by David Lovato
Richelle stood with her hands under the running water. She didn’t move, even as steam began rising out of the sink. Her face was blank.
“Richelle?” Mal said. She turned off her own sink and wiped her hands. “Richelle, what’s wrong? Richelle!”
Mal reached over and turned the water off, and then grabbed her friend’s arm. She shook Richelle, but that did nothing. Mal could hear her breathing somewhat heavily. Then Richelle’s mother, Amanda, walked in.
“What are you two doing?” she said. “We’re ready to go.”
“Mrs. Kingsolver, there’s something wrong with Richelle!”
“What do you mean?”
“Look!”
Amanda moved toward her daughter. “Richelle, what’s wrong?” Richelle didn’t reply, and didn’t move. “Richelle, answer me.” Amanda turned Richelle around and looked into her eyes. They looked cold and distant, as if Richelle were somewhere else entirely.
“What’s going on?” Mal asked. “What’s wrong with her?” Mal began to cry, which made a few tears form in Amanda’s eyes as well.
“I don’t know. Richelle, answer me! Stop playing around! You’re scaring me!”
Richelle was staring at the wall behind Amanda, but her eyes suddenly looked straight at her. Richelle grunted and grabbed Amanda’s arm, then sunk her teeth into her flesh. Mal screamed and rushed out of the bathroom, then toward where her parents and Richelle’s dad were chatting. When they heard Mal’s screams, they hurried to meet her halfway.
“Mal!” Evan said. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Richelle!” Mal was breathing heavily. “She bit her mom!”
“W-what?” Eugene Kingsolver said. Everyone headed for the bathroom. Screams were filling the foyer and the halls in the Belmont. Eugene tore the bathroom door open.
“Richelle!” Eugene said when he saw his daughter digging into Amanda’s arm. Amanda tried to get her daughter off, but Richelle had bitten deep into her muscle tissue. Evan reached for his cell phone while Eugene got behind Richelle, grabbed her, and pulled. Finally he managed to pry her off, and then he restrained her arms. Blood dribbled down her chin and was smeared all over the bottom half of her face.
“I know this sounds crazy,” Evan said into his phone, “but a girl bit her mother. She’s bleeding really bad. We need an ambulance.” He nodded, looking at Eugene as he struggled to hold Richelle. “Yes, the Belmont Theater. We’re in the girl’s restroom just to the left of the front. Okay. Hurry, please!”
Amanda pumped the lever on the paper towel box, grabbing half of its contents to wrap around the tear in her arm.
The door to the bathroom swung open so hard it hit the wall. A man in his mid-to-late-twenties with a buzz cut entered; there was a hint of blood on his WWE T-shirt. Behind him was a rather plain woman with long, styled-down brown hair.
“What the fuck is going on out there?” the plain woman said.
“This isn’t happening,” the man in the WWE shirt said He leaned against the door, part holding it shut and part catching his breath. “This can’t be happening!”
“We’re getting help,” Evan said.
Soon someone tried to push the door open, and the man in the WWE shirt moved to let two paramedics into the bathroom. One was a woman with blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the other a tall man with brown, gelled hair and a bite on his arm.
Mal was on the floor with her mother, crying, scared. The others were scattered around the bathroom.
“It’ll be okay,” Cynthia said. “It’ll all be all right. Richelle will be fine, everything will be fine.”
“Don’t worry, we’re trained professionals. This is Ryan, I’m Stephanie. We’re EMTs. Things are going to be just fine, as long as we all remain calm.”
Mal shifted from Cynthia to Evan. He hugged her tightly, but it did little to quell her tears. Evan felt like breaking down, but he had to stay strong for Mal.
“We need to get the girl out of here!” Stephanie said.
Before they could figure out how, a crackly voice broke into the room, coming from a radio holstered to Stephanie’s belt.
“All EMTs, please be advised, do not, I repeat, do not approach anyone acting strangely or anyone who has been bitten. We’ve just received confirmation that the current phenomenon is transmitted through bite; repeat: Do not approach anyone who has been bitten! Do not allow yourself to be bitten!”
