Final Winter

by Brendan DuBois

  The EMT flinched and the cop struggled but Brian was quick, Brian was driven, and in a second he had muzzle end of the pistol jammed up against the cop’s lower jaw. Brian said, ‘Take it easy, now.’

  The cop said, his voice strained, ‘There’s no round in the chamber. And the safety is on.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Brian said. ‘But maybe I’ve got the safety off, and maybe you’re lying about having no round in the chamber. You don’t want to have your jaw blown off, do you? Ready to gamble that, officer?’

  The EMT said, ‘What.. . what do you want?’

  ‘Stop this ambulance. Now. I’m getting off.’

  The EMT said, ‘Sir, you’re injured, you’re not thinking right, you’re—’

  Brian said, ‘This ambulance doesn’t stop the next ten seconds, I’m splattering this cop’s brains all over the ceiling. Understood?’

  It seemed like the EMT got it. Edging past them so he didn’t seem to get too close to Brian and the cop, he moved to a small sliding glass partition between the ambulance bed and the driver and pounded on the window. ‘Emergency, Carol - you’ve got to pull over. Now!’

  Some murmured words from up front, and the EMT said, ‘No fucking around! Stop the goddamn bus!’

  The ‘goddamn bus’ slowed down and halted. Brian sat up, gritting his teeth at the pain in his back, keeping his stare fixed on the cop, who had murderous hate in his eyes - and who could blame him? The EMT - showing some initiative - scrambled to the rear of the ambulance and opened the rear door. Brian tugged at his right arm, pulling the IV free. Blood spurted down his arm. He kept on moving, the cop moving with him. It was awkward, it was tough, but soon he was out on the pavement. The cop was standing there too and Brian nudged him and said, ‘Back in the bus, pal. You get back in the bus and close the door and drive away.’

  The cop stood still.

  Brian said, ‘Move away, or I start shooting civilians. Move away, and I run like hell, and nobody gets hurt.’

  The cop said, ‘You’re a stupid fuck.’

  ‘Probably. Move.’

  The cop took a step back and Brian stepped away, still wincing from the pain. The cop went back into the ambulance, and Brian slammed the door shut and slapped his hand twice against it. The ambulance, lights still flashing, moved out.

  Brian took in his surroundings. Apartment buildings, office buildings, small stores - he could waste precious seconds looking for a phone and the police would come down like a hammer on this area once the cop in the ambulance got on the horn. He put the cop’s pistol in his coat pocket, and walked quickly down one block, then another, not running — running men always attract attention - and by God, luck must have been with him, for he caught a taxi and in a matter of moments was heading to the Memphis International Airport.

  It was 1:51 a.m.

  ~ * ~

  Carrie Floyd felt the subtle vibration of the MD-11 engines in the control yoke as they waited for takeoff at the end of the runway. Sean was there, just waiting, and she decided that she would tease him, all the way northeast, once they took off.

  He was patient. And would have to be, to put up with her and her daughter.

  Sean made a point of clearing his throat.

  Carrie kept on ignoring him, though it was hard to do with a smile on her face.

  ~ * ~

  In the rear of the taxi, Brian Doyle tried to work through the pain in his back, the pain in his chest, keeping his gaze straight on what was ahead of him, and what was ahead of him wasn’t good. For some reason the traffic was backing up to the airport exits. He leaned forward and said to the cabbie, ‘Why is it taking so goddamn long? What’s the holdup?’

  ‘Man, who the fuck knows?’ the cabbie said, the lilt in his Jamaican voice pronounced. ‘Maybe an accident. Maybe a drill. I dunno.’

  Brian waited, hands folded, staring ahead, looking at the line of red taillights stretching in front of them. He said, ‘You own a cellphone?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Can I use it? It’s an emergency.’

  ‘No, man, I’m ‘fraid you can’t use it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Cuz I don’t have it here. It’s back at my place.’

  Brian said, ‘I thought you said you had a cellphone.’

  The cabbie said, ‘You didn’t ask me if I had one, you just asked me if I owned one. Right?’

  They still weren’t moving. Screw this.

  Brian opened the cab door, stepped out, and started running towards the fences on the other side of the highway. If the cabbie was screaming at him, Brian didn’t hear it over the noise of the jets.

  ~ * ~

  AirBox 107 sat at the end of the runway, its engines idling, the white lights of the runway stretching out ahead. Carrie kept switching her gaze from the displays to the runway. Sean waited next to her, then said, ‘Something’s up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We’ve never waited this long before, that’s why.’

  Carrie said, ‘Be patient, will you?’

  Sean said, ‘Some would say I’ve been too patient already.’ She thought of what to say, when the tower controller’s voice came over their headsets.

  ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, tower.’

  ‘One-oh-seven, go ahead,’ Sean replied.

