by Tim Moon
Despite the sickening kink in his neck, the man Darius had hit with his briefcase had decided to take advantage of the situation and was also trying to bite him.
Fucking karma.
Although his pants were sturdy enough to prevent the man’s teeth from ripping into his skin, the pressure of teeth on his calf still hurt like hell.
Things were beyond serious. Darius could feel the strength draining from his arms. His head throbbed painfully with every heartbeat, and with the way Drunk was gnawing on his calf, Darius knew the material would rip before he would be able to get away.
Darius battled with his attackers while thoughts of things he still needed to do and people he loved ran through his mind: his girlfriend, stretched out, beautiful and naked in his bed; his plans for a surprise trip home next month for Momma’s birthday; the recent changes to his new product line.
He had plans. He had dreams. He had to fight.
Angry tears burned his eyes. He kicked his legs, hoping to land a lucky blow or at least dodge another bite.
Over his pleas for help and the growling of his attackers, Darius heard the clicking of dress shoes running on pavement. The hands that had been digging into his calf released his leg.
Thank you, Darius thought. Followed quickly by, About damn time.
The tall man in the suit had come over from the car to help. He dragged Drunk off of Darius, freeing his leg. It was obvious that the man was angry and scared. He yelled and kicked Drunk, the blood-covered crazy who had started this whole thing.
Darius struggled to keep the beast of a man still on top of him from sinking his teeth into his throat or biting his hands as he watched the man.
Fueled by the same adrenaline that was keeping Darius alive, The Suit kept kicking Drunk in the face and in the chest. With one of his kicks, the tip of The Suit’s pointy leather shoes punched through the man’s skull, caving in his nasal cavity. Then he stomped on Drunk’s neck.
Just like that, the attacker stopped moving.
Shocked by his own actions, the man paused. He blinked and slowly looked over at Darius, still struggling with the other attacker.
With a loud grunt, The Suit hauled Dumpster off of Darius’ chest and shoved him to the pavement.
Now freed of both his attackers, Darius rolled over and slowly stood up, gasping for breath. The Suit was yelling down at Dumpster as he kicked him, trying to avoid the grasping hands that came after every blow.
After one particularly slow kick, Dumpster managed to latch onto his leg. Dumpster’s grimy hands managed to shove The Suit’s pant leg up, exposing bare skin and he wasted no time sinking his teeth in for a solid bite. Blood welled up around his lips, shining like fresh lip gloss, as he tore off a bite of skin.
The Suit shrieked in surprised pain and lashed out, punching Dumpster in the face. Stumbling back, he fell on his butt and cradled his leg. His pants, now soaked with blood, clung to his skin.
Seeing his chance, Darius ran over and kicked the attacker in the head. Adrenaline coursed through him, strengthening his blows.
Darius stomped hard on the guy’s chest. A faint crack rewarded him. Then he kicked the side of the man’s head like a soccer ball. It surrendered with a crunch and a spurt of dark blood. One eyeball popped free of its socket and dangled on his cheek. His tongue lolled out the side of his mouth like a dog.
Dumpster had stopped moving.
Darius stepped away, sickened by the realization that he had just killed a guy.
But the man had already been dead, right? Darius thought as he tried to reconcile his actions.
Dark strands of blood spread out from the body, following the grooves and imperfections in the concrete.
Darius stepped around it so he could help the man who had saved his life. He was sitting on the ground, holding his leg and grimacing.
“Thank you,” Darius said. Not knowing if he understood English, Darius attempted Mandarin. “Xiexie.”
Darius reached out to help the man stand up. He grabbed Darius’ hand and accepted the help. As he rose, Darius slung the man’s arm over his shoulder and started to lead him back to his car. Despite his limited Mandarin, Darius hoped it was obvious that he was grateful for the help.
The two men made their way slowly toward the green car. Darius looked over at the man still pinned between the vehicles.