The already-confused people in the bathroom exchanged glances. Amanda and Mal continued to cry.
“Sir, let me handle her, you need to back away,” Ryan said to Eugene.
“No!” Eugene said. “She’s my little g-girl! She’s no monster, there m-must be a way to fix this!”
“Sir, please maintain a safe distance,” Stephanie said. “No one is saying she’s a monster. Don’t worry, Ryan will take care of her.” Ryan nodded.
Eugene tried to shift Richelle over to Ryan, but Ryan’s arms dropped and he stood still. Richelle dove for Amanda, but she hopped back and Richelle hit her head on a sink and fell to the ground, where she lay still.
“Ryan?” Stephanie said. Ryan groaned and grabbed for Eugene, who tripped backward and fell. The man in the WWE shirt stepped forward and shoved Ryan before he could pounce on Eugene.
“I think we need to leave,” Evan said.
“N-no!” Eugene said. Amanda grunted and reached for Mal, teeth bared. Cynthia pulled Mal away, toward the door. Evan shoved Amanda while Cynthia ushered Mal into the hall.
“The ambulance is just outside, we’ll regroup there,” Stephanie said. “Go!”
Everyone filed out of the bathroom. Eugene began making high-pitched sucking noises as the man in the WWE shirt lifted him up and hurried him along after them.
“That sounds like asthma,” Stephanie said. Eugene nodded, then struggled weakly to get out of Jason’s grasp. Stephanie searched Eugene for an inhaler, found it, and brought it to his mouth.
As soon as Eugene could talk he said, “My wife, my daughter!” but his legs kept him moving forward.
The group emerged from the Belmont Theater. Outside, people were running and screaming through the night. Others were being attacked. Sirens filled the air, and a shop across the street was going up in flames.
Stephanie opened the back of the ambulance and everyone climbed in, then she closed the door and headed to the front seat.
“Wait,” Cynthia said, “we’re leaving?”
“We can’t stay here,” Stephanie said.
“My family!” Eugene said. Stephanie rounded on him.
“I lost my partner in there!”
For a minute no one said anything. Then someone slammed into the window on the passenger side of the ambulance. Stephanie jumped, and as the man outside pounded on the window until the glass cracked, she reached for her keys.
“I have to go to them,” Eugene said. He reached for the door, but the man in the WWE shirt grabbed him. “Let g-go of m-me!”
“Sorry, man.”
The passenger window shattered and the engine roared to life. Stephanie hit the gas and the ambulance jerked forward. The man at the window grunted and moaned as he struggled to hold on. His feet dragged along the ground, leaving trails of blood in the parking lot. Finally he let go and rolled along the ground.
Eugene began to cry.
“I think you can let him go now,” Cynthia said.
“Sorry.” The man in the WWE shirt let go of Eugene, who sat still, sobbing. “The name’s Jason. Jason Cash.”
“Look at that,” the plain-looking woman said. She was pointing out the window. The ambulance weaved in and out of wrecked vehicles and others perfectly intact, whose drivers no longer cared about traffic laws.
“I’m trying not to,” Evan said.
“We need to get off the streets,” Stephanie said. “It’s not safe.”
“Is anywhere safe?” Jason said. Cynthia sat forward suddenly.
“I think I know a place.”
9
In the Air
The plane bobbed suddenly, and Layne gripped the arm of his seat tightly. Alex giggled.
“Don’t worry, it’s normal,” she said.
“I know,” Layne said. He didn’t feel any better, though. He knew the chances of the plane going down were low, but he didn’t like high places, and a plane was just about as high a place as one could get. The plane jerked again, and Layne had the same reaction.
“You’re going to rip the arm right off of the seat.”
“It’s a natural reaction. I don’t like heights.”
“You’re not even at the window.” Alex laughed.
“Doesn’t mean I’m not thousands of feet in the air,” Layne said. Alex’s laughing didn’t annoy him; it had a sort of calming effect, it let him know how silly he was being.
The plane jerked harder than before, and Layne grabbed both arms and shut his eyes.
