Jane Zombie Chronicles Box Set Books 4-6: Crisis Cell, Ominous Ordeal, Running Rampant (Jane Zombie Box Set Book 2)

by Gayle Katz

  “Ahhhhhhhhhh! What the hell is going on?” I pound on the steering wheel, still crying. This isn’t helping Jack. Out of breath, I remember my breathing exercises. Inhale deeply. Hold and release. Exhale slowly.

  I can’t waste any more time. I only have forty-eight hours to book and travel halfway around the world. I have to get ready. I turn on the ignition and stomp on the accelerator. I stop at the bank, pull out as much cash as I can withdraw in a day, and head home in order to pack a few necessities, grab my passport, feed Rocky, and book a flight.

  Chapter 3

  ________________________________________

  Fortunately, I’m able to catch a flight leaving tonight for Maharabad in the Middle East with only one connecting flight in Jalasa, a popular hub in Europe. Unfortunately, I have a couple hours’ layover in-between.

  On the way to the airport, I call work and leave a message with my boss telling him I need a few personal days to take care of a family matter. If he fires me for the last-minute notification, so be it. Jack is and always will be my first priority.

  I continue to zoom my way to the airport in order to make the flight. I park the car in one of the airport lots and rush to the main ticketing area. I flash my ID and passport to get my boarding passes. No bags to check and I only have one carry-on. It’s an international flight, so I need to hurry. As I dart up the escalator and down the long corridor to get to the gate, I pray the security checkpoint isn’t overloaded with people. My hope is to get through security quickly and without incident. As I approach, I run into a swarm of people milling about. If this is the line to get through security, it’s ridiculous. I look at my watch. I’m never going to make it. Impatient, my breathing picks up again as I worry about not only missing my plane, but also my only opportunity to save the man I love. Restless, I look at my watch again. When I look up at the crowd of people, I see a female security officer walking down the lines of people.

  She’s saying something, but she’s still too far away for me to hear the words coming out of her mouth over the noise of the crowd. As she gets closer, I can hear better.

  “If your flight is within the next hour, go to the line to the left for immediate processing,” she shouts.

  That’s all I need to hear. I pick my bag up from the floor and rush over to the much shorter line. I throw my carry on into one of their flat tubs so it can make its journey through the x-ray scanning machine. I take off my shoes and my coat and put them into adjacent tubs. As I approach the security checkpoint, I pull out my ID, my passport, and the boarding pass. I begin to get nervous. What if I can’t get through?

  I wait patiently until the security officer waves me to advance to the checkpoint. He extends his large, scuffed hand, palm out. I place my passport, ID, and boarding pass into his hand for inspection. He takes my ID and looks at me. Then he looks down at my paperwork and passes the barcode on the boarding pass through his pocket-sized scanner. It beeps. He looks at the boarding pass another time before picking up his head to look me in the eyes. He has a blank look on his face.

  “Where are you going, ma’am?” he questions.

  “Maharabad, sir,” I respectfully reply.

  “And why are you going to Maharabad?”

  “It’s a family matter, sir.”

  “I see. Can you elaborate?”

  “Unfortunately, no. Not right now. It’s personal.”

  “You do know that Maharabad is an active zombie zone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you also know it might be difficult, if not impossible, for you to return from such a place?”

  “No. What? What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m simply saying that whether or not the zombie virus gets you over there or not doesn’t matter,” he explains. “The bottom line is that traveling back into the States from areas with questionable governments and high likelihood of zombie outbreak will be much more difficult than you probably think. We’re on high alert here. We are trying to prevent outbreaks from occurring in the United States, and that means denying reentry to people who may be coming from hotspots, even if they’re American citizens.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I reply. “Don’t you have a quarantine process for letting people traveling overseas come back in?”

  “Yes, but we’re short on staff and the line to get through is a long one.”

  “Crap,” I mumble under my breath as I hold my head.

  “Are you sure you still want to go, ma’am?”

  “Yes. I’m sure,” I answer. I don’t have a choice on whether or not I want to go. I have to go. Jack is counting on me.

  “You still can go back to the desk and swap your ticket in for another destination, one not so fraught with trouble.”

  “Thank you for your concern, but I’ve made my decision and my plane is taking off soon.”

  “Stay here,” the security guard says. He gets up from his designated spot, walks over to what looks like another group of guards, and talks to them for a few minutes.

  Trying to keep my anxiety under control, I refrain from biting my nails and do my best not to stare at the security guard who left me hanging. I don’t know what I’m fearful of most: them not letting me get on the plane in the first place, them not letting us back in when I return with Jack, or neither of us living long enough to get back into the country. As all of these crazy thoughts rush around in my brain, the same security guard comes back.

  “Maybe you want to step aside and take another minute to reconsider? There’ll be other flights,” he says.

  “No. Thank you. I don’t need anymore time. I understand the risks. Look…” I show off my bite mark. “I’m immune.”

