Still Dying 2 (Dying Days)

by Armand Rosamilia

  * * * * *

  I decide to risk a look. After all, what harm can come from a little peek? I crack the door, grateful that it's not squeaky, and look around. There are pieces of people and blood everywhere. I try not to, but I gag. I see that there are a few people banging on the cockpit door. They're doing it so slowly they are either seriously injured or they are those things and they're trying to get at the pilots. A thump comes from inside the cockpit and my stomach knots. I quietly close the door and relock it. Then I sit on the toilet and allow my mind to take me to places I don't really want to go. A thump from inside the cockpit might be anything, or it might be that one of the pilots has turned and is trying to get out the door. We are still in the air so even if the pilots are dead we're still on autopilot. This is great for flying but not so much for landing. I'm not a pilot. I've played flight simulator games a few times but I've never planned on actually flying. If the pilots are dead or turned into these creatures, I need to get into the cockpit and radio for help. The problem is, even if I get to the cockpit without being eaten, there is no way to open the door from the outside. I'm screwed. If the pilots are just fine and I manage to get to the cockpit, I doubt they'll let me in and I have no idea how many of those things are still alive. There were maybe four banging on the cockpit door, but how many are back in coach? How many are in the seats or on the floor eating the people they've killed?

  * * * * *

  The more I ponder, the more scared I get. I pull my cell phone out and take it off airplane mode. There is no signal but the clock tells me I've been in the air for just over an hour and a half. This means there's about another hour and thirty minutes left to the flight. After that, I have no clue what will happen. Will the autopilot click off and we'll crash? Will it circle the airport in Miami and stay circling until someone takes it off auto and lands us, or we run out of fuel and crash? Will it just keep flying south? I have no idea what will happen and, thanks to having no signal, I can't look it up on the web. I'm pretty sure this ends with me dying somehow. I just need to choose how. Do I want to go out battling those things and trying to land the plane, or do I want to die in an airplane bathroom, a complete coward?

  * * * * *

  I'm sure many of you would say you'd want to die a hero, or at least doing something to try and save yourself. Me, well, what can I say? I guess I'm just a cowardly guy. I decide to stay in the bathroom and wait. I decide to wait an hour and see if anything changes. Maybe those things will get bored and fall asleep. Maybe they'll get the cockpit door open and I will be able to get to it and save myself. Maybe the pilots are ok and we'll land at Miami International unscathed. Maybe CDC or the FBI will meet us there. I just hope whatever caused this doesn't leak out into the world. But, what if it already has? What if there is no CDC or FBI at the airport? What if there is nobody there? What if this has turned into some sort of fucked up Armageddon and everyone in the world is either like these creatures or dead? What if I am the only one left? Oh, God. Please don't let me be the only survivor. I know I haven't been the best person on the planet but I don't want to be the only one left. Get a grip. I have to get a grip on myself. I may not even be the only one alive on this plane. Both, or, even just one, of the pilots could still be alive. Do I risk being attacked by the creatures to find out?

  * * * * *

  If you're reading this and think you could have been braver or better than I am, well, bully for you. For me, it's not easy. This decision has a ninety percent chance of leading to my early and most unfortunate demise. This is either the last thing I ever do or the beginning of a whole new and different life for me. I crack the door again. They're still beating on the cabin door and there is some give to it this time. I think they'll get through it. If the pilots are alive (or even if just one pilot is and they've killed the other creature pilot), they'll need some help. If neither pilot is alive, it still gives me a way into the cockpit. I don't want to die in a fiery crash. I really don't. Movement to the left catches my eye; one of those things is chewing on the remains of a young girl that was torn in half. As he eats her face, his lower half is busy thrusting into the area where her stomach once was. The crotch of his pants is soaked in blood and his face is covered in it. His eyes have clouded over and he looks dead, yet, I am watching him eat and fuck the poor corpse of that child. Suddenly, he sniffs the air. I quietly close and lock the door. I'm worried he smelled me. Also, I feel the need to vomit again, out of disgust for the child and fear for myself. This door isn't reinforced like the cockpit door. If those things start battering on it, they're sure to get in here.

  * * * * *

  Maybe they've got some disease, maybe they've been poisoned, perhaps they're under some spell, but no matter the cause, they remind me of the zombies you see in movies. For that reason, and their dead corpselike eyes, I'm going to call them zombies from now on. They creep me the hell out and I'm really wishing I'd never boarded this plane. I wait quietly for that thing to sniff me out and come get me. Five minutes pass, then ten. There is no sound other than the quiet background thump of the zombies battering the door of the cockpit. There is only an hour left to the flight now and I don't know if I can take it anymore. Hiding in the lavatory is definitely a chicken-shit move but I don't know what else to do. If I leave here too soon and the cockpit door isn't open yet, I'm zombie chow. If I wait too long after they break through the door and they kill the pilots, I'm a crash test dummy. I figure I'll wait until there is twenty minutes left in the flight and then I'll try to get through them and into the compartment with the pilots. I'd like to think they are still sitting in there but perhaps they're standing and banging against the door with their undead fists.