He was motionless and had slumped forward. His head rested on the hood of the green car, his body having given up as the adrenalin wore off and shock set in. If the green car had been able to back up and free the man, he’d have been spared the suffering much earlier.
Darius wondered again where everyone was. Normally, this was a lively street.
The car was maybe twenty feet away but The Suit was moving really slow, so it felt like two hundred feet. Darius looked for the woman, hoping maybe she’d help them. After all, she had rushed to help the stranger they’d crushed with their car.
Now that he looked, he could see her hiding in the passenger seat. Even from a distance, Darius could make out the tears glistening on her cheeks.
Suddenly, she was yelling at them through the window and gesticulating wildly. Darius stopped and turned to look behind them.
Directly behind him was the woman who’d been the second body Darius had seen. She reached out and latched onto his neck and shoulder with a surprisingly powerful grip. She craned her head toward the side of his throat.
Darius tried to pull away, but she was insistent.
He tried to yell, but she sunk her teeth in and ripped his throat out.
His ears filled with the sound of her growling and a strange choking sound.
Behind the woman, Darius glimpsed a horde of blood-drenched people moving slowly through the street toward them just before his vision gave way to darkness.
1
October 8 | Over the Pacific Ocean | 1337 Hours
FOR MOST PASSENGERS, sitting in coach was uncomfortable.
For Ben Chase, it was torture.
He’d tried jockeying for an exit row seat but failed to make any progress during booking, check-in, at the gate counter, or with the flight attendant.
Roughly three hours of attempting to contort his six-foot-four-inch frame to fit the minuscule seating arrangement was turning out to be a blast. Even after claiming a portion of his friend Ty Smith’s space, Ben still couldn’t get comfortable.
Whatever.
If high school and college had taught him anything, it was that he could sleep in uncomfortable positions – and he had.
The one-piece desk-chairs in History.
The ancient wooden seats in Psychology.
The stools in science lab.
The bleachers in gym class.
And of course, the militant row of chairs outside the principal’s office.
However, if the first few hours aboard this flight were any indication, it seemed like he would get no reprieve.
A group of Chinese people, obviously traveling together, had been seated in several rows directly in front of them. Normally, Ben wouldn’t care who was sitting in front of him on a plane. It would not even be noteworthy. But the people in this group were not doing themselves any favors.
The man directly in front of Ty was sick, coughing and hacking rather loudly. Another person across the plane in the cluster of Chinese tourists was also coughing loudly. To top it off, a couple of guys were talking loudly across the aisle with their buddy sitting on the far side of the four seat middle row.
Sure, getting sick was not a choice per se, but when you board a plane while sick, you’re potentially infecting hundreds of people. Doing that and not even having enough courtesy to take cough medicine on a nearly ten-hour flight, in Ben’s book, was just fucking rude.
Ben realized he was being a bit of a crank, so he made a conscious effort to list off all the reasons he had to be in a good mood, despite the undesirable surroundings.
First, he’d finished his year of teaching in Korea. All those rambunctious li
ttle kids weren’t his responsibility anymore. Second, he was on his way to Hawaii. That was always a good thing. Third, he was going with his friend Ty to enjoy an awesome hiking adventure. Ben had been looking forward to this trip for months. It had helped him through the home stretch.
Hoping to make some conversation, Ben turned to Ty, but he was reading a book Ben had recommended to him about a wizard that could manipulate time and other magical elements. So he decided not to interrupt.
Instead, Ben tried to tune out the loud talkers and the coughers so he could get some sleep. After they landed in Honolulu, they’d be taking a short flight to Kailua-Kona, and were planning on starting the adventure right away by hiking up Mauna Kea in the early morning hours.
Just as Ben started to doze off, a flurry of coughing and gagging yanked him roughly from the encroaching peace of sleep.
These weren’t just any coughing fits. They were the kind of gut wrenching, explosive coughs that left the throat raw.
Ben had noticed the coughing guy before boarding the flight. He’d worn a disturbingly bright green shirt with the number 2 on it that made him look like a walking, talking billiard ball.
