by Chris Hechtl
“Just static,” Ralph said. “Whatever these things are, they are blocking our signal now.”
“Oh that's all we need. Find someone with a camera. Hell, lots of them. I bet the passengers are recording this. Get everyone on it. And I don't give a rat’s ass about not using electronics on the flight,” the pilot said. “We need evidence.”
“I think they are mostly sleeping,” Ralph said. They were the red eye; indeed, most of their passengers were asleep.
“Then let's wake them up,” the pilot said, reaching for the controls to change to the intercom.
“What the hell is that one doing?” The copilot demanded.
The pilot looked up in time to see energy discharge in fat blue bolts from the spinning jellyfish. The others were spinning now, around them in a circle. “Damn, I'm getting dizzy. What the hell are they doing?”
“I dunno, but we're getting energy hits. Lightening of sorts, but so far we're handling it,” Ralph said.
“Skipper, I can't see the sky ahead anymore,” the copilot said urgently. The pilot scowled. He really didn't want to run into one of those things; he wasn't sure what it'd do to his aircraft. Nothing good most likely.
“Radar is going nuts!” The copilot said. “We've got to evade!”
“We can't! They are all around us!” the pilot said, gripping the controls to keep his partner from panicking and sending them into a collision with the wall of glowing flesh.
“Oh shit I think we're going in!!!” The copilot said as a great wall of energy formed in front of the Boeing craft. Instinctively, he raised his left arm to cover his eyes while the right kept a death lock on the yoke.
~~~~~O~~~~~
Some of passengers react to what was going on outside. The reactions were mixed, interest brought on by curiosity and boredom, then panic. Some were cool; others flatly denied what they were seeing and closed the blinds.
Those that did take an interest woke others. People climbed over sleeping bodies to get to the windows. Some fumbled with cameras. Others pointed at the beings. Other passengers were grumpy from being woken up; some turned over to go back to sleep. Kids interested. “Holy crap! UFOs!”
“That's nice dear,” the wife murmured sleepily, eyes still closed. “Don't wake anyone up though,” she murmured.
“Oh hell,” Professor Roy Hinkley breathed, seeing squids. “So, it wasn't a dream,” he murmured thoughtfully, mind racing. So much to regret, he thought. Had he taken it seriously he would have been prepared. He sighed. It was done and over with now. Roy was in his mid-twenties, a junior professor recently graduated from MIT. He'd loved school, more for the learning than for the teaching though. He'd thought about getting a field position somewhere, but couldn't make up his mind. Now his mind had been made up for him.
He was tall, six foot, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes. Average looking people said, but handsome according to his mom. He closed his eyes briefly, thinking of her. She'd take this hard, he thought.
“More like a nightmare,” the potbellied guy said next to him, eyes wide, pale as a ghost. “Oh my God! What are we going to do! They said they were coming for me!”
“You too, huh?” Roy asked, eying the guy. He gulped and nodded. Sweat beaded his brow despite the air conditioning.
“Wait, you…” he turned his head slowly to Roy.
Roy smiled slightly. “Small world,” he answered, buckling himself in.
“Oh shit…” The guy said, shaking. He hastily buckled himself in as well. Roy sighed.
Voices rose in consternation and panic. Then lightening hit the wings and the panic turned to terror. Energy crackled through the frame of the aircraft. Those that had been asleep woke to screaming.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The aircraft went through the portal in a shower of sparks and lightning bolts. The aircraft briefly lost power; the lights went out, even the emergency lights. People screamed in the dark in terror as the aircraft pitched and bucked like a mad thing. The stewardess called out for calm and for everyone to buckle in and prep for a crash landing. The emergency air masks dropped from the overhead, startling some. The plane bucked in the turbulent air.
“Where the hell…what the hell just happened?” the pilot demanded. He turned, wrinkling his nose as Ralph made himself sick behind them. The sickly smell of vomit cut through the air. He had other things to worry about; the aircraft was a dead stick.
“Reboot! Get the generators back online!”
