by L. T. Ryan
Cycling through the browser tabs, he noticed that all of the news sites had a report stating all air travel had been suspended. Scanning the articles provided him with no additional information. He had no idea when the ban went into effect or how it affected those in the air. They’d have to land, he knew that. But where? Closest airport available or original destination?
He dialed into his voicemail again and listened to Kathy’s message one more time. She’d failed to mention times associated with her flights. All he could do was wait for her next call.
He alt-tabbed until he reached Turk’s secure server. He typed a message. “Hello?” No one responded. Sean tapped on his keyboard.
“Everything okay, Dad?”
“Huh?” he looked back over his shoulder. “Everything’s fine.”
“All right,” she said. “You’re breathing really heavy, though.”
He hadn’t noticed. The stress of not knowing where his wife was at that time left him in a state of anxiety. He closed his eyes while clenching and releasing his major muscle groups. As he relaxed the muscles, the tension lifted. He followed it up with several deep breaths. Upon opening his eyes, he found that someone had replied.
“Ryder? That you?” the message on the screen said.
“Ten-four.”
“It’s Turk.”
Sean’s moment of relief was fractured by the following message.
“Look, a situation arose and I had to leave the airport. I didn’t see your wife. If she’s still coming in…”
“What?” Sean’s fingers pounded against the keyboard.
“She’ll have to fend for herself tonight.”
Sean’s hands hovered over the keys, but he didn’t type a response. What could he say? Forget your own safety, Turk, and protect my wife? He couldn’t do that. The man had his own people to take care of.
“Did you give her coordinates to my place?” Turk asked.
Sean typed, “No, I didn’t. I told her you’d meet her at the airport.”
“Look, she’s not the only one. There were another six people I was supposed to pick up. If you’ve got a picture you can scan and send, do so. I’ll send that to their phones and they’ll take care of her until I can get there in the morning. Give me her number, and send her mine, too.”
Sean typed okay, but did not hit send. He tried to think of anything else he could say that might encourage Turk to take action sooner.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Turk said. “I can’t do it. Not tonight. I’ll explain later. First, I have to make sure there were no consequences from earlier.”
This time Sean responded. “Okay, Turk. Let me know ASAP.” He finished by relaying her contact information and then sending a digital photograph of her he had stored on the computer. He had pictures of all of them, already prepared with height, weight, hair and eye color, date of birth and contact information.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around. Barbara stood behind him. Her eyes glistened. Her gaze was fixed on Kathy’s picture.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
Sean nodded, rose, cleared his throat, and said, “Everything is fine.”
She dragged her fingertip across the bottom of her eyelids as though she was wiping bitter raindrops away.
Sean reached for her and pulled her close. “She’s a tough woman. She’ll be all right.”
The first part he knew to be truth. The second part he had to force himself to believe.
Eight
Hurried travelers filled the terminal. Some climbed over rows of seats at each gate. Where were they all going? A chill ran down Kathy’s back. Was someone sick in the terminal? What if rioters had taken hold of the airport? She almost preferred it to be the latter. While she would never consider herself even a second-rate survivalist, Kathy was more than equipped to handle herself. She’d been studying Krav Maga, albeit sporadically, since she’d started dating Sean.
She grabbed a woman dressed in blue pants, a white shirt, and a vest that had a patch with the CVG logo on it. The woman swatted at Kathy’s hands as if they were giant mosquitoes. Kathy refused to let go.
“What do you want?” the woman said.
“What’s going on? Why is everyone panicked?”
“We’re shut down, lady.”
“What?”
“The airport is shut down. No flights leaving. The ones coming in now are the last to arrive. And it’s not just us. The whole country is on lock down.”
Kathy tried to speak, but her mouth only opened and closed, like a fish on land gasping for water.
“Let go of me now,” the woman said.
Kathy released her grip and took a step back. She had to find a way out, a way that the other travelers were not aware of. She hopped up on a chair and looked for the woman who she had just been speaking with. She spotted her. Kathy climbed over a few rows of chairs until she caught up to the lady. She merged into the crowd, a body length behind the woman, and followed her through the terminal.
Kathy weaved her way through the crowd in an effort to stay close to the woman. She knew there had to be a way out, a separate entrance and exit for employees only. Perhaps even a parking garage solely for those who worked at the airport.
After a few minutes of jostling for position, she now walked a few feet behind the lady. The woman spoke frantically into the radio she white-knuckled, rarely lowering the device from her face. The woman stopped and waited for a gap in the stream of traffic. She found her opening and darted forward, heading toward the door labeled “Employees Only.”
Kathy didn’t bother to wait for an opening in the crowd. She lowered her shoulder and bumped and pushed her way through. She reached the door a moment before it would have shut. Her hand was on the knob. It had no give. She’d have been locked out. She only hesitated for a few seconds before pushing it open.
The transition from the terminal to the hall she stood in was like stepping into a dark movie theater after standing in the bright parking lot. She leaned back against the door and felt it latch. After a few seconds, her eyes adapted to the darkness.
