but at the same time, multitudes of passengers were being killed, scratched, bitten or maimed.
Blood, bodies and body parts littered the aisles.
“Suzanne!” Charlie called out.
He didn’t get a response, and she probably couldn’t hear him because of the dark music of the dead and dying orchestra. Charlie moved ahead, and the aisle felt soft to his feet; he realized that he was walking on bodies, some were undead that had been destroyed and some were passengers that the corpses had killed. One dead passenger suddenly awoke as an undead under Charlie’s feet and grabbed him, it was scratching at his legs and tried to pull him down. Charlie recognized his attacker as the old pilot that he greeted upon boarding. Now he was a filthy undead creature trying to kill him. He stomped on its head repeatedly until it was mashed pulp. “Die, goddamn you!” He scanned the brutality for his wife. “Suzanne!” he screamed.
A dead woman attacked him, but it wasn’t his Suzanne, so he bashed its face in. Charlie tore his way to the second business class cabin and that’s when he saw her—Karen was huddled over a body like a demon, and she was eating at it with the intensity of a starving dog, her mutated, dead eyes darted back and forth, looking for more to kill—Charlie couldn’t see the person Karen had killed, but he saw the shoes, woman’s shoes…he recognized them.
“No!” he screamed and broke out into a run.
He assaulted his way through four of the dead to get to Karen; it saw him coming and abandoned its kill to attack. He screamed in anger, lifted the fire extinguisher over his head, and threw it at her like an ax; it spun wildly and hit the dead woman square in the face with crushing force. It fell back and hit the floor defeated.
Charlie got to the body with the shoes that he recognized and it was his wife—Suzanne—and she was dead.
Tears filled his eyes. “Suzie?”
He gently picked her up and hugged her tightly; his cheek was pressed against hers and his tears fell on her gray skin.
“No, Suzie, please, wake up. Wake up!” he cried but she didn’t.
A dead man attacked him from behind and bit into his shoulder, Charlie dropped his wife, spun around and punched the thing in the face, it fell back, and Charlie jumped on top of it and punched its face many times until it was destroyed, he was covered in its blood.
He got up and turned to where he dropped Suzanne—
She was standing right in front of him, face-to-face.
“Suzie?” he beckoned.
She stared at him through milky eyes, and it seemed that there was recognition, for just a moment, the expression on her face was almost of affection.
“Suzie, it’s me. Your Charlie.”
She slowly reached up and touched his face, a near caress—
And then she attacked him without warning, growling madly…
The smell of blood was thick, along with urine and feces; it was pungent to the point of suffoca
tion, and the sounds—the sounds that filled the plane were as if a tornado barreled through, but instead of wind and hurling debris it was screams of terror, howls of rage, groans of the dying, and roars of the reanimated that were the piecing knifepoint of destruction.
Paul, Jeffrey, Richard, and a couple dozen other passengers had managed to block off both ends of the middle cabin that they were in. Four separate barricades of food carts and equipment stacked up in the aisles. Jeffrey had a food cart over his head and was about to plug the last hole in his aisle as Richard and other passengers fought off the undead that tried to crawl through the gap to get in, but they killed them. It was clear for Jeffrey to seal up the hole, but he stopped when he saw a young woman running for her life from a group of undead on the other side. He dropped the cart to help her. “Come on, girl, run!” he shouted.
Jeffrey reached through the hole for her and she made it, he grabbed her hands and pulled, but three corpses got a hold of her legs.
“Please, don’t let go!” she cried out to him.
Jeffrey pulled with all his might, but the dead stenches wouldn’t let her go, and then they tore into her skin, tearing her flesh apart.
“You fucking bastards!” Jeffrey screamed but he wouldn’t let her go.
The dead tore at her waist, ripping off her pants, their discolored nails cracked and some broke off as they dug into her buttocks, tearing the flesh down her legs to the bone. Her screams were deafening, and she was beyond help, Jeffrey had no choice but let go. Several of them brought her down and enveloped their meal.
Jeffrey got the cart, plugged the hole and leaned against it. “You fucking bastards.” He said in out of breath anger.
People manned all four of the barricades—they needed to physically hold the carts and equipment from the undead that tried to force their way in—they had some of the carts tied together, but they only had torn material from the seats to use and no actual rope.
Paul spied some of the passengers, many had been bit or scratched and probably most of them had no idea what that meant, and then they did as a loud screech pierced their ranks; a teenage boy that had been bit on the shoulder was now sprinting directly at Paul with the intent to kill him.