  “I see,” he says as he stares at my arm. “Keep in mind the zombie plague is a virus and viruses can mutate and change over time as it works its way through a population. I’m no scientist, but that’s just the way it works, like the flu for example.” He pauses for a moment. “Here’s something else to consider. Just because you may be immune doesn’t mean you can’t die. I want you to be sure about your decision here. It must be a pretty important family matter for you to put your life in jeopardy.”

  I don’t say anything. What can I possibly say? Some crazy death cult known as the Brotherhood kidnapped my husband while he was on assignment for a story he’s covering? This guy would want to alert the authorities and it’d be a big mess. I can’t afford that if I want to see Jack again.

  “Miss, just understand that once you’re cleared through this checkpoint, there’s no turning back,” he continues. “We’re having this conversation now so that you’re absolutely clear on your options and what might happen next. We want to avoid surprises.”

  I don’t know what else to say other than, “I know what I’m doing, sir.”

  “OK then, ma’am. You’re free to go. Godspeed.”

  And with his catastrophic warning weighing heavily on my mind, I walk through security, pick up my bag and my coat on the other side, slip my shoes back on, and proceed to my gate. I look at my watch and I have thirty minutes until the flight takes off. I walk faster and, by the time I make it to the gate, I’m winded.

  The airline staff is in the middle of calling zones in order to board the plane. They call zone B. I look at my boarding pass. I’m zone D. I get in line to board the plane. As the people pass through the last checkpoint, they enter the passenger boarding sky bridge. Relieved that I didn’t miss the plane, I inch up to the checkpoint. The airline official looks at my boarding pass and waves me through.

  As I walk into the temporary corridor between the airport and the airplane, I’m stuck in the middle of a herd of people trying to board. Step-by-step, slowly we begin to move. When I make it to the entrance of the plane, a flight attendant greets me and I turn to squeeze myself down the narrow aisle separating the right and left halves of the plane. As I’m walking down the aisle in order to find my seat, I see people of all shapes and sizes, colors and creeds. For a brief moment, I
contemplate why others would be going to such a horrible place. Do they live there? Are they trying to save someone they love, too? Are all the people on this plane flight doomed?

  I find my seat, stuff my bag into the overhead compartment, and sit down. At least I have a window seat. Sitting there, the stress of the day is beginning to hit me. When I woke up this morning at 4:00 a.m. and then went back to bed, I didn’t get much rest. You never do with broken sleep and I’m feeling the effects of it right now. My whole body is achy. My mind is fatigued. I fight to stay awake. I have to keep an eye on my surroundings. I don’t know what to expect. But my eyelids get heavy, and my body betrays me.

  Chapter 4

  ________________________________________

  I open my eyes and I see Jack again. Only his back is facing me, but I’m 110 percent sure it’s him. My heart sings.

  “Jack!” I shout his name, but he begins to walk away. I run toward him. I extend my arm and reach for him, but I can’t touch him.

  “Jack! Can you hear me?” I yell.

  This time he turns around, and I see darkness where I once saw light. Shadows are hiding his face.

  I get closer. His face is all deformed. I gasp and take a step back. There are blood splatters all over his clothes. Something happened. He turned? No. No. No. That can’t be. How did this happen?

  He steps closer to me. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by what’s happening to him. His face is zombifying right in front of me and all I can do is stare.

  His eyes are glowing red. His teeth are turning black. He opens his mouth, but all that comes out is an ear-piercing scream and putrid breath. Anger is plastered all over his face.

  He grabs me by the shirt, pulls me close, and tries to speak. “Y-you…did this to me! It’s your f-fault!”

  I can smell his hot, vile breath on my face. It’s the stench of the zombie virus claiming a person. I turn away, close my eyes, and start to cry. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real.”

  “L-Look at me!” he shouts.

  I look back and open my eyes.

  “Ma’am! Ma’am!”

  I jolt awake to find the flight attendant and passenger next to me staring, trying to wake me up. I’m sweating into the seat.

  “Ma’am, are you OK?” the flight attendant asks.

  “Yes, fine. Sorry. I’m sorry. I must have been dreaming.”

  “If that was a dream, you really need to relax,” the lady in the seat next to me comments.

  “Having a nightmare is more like it. Are you sure you’re OK?” the flight attendant says as she notices my mark. Hesitant to get too close, she continues talking. “Ummm. You’re not one of them, are you?”

  “Oh? This old thing?” I point to my bite mark. “No. I’m good and, if you’re curious, that’s an old wound. I received treatment. I’m fine. I could use some water, though. The pressure inside the plane is giving me a headache.”

  “Would you like some aspirin? It might help.”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  “I’ll be right back,” she says, and then hurries down the aisle.

  I stare at my old bite mark. I touch it and feel the scar tissue with my fingertips. In a time when zombie outbreaks are happening around the world, people are still squeamish when they see one, even if it’s healed. This thing seems to take center stage wherever I go. I’ve been contemplating plastic surgery to get rid of it, but haven’t pulled the trigger yet. Frankly, I’m tired of explaining it to everyone, yet I’ve been on the fence about getting it removed.

  The flight attendant comes back with my water. She hands me a sealed bottle of water and some aspirin.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Maybe this and drinking something will perk me up.” I toss the pill in my mouth, crack open the bottle of water, and take a big sip.