  ‘Stand by.’

  ‘One-oh-seven.’

  Carrie looked at Sean and he said, ‘Look over there. By the freight hangars. Lots of lights.’

  She did just that. He was right. A number of red and blue flashing lights.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said.

  ‘You should learn to listen to me more often.’

  Carrie waited and said, ‘Some people would say I already listen too much.’

  ‘Which people?’

  Carrie said nothing, waited.

  Then the tower came back on.

  ‘Airbox one-oh-seven.’

  ~ * ~

  Adrianna Scott had scouted out this place months ago, and now she waited with anticipation, a pair of 7X50 binoculars in her hands. She was in a small park on a hillside, about a mile away from the airport. Among the picnic tables and swing sets, all empty, she waited. She looked around her, saw how empty the place was, and felt a wonderful sense of satisfaction. This place would never be used again by the people of this country and soon grass and saplings and trees would once more cover this cleared area.

  She lifted up the binoculars, focused them on the runway. She could make out long lines of yellow and black AirBox jets, heading out for departure.

  ‘Soon, papa, soon, mama,’ she whispered.

  ~ * ~

  Brian bent over, vomited, and then stood up, wiping spit from his chin. Before him was an access road, bordered by a chain-link fence that butted up against the runway. What the hell to do now? There was nothing before him except the fence. No phones, no guard shacks, nothing.

  Damn!

  He looked up and down the length of the fence. Noted the lampposts. Noted the power lines. And the cameras, of course, the—

  Security cameras.

  Only chance. The only real chance.

  Brian took out the pistol he had lifted from the Memphis cop, started running the length of the fence, shooting the pistol into the air, raising as much hell as he could. If the airport security team was on the job, if these cameras were manned, they would see a crazy man with a gun at the end of this runway, apparently shooting at the soon-to-depart aircraft.

  It was the only thing he could do.

  ~ * ~

  Sean said, AirBox one-oh-seven, go ahead.’

  ‘Tower, AirBox one-oh-seven, cleared for takeoff, runway three six center’

  ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, cleared for takeoff runway three six center, we thank you.’

  Carrie held onto the throttles tight, started pushing them forward. She felt the engine thrust push her back into the seat as the runway lights started accelerating past them. Sean started calling out the speed and then V-1, the speed at which take off was imminent
: ‘Sixty. Seventy. Eighty. Vee-one, rotate.’

  Carrie pulled the control yoke back. ‘Vee-two,’ Sean said as she felt the jet break free from the ground, Sean now indicating that they were at their climbing speed in case they lost an engine. They were airborne.

  She said quickly, ‘Positive rate, gear up,’ and Sean moved a wheel-shaped lever with his left hand. There was a clunking sensation as the nose wheel came home.

  ‘Gear up,’ Sean said.

  As the speed increased, Carrie called out, ‘Flaps five.’

  The flaps moved to their position, and then she said, ‘Flaps up.’

  ‘Flaps up,’ Sean said. ‘We’ve got a clean aircraft.’

  The tower controller’s voice came over the radio. ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, change to departure.’

  Sean said, ‘AirBox one-oh-seven’ as he changed the radio’s frequency. Then a different voice announced itself: ‘AirBox one-oh-seven.’

  ‘Departure, AirBox one-oh-seven, passing feet for five thousand,’ Sean said.

  ‘AirBox one-oh-seven, climb to one zero thousand, heading zero two zero, proceed to CENTRALIA when able, and proceed via your flight plan.’

  Carrie loved this, loved the feeling of going up into the air, everything under control, everything nominal, clear night sky and nothing ahead but hours of blissful flying, heading to CENTRALIA, their first departure point - or fix — on their way to Boston.

  ‘What do you say, Sean? Let’s have a good flight.’

  ‘You got it, Carrie.’

  ~ * ~

  Brian looked up as one AirBox aircraft, and then another, and another, took off over him, deafening him with the noise of their engines. The pistol was out of bullets. He dropped the useless piece of metal on the ground.

  He twisted his head to follow the aircrafts’ flight, knowing that each of them was carrying something horrible, something deadly, and that he had failed to prevent them from taking off.

  He clenched his fists, screamed up in frustration at the departing aircraft.

  ~ * ~

  Adrianna lowered the binoculars, smiling widely with happiness. One after another, her gifts to America had taken off to spread across this wide and darkened land. She felt her heart swell with joy, thinking of what was in every one of those aircraft, thinking of what was going to be sprayed out over all those cities in just a matter of hours.

  She went back to her car, binoculars in hand, ready to leave this soon-to-be-dead nation.

  ~ * ~

  PART THREE

  ~ * ~

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Alexander Bocks was in his office at 2:30 a.m. when the phone call came in.

  ‘Mr Bocks?’