  * * * * *

  I regret some things in my life (none as much as getting on this plane.) So, with nothing but time to kill, I sit on the toilet and take stock of my life. I think about Grace. I was going to marry her, until she left me for my best friend. I can't blame them, as much as I really want to; I left them alone together constantly. I was always going out of town and would stupidly call Daniel and ask him to go over and check on Grace every night. Guess a time came when he did more than just check on her. The truth is I cared about my job more than I had ever cared for her. I took out of town trips even when I could have sent one of the people below me. I never want to settle down; I am a bit of a gypsy and love traveling. One of the things she had told me that caused me to push our wedding date back was her decision that when we were married she wanted me to travel less. Maybe I threw her and Danny together because I didn't want to stop living the suitcase life. Maybe I did it because I thought I could trust them. Either way, it is partially my fault.

  * * * * *

  I never want kids and Grace wants a dozen. That right there should have told me we weren't compatible. I've decided it was a good thing that she and Daniel got together. If we'd had kids, I would have resented her for it, hated her even. I didn't want to be that guy, and am so glad I don't have to be. By cheating on me, they became the bad guys and I was the victim. It made the whole thing easier to deal with. It also meant that a lot of our friends had stopped talking with Danny and Grace because of what they'd done. If I ever get out of this, I plan to tell my friends that I don't want them to be angry anymore. I don't want them to shun the happy couple on my account. After seeing what I have on this flight, I realize that life is too short for anger and hatred. I will never be bogged down in rage and misery again. That small thought sparked, in me, courage and a will to make this work. I will survive this. I will get out of this stupid craptacular situation in one piece because I want to. I will not give up.

  * * * * *

  In fact, I'll start by killing that corpse desecrating bastard just outside. Killing him will make me happy. I may not want children but I sure as hell won't let someone (even if he is a zombie) eat and violate a little girl's body like that and live. Hey, look at me getting all brave now. Crap. I know I'll regret this. Bravery like this will only get me killed. I notice
some of the metal trim on the floor is loose and I begin prying at it with my fingers. Sure it's just L shaped steel, but if I drive it hard enough into that thing's eye, maybe it'll go through the skull and into the brain and kill it. If not, at least I'll have done something other than await my death. It feels so weird to me that just a little while ago that is all I wanted to do; sit in here, safely awaiting my doom. Now I want to kill them. I want to live. I guess thinking about Grace and realizing the whole mess is my own damn fault has given me a bit of a new lease on life. Or maybe I'm just going into hysterics. Either way, I want to live.

  * * * * *

  Success! The piece of trim comes off in my hands. It's not super long, maybe a foot at most, but the end furthest from me is sharp. I do my best not to cut myself. With the way that thing sniffed the air, I'm guessing they have a good sense of smell. The last thing I need is to drop fresh blood and advertise my non-dead state. It'd probably be like dropping chum into the water when it's teaming with sharks. Like I said, this door isn't exactly reinforced. They'd get in here as easy as opening a can of tuna. I practice stabbing with the metal and work up the courage to go out and kill that sick fucker.

  * * * * *

  When I am convinced that the metal is strong enough, I push my ear to the door and listen. There are still the thumps on the cockpit door. There doesn't seem to be as many and this worries me. If those bastards are giving up on that door, where are they going and what are they doing? This means there are more of them roaming the plane. I stay with my ear to the door and do my best not to gasp when I hear shuffling footsteps in front of me. I hold my breath and am afraid my heartbeat will give me away. There's a quiet tap as if someone just put their hand on the door. I am grateful for the lock and terrified those things can reason. If they can read the 'occupied' sign on the door and realize someone has to be in there for it to be locked, I'm a dead man. I continue holding my breath and listening. A light creak followed by the sound of feet shuffling away from the door has me hopeful that the zombie just leaned against the door a minute before resuming his search for a snack. I think back on all the zombie movies and TV shows I've seen. They never lean, unless, maybe, one zombie passed another in the narrow aisle way. It is instinct for people to give each other some space. I stay still and keep listening.

  * * * * *

  I wonder if they breathe and wish they would. If they did, it would mean I'd be able to hear it. I hope and pray they do, but I know, truthfully, there is no way these things are living. Those eyes are proof of that; they have the stare of a corpse. Also, even though the one was feasting and...thrusting, it didn't show any emotions on its face. What sort of living beast doesn't snarl or smile when angry or happy? I continue straining to hear something, anything other than the battering of the door at the head of the plane. I nearly scream when the door handle rattles. I back away from the door as quietly as I can. It rattles once more and then stays still. I pray. I am not the most religious guy on the planet but, when confronted with my own death, I find myself wanting God to be real. I have been continuing an open ended conversation with Him in my head and it is at this point I beg him to let me live.