“Quit that,” Alex said. “You’re going to be fine.” She took Layne’s left hand, which startled him. The plane dipped slightly, and this time, he wasn’t allowed to squeeze. “See?”
Layne smiled. His right hand had still clamped down on the arm of the seat, but at least he was beginning to appear less afraid. Layne looked at Alex’s hand and noticed a rainbow-colored bracelet with dice-block letters on it.
“I like your bracelet,” he said.
“Thanks. My mother made this for me when I was young.”
“What does it say?”
“It says ‘Hope Perseveres’. She used to say it a lot, whenever we were having trouble. She used to remind me that hope would get us through anything.”
“I like that,” Layne said. The plane shook. “I can use it right about now, too.”
****
In the cabin the co-pilot, a young man named Oliver, was trying to make small talk, but the pilot gave one-word answers, if he said anything at all. Finally Oliver gave up, and hoped that the next flight would have a friendlier captain.
It was dark out, so there was little to look at other than the array of blinking lights and switches before him. Oliver thought he could fall asleep, then wondered if perhaps the pilot already had. It was impossible to tell behind the man’s aviator sunglasses.
A slow, steady beep brought Oliver out of his daydream. He looked for the source, and found that the plane had been slowly losing altitude, and was starting to approach landing levels.
“Hey, man,” he said to the pilot, “you gonna get that?”
The pilot made no attempt to respond.
“Hello?” Oliver said. He snapped his fingers before the pilot’s face. No answer. Oliver sighed and pulled up on his control stick. The plane didn’t respond, and he realized that the pilot’s controls were overriding his own. Oliver leaned over the pilot, feeling awkward as he had his face near the guy’s lap. He searched for the override switch.
“Uhhhh,” the pilot said.
“I don’t like it any more than you do, but since you’re so tired—”
The pilot leaned forward and bit into the back of Oliver’s neck. Oliver screamed, and he could feel blood streaming down his neck. Then, he felt his skin tear as the pilot sat up.
Oliver scrambled away from the pilot. “What the hell?” He pressed a hand against the back of his neck, but this only caused a sharp pain to shoot through his body. He thought he felt bone.
The pilot struggled to stand up, but was strapped into his chair. It was like he didn’t know how to work a seatbelt. He looked at Oliver as though he’d just noticed him, and lurched toward him. Oliver punched the pilot so hard the skin between his knuckles split, but the pilot merely recoiled and then returned to his attempt to unshackle himself. Oliver punched him again, and the pilot’s glasses snapped and flew from his face.
The pilot looked at Oliver, but he seemed distant, like his mind was somewhere else, leaving the body to do as it pleased.
Oliver got up and headed for the cabin door, but the pilot grabbed him as he was passing. Oliver struggled, but the pilot was stronger, and he took Oliver’s arm in both hands before sinking his teeth into it. Oliver screamed again. He reached for his headset to radio the ground, but he couldn’t reach it. He began pounding on the pilot’s head and face as hard as he could. The pilot went on biting as though nothing was happening.
The pilot ripped another scrap of flesh from him. Oliver was freed, and he fell to the ground. He stood up, but fell back down, feeling dizzy and very faint, like his mind was leaving him, like sleep was creeping in. He crawled to the door and reached for the handle. He could grasp it, but he couldn’t open it, and even if he could have, he wouldn’t have been able to walk out. Oliver felt himself fading, and he wasn’t sure why. He was bleeding, but the whole matter had taken only a minute or two, so he didn’t think he was losing enough blood to die. What was going on?
Unsure of what to do, Oliver thought of everyone else on board. He reached just below the door handle and locked the cabin door, then let his arm fall to the floor. He almost immediately realized that he had probably done more harm than good, as now no one could get into the cabin to put the plane back in the air. It was the last rational thought he would ever have.
The pilot thrashed in his seat, unable to undo his belts. He began frantically pounding the board before him, and then there was a loud chugging sound.
