by C. M. Fick
"How are you even allowing him onto a plane full of healthy people?" Stewart demanded, his pleasant demeanor slipping into irritation. "Do you not understand how his germs will spread in such close quarters? What if he's in first-class? Will I be able to move my seat to economy once we board?"
"Sir," the attendant's shoulders slumped as she looked up at Stewart with a weary expression, "due to the rioting, we have an increase in requests for flights out of the area. Your flight is almost entirely booked and I'm anticipating that it will be fully booked by takeoff. We are trying to accommodate all of our passengers, including flying in several more empty planes. I can put you on another flight to Miami if you'd like, but it won't be departing for another two and a half hours."
Stewart bristled, "I have an important client meeting I cannot be late for. Why can't you move the sick man to that flight instead?" Although he hadn't meant to, he realized he was shouting at the poor woman.
"Sir," she said again, this time with exasperation, "I cannot request that he remain behind and wait for the next flight when there is room for him on the one he's currently booked on. I'm sorry sir, but there isn't anything I can do."
"If I come down with whatever he has, I'm suing this airline," Stewart growled, snatching his boarding pass from the attendant and marching back to his seat in a huff.
Flopping into the chair, Stewart realized he wouldn't be making his dinner appointment. Upon arriving in Miami, he'd have to stop at his hotel and shower before meeting with his client; otherwise, he'd spend the evening feeling contaminated. Typing furiously on his smartphone, he sent a message to the doctor, asking to move their appointment to an early breakfast instead. Slipping his phone back into his carryon, Stewart eyed the man who'd saved him his seat. He wanted to write down all he'd told him but instead Stewart asked, "What's your name?"
"Peter Ferris," he replied, extending his hand to Stewart.
"Stewart Witt," Stewart said in turn and shook Peter's hand. "What seat are you in?" he asked, watching the bathroom door as it swung open and the sickly man stumbled back to his seat, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"Umm," Peter looked at his boarding pass before saying, "seat D11. Why?"
"Because, they won't move that man to another flight." Stewart nodded towards the man who'd once again begun to clear out the seats around him with his coughing.
"There is a widow who lives alone on my street; I think she came down with the same flu," Peter said in hushed tones. "Two days ago my neighbour's wife told me that she took soup over to her and tried to get her to go to the hospital, but the old woman refused." He shivered, "Now that I think back on it, I believe I saw Mrs. Robertson wandering in the street with the others."
"There's more than just rioting going on here," Stewart said, knowing in his gut that his assumption was right - he just wasn't sure what the 'more' could possibly be.
Boarding passes please...
"Flight 1028 is now boarding at gate A26." A calm voice spoke over the chatter of the crowd. "We will begin boarding those with seats in business class along with any passengers requiring assistance; all other passengers will be called to board in the order of their seating. Thank you for choosing American Airlines and have a good flight."
When the speaker finished, Stewart gathered his belongings, tucking them into his carryon; he turned to Peter, "We should grab dinner once we're in Miami; I had to cancel my plans for tonight."
Peter genuinely smiled for the first time since he'd sat down next to Stewart. "Count me in."
"See you on the other side." Stewart saluted before walking away.
Getting into line, Stewart pulled out his boarding pass and was about to hand it over to the attendant when a sickly-sweet smell permeated the air around him. Glancing over his shoulder, Stewart felt his skin begin to prickle; the sick man stood in the line only two people behind him. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and Stewart could swear the man seemed worse than before. Why was he already in line? Did he have a business class seat? Stewart didn't think he could deal with the man's coughing and horrible smell for the entire flight.
"You'll find seat B5 on your right hand side." The attendant said after pulling the boarding pass from Stewart's hand.
He turned back to the woman, "Thank you." He gave her a tight smile as she handed the ticket back to him; he hurried down the jetway, eager to get into his seat.