  ‘You got him.’

  ‘Sir, this is Carl Goodson, on-duty airport manager.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Sir, we’ve got a threat report from Homeland Security. We’re shutting down operations, sealing the grounds and aircraft.’

  Bocks leaned forward in his chair, something nasty beginning to chum in his stomach. ‘What’s the basis of the threat?’

  ‘Not known at this time, sir. We’ve been advised to close down. More information to follow.’

  ‘Who’s your contact with Homeland Security?’

  Goodson said, ‘Deputy Director Janwick. From the Northwest Office.’

  ‘Give me his number.’

  Goodson did just that. Bocks said, ‘All right. I’m out of my office now. I’m going to my Operations Center. I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  He could hear Goodson sigh. ‘Might be a while, sir. I’ve got other calls to make.’

  Bocks stood, ready to hang up. ‘I’m sure you have.’

  By the time he reached his office door, he was running.

  ~ * ~

  Something flickering and blue caught Brian’s eye. He turned and saw a patrol car coming up the access road, blue lights flashing, headlights flickering left-right-left-right. About goddamn time.

  A side spotlight nailed Brian as he stood there, still listening to the jets taking off. He raised his arms as the car stopped and two airport cops stepped out.

  As they approached he held his palms flat out, showing that he wasn’t carrying a thing.

  One cop said, ‘Freeze - don’t even think of moving.’

  ‘You got it.’

  The other cop said, ‘Kneel down.’

  ‘Nope.’

  The first cop said, ‘Kneel down, or we’ll—’

  Another jet roared overhead.

  Brian said, ‘I’m Brian Doyle. Detective from the New York Police Department. Detached to the Federal Operational and Intelligence Liaison Agency. This is an emergency. I need to see Alexander Bocks, head of AirBox, right now.’

  The second cop said, ‘What the hell were you doing, shooting off your pistol like that?’

  ‘Trying to get somebody’s attention.’

  ‘You sure the fuck achieved that,’ the first cop said.

  ‘You got ID?’ the second cop asked.

  ‘Wallet. Left rear pocket.’

  The first cop said, ‘Pull it out, using two fingers, toss it over here.’

  Another jet went overhead. Brian did as he was told and said, ‘Guys, no offense, but we’re wasting time. This is a Homeland Security emergency. We’ve got to—’

  ‘Hold it. And stand right there.’

  The two cops huddled, looking at his wallet, and he was mg to say something, something sharp, when he realized how quiet it was.

  Quiet.

  The aircraft had stopped taking off.

  Brian looked over at the runway. Aircraft were there, sitting still. More flashing blue lights from other vehicles were racing along the runway, heading to the parked aircraft.

  The cops came to him. ‘Where do you need to go?’

  ‘AirBox. I need to see General Bocks.’

  The first cop said, ‘We can get you there, but it’s not up to us whether you get to see the General.’

  ‘Got it.’

  ~ * ~

  Monty Zane stifled a yawn, looked down at the lights of the runways and the city beneath him. It had been a long, long day, and an even longer night. The trick in flying so much was to catch as much sleep as you could, no matter which way you were traveling across the globe, no matter which time zone you ended up in. Earlier Monty had read stories about those ‘business-class warriors’ who traveled on behalf of their corporate masters and who tried to cope with jet lag. Everything from special diets to special exercises to special music CDs to listen to as you ‘reorganized your inner energy’ or some such shit. Hah. Just get as much sleep as you needed and try to store up some zees, ‘cause in some of the places Monty had traveled to jet lag was for wimps.

  He yawned again. Though, he thought, this particular wimp sure could use another few hours of sleep, in a real bed, not a red-webbed seat or some other airline chair.

  The aircraft came down to the runway in the darkness. Monty folded his arms, idly thought of how many times he had been in aircraft before, and lost track just as the wheels touched down and there was a shudder as the plane settled in on the runway. There was the usual whine as the engines reverse-thrusted, and Monty looked around the interior of the well-lit cabin.

  A woman’s voice came over the intercom: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m pleased to report that we must be the luckiest flight in the world tonight. We’ve been informed that due to some unknown circumstance at this time, the airport has closed, and no other aircraft will be allowed to land. Or take off.’

  Some of the passengers started talking. Monty sat still, listened. Lucky choice, he thought, to disobey his pager orders and come back here to find out what the hell was going on.

  ‘In any event,’ the flight attendant continued, ‘thank you for choosing United, and welcome to Memphis.’

  Soon enough, the aircraft reached the gate. There were plenty of blue lights flashing from vehicles on the runway, and then the flight attendant’s voice came over the intercom a
gain, a bit shakier than before.

  ‘I’m sorry to say, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve been informed that all passengers are to remain seated. There...there appears to be a security concern. Thank you for your patience and understanding.’