****
Layne was still holding Alex’s hand when he heard the noise. It was like a loud, sporadic whirring, and then, after a moment, the whirring ceased. Layne looked out through the window and saw nothing but black. He looked ahead and saw a bag of peanuts that had been on his tray slide toward him, almost floating, and then he heard the screams, felt himself lift out of his seat. If he could talk, he would’ve asked Alex if this too was normal, knowing perfectly well that it wasn’t.
The plane was falling.
10
At the Ferrington
Jordan stood in front of his register ringing up various purchases. The night had gone mostly steady, but the store was busy. Jordan had a moment to rest, and saw Evelyn Forthland, the second assistant manager, move around the teenaged checker on register nine to take control of an order containing alcohol.
An elderly woman approached Jordan’s lane. She parked her cart a few feet in and buried her head in her purse. Other customers tried to get in line behind her. Some waited a few seconds before giving up and trying quicker routes. The old woman withdrew a handful of coupons and fumbled with them for a while. Finally, she pulled three ragged slips of paper out of the bunch, stuffed the others back into her purse, and looked up.
“Sir? Are you open?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jordan said. The woman pushed her cart to Jordan’s register. Slowly, she began lifting items out one at a time. Jordan ran each item over the scanner, and finally the cart was empty except for a bag of dog food at the bottom.
“Do you have a gun for this?” the old woman asked. “I’m afraid I can’t lift—” A brief fit of coughs cut her off. She used a dirty-white handkerchief to stifle them. “I’m sorry about that.”
Jordan leaned over the counter, aimed the scan gun at the bag of dog food, and pulled the trigger. “Thank you,” the old woman said, her voice barely audible over a recorded announcement, courtesy of John Kensington. He was advertising a sale in the Ferrington bakery department.
“No problem.” Jordan glanced at the screen, then totaled the order. “It’ll be $14.97, please.” The woman fished around in her purse again, this time for her checkbook, and eventually produced it.
After the old woman finished writing her check, she handed it to Jordan. When it was done processing, he handed her the receipt. “There you go, ma’am,” Jordan said. “Have a good day.” The old woman nodded and shoved the receipt into her black hole of a purse. She turned her cart and headed for the exit.
It was nearing seven when Jordan’s line finally began to dwindle. Jordan grinned as a checker at another register pantomimed blowing his brains out with a gun crafted from his own han
d. With his other hand he made the splatter effect.
Know what you mean! Jordan mouthed.
Evelyn’s voice popped up behind him. “Jordan.” He turned around as she was approaching.
“Yeah?”
“Are you ready for your break?” Evelyn brushed a wisp of reddish-brown hair out of her eyes.
“Sure, why not?” Jordan smiled, signed off the register, and headed toward the food court.
Once he paid for his pizza and drink, Jordan headed upstairs and sat at the middle of three round tables under the bright lights of the break room. They were just as bright as those on the main floor of the Ferrington, but didn’t bother him as much. There was something special about the break room; nothing seemed to upset Jordan within it.
Jordan’s phone vibrated, and the polyphonic version of “Below” by Kanatran blasted from its speaker. Jordan smiled when he realized it was Ashley. He answered the phone.
“Hey, Ash. What’s up?”
“Not much. I figured you’d be on break about now. It’s cute that you have your little break schedule.” She laughed. Jordan followed. “So, how’s work?”
“A pain. Hey, when are you coming up to the Fuckington?”
“Soon. Mom’s not home from work yet, and since Dad’s still in St. Louis, I can’t get around. I’ll be up there before nine, for sure. Don’t worry, Jordan.”
“Then I’ll make sure to be at my post,” Jordan said.
“Hey, Jordan. I have to get off here. Mom’s calling. Maybe she’s close. We’ll talk soon.”
She giggled a little, the giggle that Jordan only heard when she was talking to him.
“Later, Ash.”
He pressed “End”, set the phone down, and picked up his second slice of pizza.
While the break room was a place of sanctuary, it was also a realm in which time moved at warp speeds. The moment he sank his teeth into the pizza, the timer on the light switch twanged softly behind him, and the light went off, leaving just the dim, orange glow from the setting sun outside the window.