“Number one is back,” the copilot said, flipping switches madly as he had been trained. He looked out the right side to the two Pratt and Whitney engines on his side of the aircraft. “Come on baby…” he prayed.
“Sorry,” Ralph said weakly.
“Don't be sorry; do something!” The copilot snarled.
“On it. Backup generator is online,” Ralph said, voice clearing. The lights flickered and then came on dimly.
“Hey, where did the land go? We were flying over California a second ago, weren't we?” The pilot demanded.
“Yeah, I'm not thrilled about this, Skipper. We need to set this bird down,” the copilot said.
“Right, tower,” the pilot said, hitting the radio. He frowned; it was dead. “Ralph, radio?”
“We're on batteries, generator one, and the backup. We should have something. I wonder if that was an EMP?”
“The flash? Or did we black out?”
“Who cares. Worry about it later,” the copilot said. “Let's let the passengers know and find a spot to land this sucker,” he said anxiously, looking out over the dash to the sea below. “We're off course, no nav, and nothing to get a fix on. And hell, wasn't it night time? Now it's evening! What the hell?”
“Agreed,” the pilot said. “Like you said, we'll figure it out later. Engine two three and four are all still out. I don't know what's going on, but we need to land.”
“Catalina?”
“If we can find it.”
~~~~~O~~~~~
“Any port in the storm,” the potbellied fisherman said, gripping his arm rests. He shook his head. He was wearing a garish nightmare of a Hawaiian shirt. The first vacation in a decade, one he'd promised himself a long time ago. He'd wanted one, something to do, a nice beach with good looking women. Now this. He vowed to never leave the ground again if they survived the landing.
Of course that left the little matter of getting back home. He'd figure that part out later he thought wryly. “What I'd give to be in the wheel house of old Jennie right now,” he muttered.
“Your ship?” his seatmate asked.
“Aye,” the older man said gruffly, eyes still closed.
“Vacation?” the other asked in amusement.
“Aren't we all on vacation?” the fisherman asked. The other man snorted.
“Grumby, Captain Jonas Grumby,” the fisherman said grudgingly. He reached up to adjust his cap but then realized it wasn't there. He grunted in irritation. The damn busy body stewardess had taken the thing and made him store it in the overhead. Like it really mattered.
The peaked cap was his security blanket. He regretted not having it. Now of all times too. It was his lucky hat. “Call me skipper or captain,” he growled.
Roy noticed the aborted self-conscious move and nodded mentally. “Roy, Roy Hinkley,” he said.
“So, Mister Hinkley, what do you do when you're not in a crashing plane?” The skipper asked whimsically, hands tightly clutching at the hand rests as the plane bucked.
“Professor of engineering, junior professor,” Roy said wryly with a twist of his lips. “Call me Roy. When you or someone else says Mister Hinkley, I look over my shoulder for my dad or gramps,” he said.
The captain snorted and then chuckled. “Fair enough,” he said in his deep baritone. “Think we'll make it? You being the expert and all?”
“That depends on a lot of variables. Unfortunately, I don't know the numbers. And since we're over water…well, that's your domain isn't it?”
“Yes,” the captain sighed. “And t
aking this thing down in an ocean isn't something I'd ever wanted to do.”
“First time flier?” Roy asked sympathetically around the screams and cries.
The captain chuckled in resignation, then began to mutter prayers as the ship trembled.
Roy glanced out the window over the guy in the window seat to the right wing. The guy was pissy, probably still unhappy about not being with his wife. Roy couldn't blame him, but he had to stand up for himself. Besides, hell if he was going to go sit next to the pair of twin girls. They were shrieking in terror.
Roy shook his head. No, he was glad he was here. He frowned thoughtfully and then put the situation in perspective. He tried to calculate the fuel and range of their aircraft but then gave it up. He knew they had a reserve, but like he'd told the captain, there was too many variables he didn't have the numbers for. With one functional engine, he knew they'd find the nearest strip and land. But…he looked down at the sea. He wasn't sure where was safe. “I see land!” A woman called out exultantly. A moment later engine one quit. Now it was time to see how far they could glide before they crashed, Roy realized with dread. And the sucky thing was he was an engineer, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to fix anything.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The pilot set his jaw grimly as engine one cut out. Ralph worked frantically, but from the sound of his desperate swearing, it wasn't going to work. “I don't see any ships below.”