Ben felt a little bad for the guy, because he sounded like he was in pain, but it still annoyed him. He didn’t know how Ty could read with so much noise.
After ten minutes or so, the coughing didn’t seem to be easing up. One of the flight attendants even stopped by to offer help, and he just waved her away like a fly. Ben felt better about being annoyed at him after that.
Ty leaned forward and reached into his backpack. He pulled out his big-ass, noise-canceling headphones to drown out Sir Coughs-A-Lot.
“Pssh, all I have are my earbuds,” Ben said with a frown.
“I told you to pack the good ones. There’s always some obnoxious person in need of noise-canceling,” Ty said with a smirk.
Ben just nodded. Ty had warned him. With a sigh, Ben took his earbuds out of his pocket and slipped them in, although it did little to muffle the noise. His good headphones were somewhere down in checked baggage.
If only there were a way to sneak down there to grab them. Even if there were, Ben would probably end up handcuffed by an air marshal and interviewed by the FBI when the flight landed. Probably not worth it.
He turned up the volume instead.
Their flight had left Seoul, South Korea with the aim of delivering them to Honolulu, Hawaii at 8:30 PM, thanks to the time zone change. Already a few hours into the flight, Ben felt like the flight couldn’t land soon enough. With any luck, transferring in Honolulu would end their time with the noisy tourists. Once they landed in Kailua-Kona, they’d be kicking off a week of hiking and swimming adventures on the Big Island before heading to Kauai for a week to enjoy the Na Pali Coast.
Ben leaned his head against the cabin wall, comforted by the steady drone of the jet engines. After a while, he began to drift off, and sleep finally overtook him.
Seemingly moments later, a piercing shriek caused Ben’s head to pop up like a Jack-in-the-Box. The Chinese woman in front of them screeched again. As if that wasn’t enough, Ty was elbowing Ben in the shoulder.
“What the hell, man?” Ben scowled at him. It felt like he had just drifted off, but glancing at his watch, it read 4:31 PM, and he saw that nearly three-hours passed.
“Dude, this guy just hurled all over the seat in front of him. I think most of it’s blood,” Ty said. He looked pale, and his eyes were almost as big as his headphones.
“Why’d she scream?”
Ty shrugged.
The air did have the metallic scent associated with blood. Blood had never bothered Ben, but looking at Ty’s face, it was obvious he didn’t like it.
Ben leaned forward and peeked over the seat back. Sure enough, red and chunky green were splattered like modern art on the seat backs in the next row.
“Ugh, that’s nasty.”
Some splash back had landed on the sick man as well as the woman in the seat next to him. For the woman, there was no escaping it. Like Ben, she sat in the window seat. Yuk. He hoped that she was his wife and not some poor stranger.
“Yep, it’s bloody vomit. The guy’s seriously messed up. Whatever he’s got, it better not be contagious.” Ben leaned back into his seat. Blood may not bother him but the pungent odor of vomit sure did. The air was thick with the stench, and it spread quickly through the cabin, making his stomach churn.
A couple of flight attendants had rushed over to see what was going on. Once they saw the mess, they jumped into action. Ben was surprised by the flight attendants’ professionalism, they didn’t hesitate at all.
The man leaned back in his chair with his head tilted up. His eyes were scrunched closed, and his breathing sounded ragged. His lips were parted, and a stream of mixed red and greenish liquid trailed down his cheek, slowly making its way to his neck.
One flight attendant left, hopefully to grab some cleaning supplies. Cleaning chemicals had to smell better than the contents of that man’s stomach. Ben’s nose crinkled in disgust as the smell quickly became overpowering.
The other attendant stayed to help the man and calm the woman. She may have been getting information about the sick guy too, but it was hard to tell because Ben didn’t speak Mandarin.
Getting violently ill on an airplane was probably the worst place Ben could imagine. There was no escape, no privacy.
Poor Ty looked like he might pass out.