Stewart had just stowed his carryon when the now familiar rattle of the man's cough echoed down the jetway. Watching the doorway with trepidation, he lowered himself into his seat. Relief filled him when the man came into the plane, leaning heavily on an attendant, and the two walked slowly past Stewart heading back to the rear of the plane. Finally at ease, Stewart put his head back and closed his eyes, determined to get some sleep.
Stewart drifted in and out of consciousness while the plane boarded and after an indeterminate amount of time, he felt the plane being taxied out to the runway. They began to pick up speed and the last thought Stewart had before sleep took him was how glad he was to be on his way out of Dallas.
Rude awakening...
"Oh my God!" someone shrieked, dragging Stewart back to consciousness. "Heather, come help me get him off of her." There was a crash in the galley and a flight attendant brushed past Stewart.
"What is he doing?" someone asked loudly, just before a scream filled the plane's cabin.
Thundering footsteps approached business class and Stewart turned to see what all the commotion was about in the rear of the cabin. An attendant, with splashes of blood on her crisp uniform, brushed aside the curtain that separated economy from business and ran for the cockpit door. Stewart gaped at the sight of the woman and wondered what could possibly be happening in economy to cause such a mess.
"Captain," she shouted as she pounded on the door, leaving bloody handprints behind, "Captain, there's a situation out here and we need to make an emergency landing." The cockpit door swung open and the attendant collapsed inside; the door closed again with a soft click, preventing Stewart from overhearing whatever she'd been about to say regarding the unfolding emergency.
A muffled voice from the rear of the plane shouted over the growing hysteria of the passengers. "Everyone, please take your seats. Anyone who needs to use the facilities please go to the front of the plane until we have this matter resolved."
"I'm a doctor." Another voice, this one clearly male, spoke over the clamor.
There was a moment of silence and Stewart imagined all the passengers turning to see who'd stepped up to assist. "Clear the aisle and let him pass." The first voice said in an authoritative tone.
Stewart could hear indistinct murmurs and shuffling from the rear of the plane. Curious about what has happening, he leaned out of his seat and attempted to see around the curtain. The woman sitting beside him asked, "What's going on?"
"I'm not sure," Stewart replied. "All I can see is people moving around." He was about to get out of his seat and see for himself when the speakers overhead crackled and the voice of a man began to speak.
"This is the captain speaking," the disembodied voice said. His tone was commanding and reassuring; the cabin fell into silence as all listened to what the captain had to say. "Due to the nature of the disturbance in economy, we will be making an unscheduled stop in Slidell. The runway is shorter than normally recommended for a plane this size and weight, so it will be a rough landing. I'll ask that all passengers please take their seat and fasten their seatbelts until we've safely landed. Once we're on the runway, we'll be able to determine..." Another scream echoed from the back of the plane, drowning out whatever the captain had been saying; several more screams of fear quickly followed the first.
Jumping to his feet, Stewart hurried back to the curtain separating business and economy. He flung the curtain aside and rushed down the aisle, searching the seats for Peter - his new friend would know what was happening. At the rear of the cabin, just outside of the lavatory, several attendants struggled to subd
ue a thrashing passenger while the others knelt on their seats, watching the struggle but doing nothing to assist. Upon spotting Peter sitting quietly in his seat, staring forward with wide, terrified eyes, Stewart rushed over to him and knelt down.
"Peter!" When he got no acknowledgement in response, he gently shook the man's shoulder. "Peter, what happened?"
"Sir," a soft feminine voice spoke from beside Stewart.
"What?" he snapped, not taking his eyes off Peter, whose glassy gaze slowly began to focus on Stewart.
"I'll need you to return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt. The captain has requested that all passengers..."
"I'll go sit once I've spoken to my friend and made sure he's okay." He cut the woman short; he was out of patience. "Go do whatever you need to do. I won't cause problems and I'll return to my seat as soon as I know my friend here isn't going into shock." He looked back to Peter, whose eyes seemed to have regained some of their clarity, and dismissed the attendant.
"Kimmy," someone called from the back of the plane.