“We'll have to put it down near that coast line.”
“I don't see any houses!”
“To hell with the houses, I don't want to swim to shore. Prep them for an emergency water landing,” the pilot growled. “This thing isn't much of a glider; pray we'll make it there before we go down for the count,” he said, adjusting his restraints with a click and tug of his free hand.
“Don't bother with the gear; we don't have the power to get them down,” Ralph warned. “You'll get one shot at this.”
“Belly landing it is,” the pilot said grimly with a nod, setting himself. “Just like in the sims,” he murmured.
~~~~~O~~~~~
The hard crash hit the people within the aluminum craft as a series of jolts, screams, tumbling, and flares of light and dark. The aircraft skipped across the water twice before a wing dipped. The frantic air crew tried to right her, but it was too late. She rolled over, pin wheeling in a somersault as her wing ripped off. Fuel splashed out, igniting on the water. The plane splashed hard then somehow righted herself. She spun, out of control before beaching herself. The aircraft plowed its way into the sand and tree line above the high tide mark, resting with its tail just out of the water on its wounded side.
The downed side had crumpled in during the impact. The cabin had been sprayed when the overheads had sprung open, like shrapnel the loose luggage and belongings had tossed about. Several people were killed in the impact, others on the left wing were crushed. Some were killed or severely injured by flying luggage or flaying limbs. Several suffered broken or dislocated limbs during the crash.
Once they were down, the stewardess assessed the situation and moved woozily. Some of the passengers were dead; others were just coming too. Many moaned and whimpered. She tried to get to the door as training dictated but the aircraft was on its side. After a moment it groaned, then the weight of the wing in the air acted as a sail to the wind. The uncaring wind pushed the tormented craft over. The crew and passengers screamed as the ship righted itself more or less with a slam. The impact knocked those who had gotten out of their seat about, causing more injuries.
A steward collected himself long enough to climb through the chaos to the nearest door. He brushed blood out of his eyes and worked the locking mechanism. “It's jammed,” he said as a hand helped him.
“I'll help,” Roy Hinkley, professor of engineering said. The fisherman eyed him for a moment. He nodded grudgingly and grunted as he motioned him to help. Other people lent a hand as well. Together the group got the door open. The steward hit the control, and the slide deployed in a shush of yellow plastic and compressed Co2.
“Remember, cross your arms in front of your chest and slide,” he said. “Help the others as they come to you,” the steward said.
Both men nodded as they exited the craft.
A gusty wind hit them as they looked about and helped the others. Roy helped people off the slide while trying to keep the inflatable thing from twisting about in the wind. Some of the first people were able bodied, a few whimpered, clutching at an injured arm. All looked back fearful of an explosion or fire.
Once the landing was in hand, the skipper looked around. He noted the sky, looked up to the setting sun and felt the warm breeze. Then he noticed something wrong about that sky. Something that just didn't add up.
Realization of their strange dislocation came hard on some. Three moons in the sky elicit a gasp of disbelief and consternation from some. “What?” others demanded. They looked to where people were pointing in the sky.
“Hell fire and damnation. I guess we ain’t in Kansas anymore," the skipper said dryly.
~~~~~O~~~~~
They took grim stock of the situation once the fires were out and people were out of the aircraft. Someone got a headcount of the survivors. Of the 360 passengers on the 747, 283 had survived. Seventy-nine were injured, some critically. Ten passed away from their injuries after the first hour and a half.
The commander clung to life. He was one of the critically injured with a head wound, a broken leg, right arm, and broken ribs. His copilot was dead. The flight engineer Ralph had snapped his neck in the crash; he died a few minutes after the landing. Some, like the on-board marshal and one of the stewardesses, had also been killed in the crash.