“Ty, you okay, man? Maybe you should drink some water.” Ben pulled Ty’s water bottle from the seat back pocket and handed it to him.
“Thanks. The smell is making me feel nauseated,” Ty said. His eyes suggested it was more than just the smell that bothered him.
“Same here.”
The first flight attendant returned wearing yellow rubber gloves, one hand holding a small bucket with cleaning supplies. The woman in the seat in front of Ben must have been the sick guy’s wife because she insisted on helping to clean up the mess. The other flight attendant escorted the sick guy to the lavatory.
“Kudos to these ladies,” Ben said to Ty. “I don’t think I could do that without looking thoroughly disgusted and making the passengers feel worse.”
Ty just nodded and held a hand over his nose.
A chime came from the cabin speakers and an announcement blared out in Korean and then English.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if there is a medical doctor on board, please notify the nearest flight attendant. Once again, if there is a medical doctor on board, please notify the nearest flight attendant. Thank you.”
Ben couldn’t do anything, so he decided to try for more sleep. He unwrapped his tiny airline blanket and pulled it over his head in a feeble attempt to block the olfactory cocktail of vomit, blood, and cleaning chemicals.
Awareness slowly faded as he fell back asleep.
2
October 8 | Over the Pacific Ocean | 1823 Hours
AN ANNOUNCEMENT BLARED into Ben’s sleep, waking him up. He felt hot and stuffy. His breath reflected off the blanket draped over his head and back onto his face, making it feel damp.
As soon as he pulled the blanket down, his temperature dropped to normal, but he also regretted it. Ben’s nostrils, assaulted by the fresh wave of stench emanating from the next row, tingled from the mix of chemical and bodily fluid odors.
The cabin was a lot quieter than it had been when Ben fell asleep. No one coughed. No one was talking too loud.
Ben looked over at Ty. His normal energy was missing, and he looked a little off.
“You okay?”
Ty glanced at him then leaned in close, as if he was about to share a secret.
“The guy in front of me is dead.”
Ben’s eyebrow rose. “Really?”
Ty nodded.
Obviously the guy had been messed up. But sick enough to die? That seemed like a stretch.
“About half an hour ago, the woman in front of you called the flight attendant over. The attendant checked
his pulse before rushing off and bringing back the doctor that helped him earlier. The doctor seemed to confirm it,” Ty said solemnly.
They were not even in Hawaii yet and already their adventure had a casualty.
“Could you tell what the doctor said?”
“I think he spoke English, but no. He whispered to the flight attendant. Get this though, I went to use the bathroom earlier and overheard a guy in line say that a Chinese woman on the other side of the plane died too. From what he said, she was the other person coughing. You notice how quiet it is now, right? That’s the sound caused by two dead people, Ben. Both of them are a part of a big tourist group from Shanghai.” Ty said, gesturing to the area in front of them where the tour group was seated.
“That’s horrible and far too weird to be a coincidence. I bet she was sick with whatever killed this guy.” Ben scowled. “Like I said before, this stuff better not be contagious.”
“I’m just glad we’re landing soon,” Ty said.
Ben nodded in agreement.
The smell was still bothering him, so Ben reached up to make sure the air nozzle above him was open all the way. It was, so he adjusted the aim so it blew air straight down on his head, forcing the stink away from his nose.
Above and below, all Ben could see from the window was blue sky and blue water, punctuated by the occasional cloud. Below them, in the distance, cumulus clouds formed the shape of a dragon. He pulled his phone out and took a few pictures. He wanted Ty to see the view in case he wanted a picture too.
As Ben leaned toward him, the seat in front of Ty moved. They looked at each other before snapping their heads forward to see what had moved the chair. The dead man’s wife squealed like a frightened pig, causing Ben to cringe at the sound.
The chair moved again. A low growl emanated from what was supposed to be a dead guy.
Ben peeked his head up a little to see over the top. He was definitely moving.
“I thought you said he was dead?”
“He is.”
“Was. He’s definitely moving,” Ben said.