Stewart was relieved when the attendant hurried away, leaving him alone with Peter. He turned back to his friend, "Buddy, what's going on?"
Peter's lips moved but no sound came out. Stewart placed a hand on Peter's shoulder and the human contact seemed to revive him somewhat. "I... I saw the guy who was sick back at the terminal." His gaze became distant once again; Stewart gently shook his shoulder, trying to get Peter to tell the story in a coherent manner.
"What about the sick guy?" Stewart asked, trying not to grow impatient with him.
"I noticed him when he began to cause a scene in front of the bathroom. He looked really sick - delirious almost - and I think he began to beat on the door because it was occupied. An attendant came to see what he was causing a fuss about and then he just collapsed... he just fell into the attendant's arms, limp. His weight must have been too much for her because she fell with him. I think his weight pinned her to the floor." Peter's eyes flicked to the other passengers sitting around him and he lowered his voice so only Stewart could hear. "Another attendant went to assist, to see what the matter was, but as she approached he began twitching..."
A long moan came from the rear of the cabin followed by another scream. The passengers sitting in the rear of the plane surged out of their seats with renewed panic. Peter shrunk lower into his seat and his eyes darted towards the back of the plane. People pushed past Stewart, not caring that he was squatting in the aisle and blocking their path.
"He... he bit..." Peter's voice broke, "there was so much blood, and she screamed and he moaned." Peter visibly shook as he tried to retell what he'd witnessed and Stewart had to strain to hear him over the commotion caused by the other passengers around them. "I don't understand." He grabbed Stewarts arm, squeezing tightly; his eyes had a wild look about them, "another attendant tased him and he began to convulse and then laid still. They got him off the poor girl, but she'd had a huge chunk of skin torn from the side of her face." Peter shivered, remembering what he'd witnessed. "Then they sent another attendant to speak to the captain; or at least I assumed that's what she was doing. They tried to get everyone settled and they did for the most part - that was until the man came out of the bathroom. We all thought the flight attendant had died from shock and blood loss... the doctor stopped attending to her wounds you know, like she was dead... but as soon as the man came out of the restroom she turned to her side and bit the man on the leg." His voice shook when he turned to see the carnage behind him. "That's when you came." Peter took a shuddering breath, "Thank god you came; I thought I was going to lose my shit."
Stewart glanced to the rear of the plane, now vacated of all its passengers, and for the first time noticed the sick man squirming on the floor beside the open lavatory door. While his hands had been bound with a white zip-strip, his head still swiveled from side to side, clacking his teeth at anything that moved near him. Beside him lay the flight attendant; she too was restrained but Stewart could still see the missing portion of her cheek. Beneath the blood, he could see a glint of bone and her gnashing teeth. Behind the two squirming people on the floor, knelt a man bent over the prone figure of another twitching flight attendant. Stewart couldn't see what the man was doing to the poor woman, but he felt the sudden urge to vomit.
"That's the guy who was in the bathroom." Peter whispered breathily. "See the bite on his ankle?"
Stewart's gaze shifted to the man's foot and he couldn't help but gasp. The man's left pant leg was torn, revealing the extent of the wound. Beneath the slick of blood and the tattered fabric, the flesh on the man's ankle was gone, revealing bone. "She did that to him?" he indicated the restrained flight attendant still struggling on the floor. Peter only nodded, watching with wide eyes as the prone attendant beneath the man began to twitch.
A passenger in the crowd of people, trying to get away from the chaos at the back of the cabin, shrieked when the attendant's hand spasmed. The man kneeling over her suddenly lost interest and turned to face the cabin's occupants. Horrified gasps rippled through the huddled passengers as they took in the man's gore covered face and the gaping hole in the twitching attendant's stomach.
When the woman sat up Stewart heard several thumps behind him and turned to the crowd, stunned to realize some of the passengers had fainted dead away. Chaos erupted a moment later when both the man and the woman struggled to their feet.