Fights broke out almost immediately among the survivors; it seemed despite the tragedy and the need to pull together, people were people. The stress drove them to anger and quick temper. Thirty-six people left in two different groups. Those that remained behind tried to dissuade them, promising that rescue was only minutes away. But they went anyway, trudging off up the western and eastern beaches and out of sight.
The surviving air crew was reluctant to go back into the nightmare of the crash. Captain Grumby, the fisherman, organized survivors on the beach while Roy and a guy who said he was a paramedic went back in. They did their best to triage the wounded, using makeshift splints on limbs. Several of the people were unconscious with head wounds. They were mixed in with the dead, however, in the dark cabin.
“What a mess,” Roy muttered.
“I'd thought I'd seen it all until now,” the paramedic said. He used his fingers to check a woman. “This one's alive,” he said.
“Neck injury?”
“Spinal? I don't know. She's out though,” the medic said.
“I'm okay,” the woman said, reaching up to touch her head. “What happened?”
“Do you know where we are, Ma'am?”
“In a crash,” she said, eyelids fluttering. “I think I blacked out or something. She reached up and touched a knot on her head and then winced. “I'm a doctor. I think I've got a possible concussion. Where are the others?”
“Some are outside,” the medic said, hunkering down beside her. He used his pen light to check her pupils. “Pupils are fine. No sign of a concussion. You are lucky,” he said.
“Doesn't feel that way,” she muttered, fumbling with her seat belt. She got it unhooked and then got to her feet, grabbing for support.
“Can you help, Doc?”
“Once I've got my wits about me,” she replied. “What about rescue?”
“It's a bit far out, Ma'am. Anything you can do to triage would be appreciated,” Roy said dryly as he helped her to the slide.
“I'll see what I can do,” she said as she stepped out and slid. A stewardess met her at the bottom of the slide. She was immediately put to work triaging the injured that came out of the craft, rigging slings and directing several other medical professionals who came forward to help with what they could.
“Can we get some supplies?” the doctor called out looking around. “My bag is somewhere,” she said, waving a hand to the wreckage.
“It's a bit of a mess, Doc,” Roy called out.
“Anything will do. Clothes for bandages and slings to start,” she said. “Keep pressure on that,” she instructed a girl with a head wound. The girl nodded weakly. “Like that. Don't pull away or you'll rip the scab off. You'll need stitches,” she said. The girl winced.
Roy tossed out bags, ignoring the weak protests and weeping from some of the people. Removing some of the detritus helped, it cleared the way around the door for them to look for people.
Once most of the able bodied were out, someone got the idea of getting the life rafts and supplies. They wrestled with the crumpled hatches. Most were so bent up they couldn't get into them. But a few they did get into.
A couple people helped get life rafts out and then deployed. “This is kind of silly isn't it?” a teenage surfer said as he wrestled with the orange and yellow inflatable contraptions. He had a bronze complexion from spending a lot of time out in the sun and surf.
“No, we're going to use it as shelter. Overhead,” the steward explained.
“Oh…”
“Besides, it's got some stuff we can use in there too,” the steward assured him.
“Oooh…”
The medics used small first aid kits to help the wounded. It was pathetic but all that they had on hand. Scarves and ties were used as improvised slings or tourniquets. Extra clothing was used as makeshift bandages.
“Where are they? Shouldn't they be here by now?” a woman demanded, looking around. She looked forlorn. “Damn it! Someone's going to get their ass sued for this!”
“Who?” another woman asked, looking up in confusion.
“Them!” the first woman said, waving an impatient hand. “The emergency responders! Pathetic! And don't tell me it's due to budget cuts!” she said, voice rising into a shrill snarl. “I don't buy it!” She shook her head. “My tax dollars at work,” she growled in disgust.
Some of the other refugees were confused by the lack of a rescue response. A few kept looking up to the horizon, expecting helicopters to arrive at any moment. Some realized that help wasn't coming soon and bent to help those that they could. Others refused; some stated that they didn't want to be sued if something went wrong. They stood watch or took pictures with their camera phones.