A hallway extended in front of her. There were two doors on the right hand wall. A railing ran along the left. At the end of the hall, she saw the stairs leading down. She checked the knobs as she passed. The first was locked. The second wasn’t. She cracked it open enough to hear voices, and then eased it shut again. She continued on. The area at the end smelled like mildew. She looked down at the carpet, noting the mold in the corner.
She slowly descended the stairs. No matter how much care she took in setting her foot down, her steps echoed. After six steps, she bent over and caught a glimpse of the next level. It was a wide hallway illuminated by fluorescent bulbs, half of which were blinking or out altogether. There was enough light for her to see that the corridor was deserted.
She took the remaining stairs quickly, ignoring the extra noise she produced. Stale, hot air hung in the hall. It felt like she was inside a jetway. A sign designed like an arrow, pointing to the right, read “Garage.” She headed in that direction, increasing her pace to a jog.
She passed several doors and windows, but did not stop to investigate. She did not even turn her head to get a glance inside the rooms. What would be the point? Kathy was a realist, and the realist in her told her that no one was going to help her out.
Kathy and Sean had once taken a trip to Indianapolis for a football game. They had to drive through Cincinnati to get there. It had taken close to seven hours to reach the city from Roanoke. That was too far to walk, and she felt certain that hitchhiking would be out of the question. She needed a car.
When she reached the garage, she found the door to be locked. She cursed as she balled up her fists and banged them against the door, which had a narrow, vertical window close to the handle. She figured all she had to do was break that window, and she might be able to open the door from the other side. Looking back over her shoulder, she spotted a fire extinguisher mounted to the
wall about twenty feet back. She ran over and grabbed a hold of it. It wouldn’t budge.
“Come on,” she said, pulling as hard as she could.
Tears started to build in her eyes, matching her frustration. She couldn’t be trapped here. She gripped the bottom of the fire extinguisher and lifted up. It slid up and off the mount that secured it to the wall. She was so shocked that she dropped it. It hit the floor with a clanking sound that echoed throughout the hallway.
Kathy braced herself for someone to open a door to see what caused the commotion. Ten seconds passed, then fifteen. No one appeared.
She picked up the fire extinguisher and jogged back to the door that led to the garage. Heaving the heavy metal device over her shoulder, she counted to three, then propelled it forward. The glass shattered upon impact.
She used the fire extinguisher to break away the remaining shards of glass, and then threaded her arm through the opening. Feeling along the door, she found the handle. She wrapped her hand around it and lifted up. It didn’t move. She took a deep breath, held it, and pushed the handle down. It gave way, and the latch clicked free from the frame. She used her knee to crack the door open. The air around her pulled away. A bigger gust blew into her. She inhaled the exhaust-filled air. Freedom never tasted so smoggy. She pulled her arm back through the door. With both hands, she pushed it open about a foot, filled the empty space with her body and waited.
The garage was silent. She figured most of the employees were trapped in the madness upstairs. They’d be down here soon enough, though, so she had to work fast.
She stepped inside the garage, letting the door fall shut behind her. It closed with a satisfying bang. Kathy resisted the urge to find something to lock it and prevent anyone from entering.
They all deserve a chance, she thought.
The parking garage was about a quarter-full. There were all makes of cars, mostly mid- to lower-ranged as far as price went. She started at the far end and began checking each vehicle for a hide-a-key hidden in a wheel well. She found one after five minutes of searching. It was a mid-nineties beat up Honda Civic, half green, half rust. She stopped after she stuck the key into the driver’s side door. It wasn’t a moment of conscience or anything like that. She’d spotted something that would be better in her current situation.
Parked near the exit was a Harley-Davidson Sportster. She and Sean used to ride prior to him losing his leg in Nigeria. They’d sold their bikes before moving to Roanoke, but she was certain she could still operate one.
Kathy jogged over, scanning the entire garage as she did so. She fought with the right saddlebag until she broke the lock. Inside was a spare key and a siphon, which would come in handy when the Sportster’s small gas tank neared empty. She’d have to siphon gas from a left-behind vehicle at least once, possibly twice.
“Dumb freaking luck,” she muttered.
Instead of calculating the odds of finding two vehicles with keys, she stashed her bag inside the open saddlebag and straddled the motorcycle. She started it, used her feet to back out and then headed toward the exit.
The unmanned booth provided little obstacle for her. She realized that would not have been the case had she taken the beat up Honda. She threaded past the orange and white lifting gate, which had been stuck in the down position.
She approached a stop sign with no idea which way to turn. And it didn’t matter. She only had to get going. Any gas station would have a map she could buy, assuming she could find an open store. She glanced around. The area was empty. She pulled out her cell phone. It didn’t have a signal, but that didn’t matter. It came equipped with a map of the United States. She pulled up the map app, and panned and scanned until she found Cincinnati. A quick search centered the map on the airport. Near enough to her position, she figured. I-275 was close.