"How can she be standing?" Stewart overheard someone say in disbelief.
He looked around for an exit and was ready to lunge for the door, when he realized the full extent of their situation - they were thirty-thousand-plus feet in the air, and opening the door would destabilize the pressure in the cabin, probably causing catastrophic system failure. For a moment, the thought that crashing would be far preferable to being eaten crossed Stewart's mind, but when a male attendant stepped forward calling for silence, he quelled his suicidal thoughts.
"I need two volunteers to help me restrain and secure the inflicted individuals." Two men raised their hands and Stewart was thankful he didn't have to offer his assistance. At that moment, the plane began to descend and the sudden change seemed to startle everyone aboard. The attendant whistled loudly but didn't speak until the passengers quieted down. "We must be approaching the airstrip for the emergency landing. I'll need everyone, other than the two volunteers, to return to their seats in an orderly fashion and put on their seatbelts."
The two men and the attendant made their way to the back of the plane, using a pole they'd found to push the two mangled people back into the galley, all the while discussing how exactly they were going to subdue them. The other passengers slowly made their way back to their seats, trusting everything was finally under control. Stewart was furious because an unscheduled stop meant he'd have to move his business meeting yet again.
"I'll see you when we land." He patted Peter's shoulder before turning to make his way back to his own seat; as he turned away, Stewart noted the glaze in Peter's eyes had returned.
"What's going on back there?" the woman sitting next to Stewart asked when he flopped into his seat.
Laying his head back against the headrest, Stewart mumbled, "They're attacking one another... eating each other."
"What? Who's eating whom?"
She cringed back when Stewart turned a furious glare on her. "Several of the attendants and two passengers; they aren't acting like sane people." The plane adjusted its altitude once again, making Stewart's stomach heave. "Excuse me" he said to his neighbour and hurried to the front of the plane. Once he'd locked himself in the lavatory, Stewart finally gave in to the urges of his churning stomach.
The end of flight 1028...
Stewart hadn't been in the bathroom for more than ten minutes when the screams started anew. Suddenly, Stewart couldn't imagine leaving the safety of the bathroom; he sat down and listened to the chaos unfolding in the cramped plane, wishing he'd paid the extra fare for a direct flight. If he hadn't been so concerned with
cost savings, he could have already been sitting poolside with a cocktail.
"Get him off," someone shrieked before another scream ripped through the cabin; any replies were quickly drown out by the panicked cries of the other passengers.
Someone pounded on a nearby door and Stewart assumed another attendant was trying to speak with the captain - he hoped they'd land soon and he could get off the worst flight of his life.
The pounding ceased, "What?" a deep voice demand and Stewart imagined the Captain standing in the doorway with a scowl.
The screams from the cabin had reached an all-time high but Stewart still couldn't resist a peek; he needed to know what was happening. He cracked the door open and peeked out, just in time to watch the disembowelled attendant wrap her bloody arms around the neck of a man wearing a captain's uniform. The man struggled to disentangle himself from the woman's grasp, but she held on as the captain stumbled backwards into the cockpit.
The floor beneath Stewart's feet suddenly tilted, causing him to lose his balance and slam into the lavatory door; it closed with a thump beneath his weight. Stunned, he struggled to right himself, but the odd tilt of the plane made it impossible. He lay back against the door as his heart thundered in his chest; dawning horror filled him as he realized that the plane was going to crash. He'd seen the attendant's teeth break the captain's skin, but it hadn't appeared to be a fatal bite - just a nibble really. The plane had been in a dive for only a few seconds, but Stewart suspected that if he'd been capable of correcting the angle of decent, the captain would have already done so. His mind wandered to the co-pilot; wouldn't he be able to regain control over the plane?
Bracing himself against the wall, Stewart carefully lifted the door. Bloody, searching fingers poked through the crack and Stewart slammed the door closed again. The bones in the fingers snapped but their owner didn't try to pull back, instead there was a thump and the door hit Stewart's back.