  “Maybe. Are you feeling better now?” she asks.

  “Yes, I think so. Thanks again for your help.”

  “My pleasure. And by the way, in case you didn’t know, whenever you’re traveling outside of the US…don’t drink the water. Never. Ever. Not a drop. It doesn’t matter if you’re visiting Europe, the Middle East, or anywhere else around the world. If you don’t remember anything else, remember that rule. If you have to drink something with water in it, make sure it’s bottled or boiled for at least fifteen minutes. It’ll save you a lot of pain.”

  “Don’t forget,” the woman sitting next to me puts down her magazine and chimes in. “No salads either. Only cooked food. I made that mistake a couple of times and I regretted it later.”

  “I think I remember reading that somewhere once. Thanks for the reminder,” I reply.

  “Good point, Ma’am,” the flight attendant says to the woman next to me. The flight attendant then turns back to me and reassuringly says, “She knows her stuff, but feel free to push the call button if you need anything else. We’re here to help.”

  “How do you keep it straight?”

  “Keep what straight?” the flight attendant asks.

  “You know, where you are and when you can or can’t drink the water,” I reply.

  “We can’t. That’s why we always carry bottled water onboard. It just makes everything easier.”

  “I’m curious. Where else do you fly?”

  “Where don’t we fly? We travel all over the world.”

  “Are you from the US?”

  “Originally, yes. But this job makes it almost impossible to go home. It’s my life now. The airline is generous, though, and puts me up wherever we touchdown. I can only really go home when I have vacations, and half of that time is wasted in a quarantine area.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It could be worse. At least they expedite the process for flight crews. Being a flight attendant was always somewhat dangerous. Now it’s worse. On the plus side, at least nowadays we get hazard pay.” She chuckles.

  “That sucks.”

  She nods her head and she’s gone, helping other passengers I assume.

  Knowing everything that I have to do when the plane lands, I try to get some restful sleep. I’m going to need my wits about me in order to save Jack. I lean against the side of the plane, close my eyes, and let the headache medication do its job.

  ***

  I feel the landing gear deploy and the tires touch down. I look out the window to try to get my bearings. The pilot turns on the public address system to give an update.

  “Ladies and gentleman, welcome to Jalasa airport. Local time is 10:23 a.m. and the temperature is 110 degrees Fahrenheit or about 43 degrees Celsius. For your safety, please remain seated until we come to a full stop. If this is your final destination, on behalf of the airline and crew, I’d like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again soon. While we wish you safe passage, we’d be remiss if we didn’t communicate the zombie threat here in the local area is high. Make it your priority to know what’s going on around you at all times. It could save your life. If this isn’t your final destination, you may stay on board and we’ll depart as soon as possible.”

  It’s a good thing I’m in a window seat so I don’t have to deal with people nudging me constantly as they pass by and exit the plane. About half of the passengers, including the nice woman sitting next to me, start gathering their belongings. The rest of us stay put, waiting for the next crowd of people to board so we can get on our way. Watching the line of people slowly deplaning, including the man who was sitting next to me, is somewhat soothing. People watching has that effect on me. I drift back to sleep.

  The flight attendant jostles my seat as she’s collecting people’s garbage and I wake up. Everybody not continuing on with us is off the plane and I feel better. Big crowds are overwhelming, especially on an airplane. Still somewhat sleepy, I get up and head for the bathroom since I’ve been holding it for more than a couple hours. I open the door and the smell hits me in the face like a wall. It’s disgusting, but something about the stench seems familiar. I’
m just going to assume someone had some serious gastrointestinal distress issues in here, probably from drinking the water. I hold my nose, do my business, wash my hands, and scoot back to my seat.

  Even after returning from the bathroom, the familiar smell is still stuck in my nose. As it stays with me, my paranoia gets the best of me. It’s probably nothing, but I feel like I should report it anyway. I won’t be able to relax otherwise. I push the call button and the same flight attendant comes over.

  “How can I help?” she asks.

  “The bathroom smells rotten. I don’t know what happened in there, but you might want to have someone check it out,” I say.

  “That’s not unusual on an international flight, but thank you for bringing it to our attention. I’ll have our maintenance people check it out.”

  I lean back in my seat, relieved someone is going to take care of the problem before the plane takes off again.

  Within the hour, new passengers begin boarding the plane. Staring at these new people funneling into the aircraft, I look at their body language, facial expressions, clothing, and any other idiosyncrasies I happen to notice. Most people look fine and pass my unofficial inspection, but a few people catch my eye. They look suspicious. A few people are sweating. One woman’s eyeliner is smudged like she’s been crying and wiping her eyes. Another person looks gray. Maybe he has a disease where his blood isn’t oxygenating properly and his skin tints a pale blue color? I’m just guessing.

  The calm and relaxed me from a few minutes ago is gone. Beginning to panic, I push the call button again in order to get the flight attendant’s attention. I see she’s making her way back to me while helping people store their luggage at the same time.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?” she asks when she gets to my seat.

  “Yes. I don’t want to seem like a crazy person, but a couple of the people who just boarded the plane don’t look…well.”