After studying the map, she saw she had two choices. Either follow 275 around Cincinnati and then take Highway 9 across Kentucky and into West Virginia where she’d pick up I-64, or she could take I-75 straight south and pick up 64 in Lexington, Kentucky. She figured that more people were liable to be on I-75 than on Highway 9. That had its pros and cons, of course. If she became stranded, more people might be a benefit. Or it could be a hindrance, depending on their intentions.
She decided on the more direct route, Highway 9, and set off toward it. If all went well, she’d be home in about seven hours.
But the way this trip had gone, she didn’t count on that happening.
Nine
Addison awoke to a still and quiet apartment. The fan didn’t blow down at her forehead like normal. She glanced over at her iPod dock. The usual large bluish numbers were not present. She tugged on the cord, feeling it tighten, but not give as it remained plugged into the power outlet. She rose, slid off the bed and walked to her window. Pulling back the drapes, she saw complete darkness beyond the walls of her bedroom. White dots bounced along the parking lot. Cones of white light splashed the ground in front of them. She let her drapes fall and crossed her room, where she took her cell phone off her dresser. Turning it on, she used the device as her own flashlight.
She grabbed the door handle and turned it slowly. Exercising caution, she opened the door a crack. The soft glow of fire lit the hallway near the entrance to the living room.
“Carla?” she said to no response. She slipped out of her room and took a few steps down the hall. “Carla, are you in there?”
She received a moan this time.
A lump formed in Addison’s throat. She swallowed hard and continued on. Why hadn’t she grabbed the messenger bag or at least one of the guns? She had forgotten about them until a moment ago.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Carla moaned louder. Addison figured the woman had drank and smoked too much and now paid the price. Or worse, not everyone had left. Someone had stayed behind and attacked her roommate. Although, if that had happened, why had they left her alone?
Addison peeked around the corner. The front door was closed and locked, the security bolt engaged. All of the curtains were drawn. Several candles had been lit and placed on the kitchen table and on the coffee table. Carla’s right foot rested dangerously close to one of them.
She reached down to shake the woman. Her hand grabbed a hold of Carla’s sweat soaked shirt and retreated back like a snake coiling. Carla groaned while her eyelids fluttered. Addison took a deep breath, calming herself. She reached down again and placed the back of her hand against her roommate’s forehead. It burned as hot as if she had placed her hand a few inches over one of the candles.
“You’re burning up,” she said.
Carla nodded but said nothing.
Addison went into the kitchen. She pulled down a few pill bottles and found the one labeled fever reducer. Shaking the bottle, she realized there were only a few pills left. She grabbed the faucet and turned it. Fortunately, the water still worked. She filled a glass, and brought it and two pills to Carla.
“Take this,” she said.
Carla shifted from her side to her back. She stared up at Addison. Her mouth was parted. From three feet away, Addison could smell the foul stench of the woman’s breath.
“Go on,” Addison said, holding out the glass and pills.
Carla reached up and Addison placed the pills in the palm of the woman’s hand. She waited until Carla had a secure grip on the glass before letting it go.
“When did you start feeling bad?” Addison asked.
“During the party,” Carla replied. “Maybe an hour before you got home I had a slight headache. By the time you got here, it felt like my brain was splitting in two. I figured it was from the beer and the weed, but this is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I’m hot, then cold. Sweating and freezing at the same time.” She took another drink from the glass. A second later she coughed and about half of the fluid came back up.
Addison stepped back. “We should get you in your own bed. Can you stand?”
Carla rose from the couch. The process
was excruciatingly slow. Addison could have assisted, but she didn’t want to be puked on by a roommate she disliked. As Carla rounded the couch, she stumbled. Addison’s instincts forced her to reach out, grabbing a hold of Carla’s elbow and saving her from tumbling to the ground.
“Thanks,” her roommate said in a raspy voice.
“Come on, to bed.” Addison guided Carla toward the woman’s bedroom. She planned on stopping at the door, but continued inside and helped her roommate into bed.
“More water,” Carla said.
Addison left the room and filled up two large plastic mugs with water. Both had lids and straws. She figured they’d create the least amount of mess. Exiting the room, she swiped the light switch off. If the power came back on, she didn’t want the light to wake up Carla. She closed the door behind her and walked to the kitchen to look for something to eat. There wasn’t much. The scavengers her roommate had let into the apartment had done a good job of eating almost everything. She found a single pack of dried noodles. A lot of good that would do her without power to heat the water.
She grabbed a coffee mug, filled it with cold water, and dumped in the contents of the pouch. Food was food, she told herself. Hot or cold didn’t matter. It sure as hell wouldn’t matter if the world kept on this crazy path it had taken over the past twelve hours. She sat down at the table and stuffed her mouth full of cold noodles. Her back was to the door, leaving her feeling uncomfortable. She rose, went to her bedroom and grabbed the messenger bag, lifting the strap over her head and onto her shoulder. She returned to the kitchen table, where her half-eaten mug of food waited. As she sat down, the lights flicked back on.