  * * * * *

  I force myself to listen at the door again, praying that the thing won't burst open and those monsters won't do to me what I'd seen them do to the others. I let out a quiet sigh of relief when I hear the scraping sound of someone letting go of the handle and the shuffling sound of feet walking away from the door. I take the time to thank the good Lord that I am still alive. Then a thought comes to me; what about an air marshal? Isn't it possible there was one on this flight? They'd have a gun. With a gun in hand, I could easily clear a path and it wouldn't require me to get within grabbing distance of those things.

  * * * * *

  I quickly dismiss the thought when it hits me I'd have no way of knowing who the cop was. You can bet there is no way in hell I'd walk around the plane trying to figure it out, not with so many of those damn monsters roaming the place. I just have me and my little metal bar. This is stupid. I am going to die if I go out there. They would eat and screw me right to death, and then maybe I'd rise and become one of them. I should just stay here and wait for the plane to land/crash. At least in here I can live a little while longer. Although, what good is that? Living for thirty more minutes versus living a whole life just sounds stupid. I can do this. The truth is I'll die either way. As I argue with myself, a loud thump and screech catches my attention. I take a deep breath and crack the door, no zombies around, I open it a little wider and see that the cockpit door is partially open, but something or someone is trying to keep it closed from the other side. This gives me hope that someone is still alive in there. I have to do it. I have to do it for the hope. If there is someone alive, we can band together to fight these things. If it is the pilot who is still alive, there is an even better chance we will live. I make up my mind, thrust the door open in a quiet triumph and start towards the cockpit.

  * * * * *

  I come upon the first zombie, within about ten steps out of the bathroom. It is that bastard who'd eaten the little girl. I turn the creature around and jam my metal bar into its eye socket and push. The eye explodes and the wet goo splatters my cheek. I push harder and hear the crunch of it going through the thin layer of bone behind the eyes. I pull the bar as the creature falls, but it doesn't come out. Instead, I just wind up falling with it and pulling the thing on top of me. The bar is stuck in its brain but it is still alive and is trying to bite and hump me. I push the bar with everything I have. There is a sucking sound and the creature falls still. In the meantime, our flailing around has attracted other zombies and I can't get the metal bar out of its head. I sit there motionless, watching as they shamble about, looking for something to attack. Three of them grab the zombie that had been on top of me and start eating him. I am able to escape while they are busy consuming and thrusting against his twice dead body. A quick look around assures me there aren't many of the creatures in first class. I am guessing there is more for them to eat in coach. I push one down and walk over it. The zombie takes a little while to get back up. Since I have no weapon on me, I decide I just need to push them all over, get to the cockpit, and help secure the door. Maybe the guy or gal on the other side has a gun of some sort. Hell, even a flare gun would be better than pushing them down like some demented domino set owned by Victor Frankenstein.

  * * * * *

  I continue pushing and walking over the undead bastards. At one point, a female zombie grabs my leg and tries to bite me. I jump-stomp her head and she quits moving. I then push down and head stomp the next zombie in my way and the one after that, and so on until I am at the cockpit door.

  "Hey, anyone alive in there?" I am praying and hoping against hope someone will answer but still it shocks me when someone speaks.

  "Yes, I and the copilot are." A woman's voice answers me. She sounds shaken. I look behind me to see the zombies are having a difficult time navigating the path of bodies I have left in my wake.

  "Please! I'm the only one out here alive, please, let me in."

  * * * * *

  She opens the door and I slide in, helping her close and barricade it behind us.

  "The lock failed a little while ago. We pried one of the chairs loose and I've been keeping it wedged against the door. We haven't been able to reach anyone in the tower at MIA." At my blank stare, she explains "Miami International Airport."

  "Shut up, Denise." The co-pilot turns an angry stare to me "How do we know he didn't make those things? How can we be sure it's not his fault Tom is dead?" He gestures to the prone body of the pilot on the floor. There is a steak knife sticking out of his eye.

  "Because I didn't." I hold up this journal and read them back the beginning, when I'd first walked out of the lavatory and into hell.

  "I'm Joe Walters, this is Denise Raintree. Here's the situation; after Tom there turned and attacked us, I killed him and radioed MIA. There has been no answer from the airpor
t at all and, try as I might, I can't raise any of the other pilots that I know are heading to Miami today. I think we're alone. I have no idea what the airport looks like. It might still be standing or it's possible other planes crashed and destroyed it. It sounds like whatever happened here has happened everywhere. The towers I have been able to get a hold of have all seen the same things. They're small airports though, one tower, one controller. Could be why they're still around. Unfortunately, none of them are close enough to fly to. We've got just enough gas to circle the airport for an hour before we have to land. I'm trying to reach other airlines to see if I can just go in and land or if I have to worry about other planes. I've gotten bupkiss around here, so far. I'm going to make a pass over the airport and see if we can just..."