The Revenants
Page 30
Ron pushed a hand through his thinning hair and kept repeating, “This is so messed up.”
Lizzie lowered the volume a bit more and as soon as she returned her headset to her head she thought she heard Bob’s voice one last time. It was weak and strained, but he had managed, “Lizzie… turn back.”
They both jumped in their seats as someone began pounding heavily on the cockpit door. She would’ve cursed herself for leaping like a scared cat in front of Ron but she was fairly certain he jumped just as high. Lizzie knew it couldn’t be the flight crew because normal standard operating procedure was to ring the cockpit. On top of everything else, this wasn’t the time to worry about a panicking passenger; -they had bigger problems, like what the hell happened to the Eastern Seaboard, Bob, and now… Sioux Falls Airport.
A second round of frantic pounding, only this time louder, emanated from the door. She flashed Ron a look, who flashed a look right back that said ‘What?’ He knew damn well ‘What’ so she nodded toward the door.
Instead of rising to the occasion, Ron gruffly grabbed the mic and spoke crossly into it, “This Co-pilot Ron Sturgeon speaking, the Captain has turned on the Fasten your seatbelt sign. Please return to your…”
A third round of knocking cut him off in mid-sentence and this time the pounding was so intense Lizzie was amazed the door stayed mounted on its hinges.
“Would you just see what the hell they want?”
Ron grunted as he grumpily unbuckled his harness. Even before he reached the compartment door he was yelling, “Hey! Didn’t you hear the announcement? You need to go back to your seats!”
Much to Lizzie’s surprise, Ron reached for the lock and was about to unfasten it. In a commanding tone she ordered, “Ron, do not open the door.”
Ron made a derogatory noise and then asked irritably, “Why the hell not?”
“That’s an order. Do not compromise this cockpit.”
She leaned forward and solemnly flicked on the FASTEN SEATBELTS sign. The chime dinged pleasantly, the way it normally did, but Lizzie shuddered from a premonition, as though the simple act of activating the seatbelt sign would be the very last time she would accomplish this small act. This must be the way crash victims feel before they die.
Lizzie, turn back. That’s what Bob had said. It was faint, but she was certain of it. Not wasting anymore time, She picked up the mike and speaking into it she said, “Attention passengers, this is Captain Whitmore, we are experiencing a small technical problem. I assure you it’s nothing to worry about but will be turning around immediately and landing at the nearest airport. We do ask that you please return to your seats as quickly as possible, fasten your seatbelts and secure all loose items and tray tables.”
Flicking the mic switch off, Ron asked, “Whitmore, What are you doing?”
What the hell does it look like I’m doing, sprang to mind. Instead what she said was, “First, it’s Captain Whitmore,” Geez, I almost said Witchmore, I never would’ve lived that one down. “And second, I’m turning this bird around. If you got a problem with it, you can file a complaint with the FAA.”
Ron grumbled under his breath, “You bet your sweet ass I will,” but she chose to ignore it.
Instead of responding she flicked the mic switch back on and said, “Flight attendants, please take your seats and prepare for landing.”
As she made ready to turn she glimpsed the stormfront ahead of them. It was a wall of black menacing clouds from the ground to… there was no ceiling to it. Leaning forward to glance upwards she couldn’t see the roof of the weather front. Under normal circumstances she might have chalked this up as to being one mother of a storm but now…
The engines whined as she maneuvered the plane around in a steep one-hundred-and-eighty degree turn. As she piloted the hard bank, an alarm klaxon went off signifying the sharp descent in altitude. Damn, we lost over ten thousand feet. It was to be expected but at least now they were completely turned around and traveling due west.
She risked another look at the display monitor and just in time she saw another city call sign vanish, this time it was Missoula, Montana. The wave was gaining on them. You’re never gonna make it all the way back to Seattle. Get this bird on the ground, Lizzie. This time the voice in her head was Bob’s. Even in death he was guiding her (Wait, Bob’s dead? Where did that come from?) She increased throttle from their normal cruising speed of five hundred miles per hour to the maximum speed of five hundred and ninety-nine. They’d be coming in hot but that was better than not coming in at all. Spying the nearest airport left to her, she dialed it in and radioed, “Spokane actual, this is Flight #192. We are requesting permission to land immediately, on any available runway.”
She glanced down at her monitor. Boise, Idaho, off to the left of their current location; flicked out, and now was gone. The wave was beginning to overtake them. The terror that began in her belly had grown exponentially and was making her physically ill. She continued descending and Flight #192 passed through twenty thousand feet and kept right on dropping. She was certain if she didn’t land this plane before the wave overtook them than whatever got Bob’s plane would tear them from the sky like an angry Nordic god.
Spokane Tower came back loud and clear. “Flight #192, are you declaring an emergency?”
The thumping behind the door turned into absurdly heavy pounding. Passengers’ muffled and frantic cries soon turned into deep guttural growls, more akin to animal than any human. Ron stuck his eye to the peephole, held it there for a second and then slowly backpedaled until he backed up all the way into her chair.
Risking a glance at him and seeing his face filled with an expression of absolute terror she heard herself ask, “What? What is it?”
“Gun,” he managed softly. Then louder, “Gun.” He lunged for the safe in the wall where the onboard pistol was kept and frantically began punching in the code.
“What are you doing?” she asked, hating the frail quality in her voice.
He punched in the code, tried the handle but it didn’t budge. “What’s the damn code?”
“Stand down!” Lizzie ordered.
“I need the gun!” Ron roared, frantic, “Give me the damn code!” Before she could tell him she had no intention of giving him the damn code he must’ve remembered it on his own because he began punching in a second sequence. He was soon rewarded with a pleasant beep and unlocking noise.
As Ron reached inside the small gun safe Lizzie heard a distant voice. “Flight #192, are you declaring an emergency?”
She was about to tell Ron to stand down again when the cockpit door suddenly buckled inwardly at various and odd angles. The small door was barely hanging on its frame when a blackened and bloody, long-fingered hand crept through the freshly made crack between the bent door and rumpled doorframe. Lizzie froze at the sight of it.
Spinning in her seat she spat out the words in rapid succession, “Spokane actual, we are declaring an emergency, I repeat, we are declaring a code-red, in-cabin emergency!” but her words were drowned out by Ron’s wailing screams and shots from his pistol.
Flight #192 fell from the sky.
About the Author:
Jack Castle loves adventure. Labeled by the Coeur D’Alene Press as the, “Man of Adventures”, he has traveled the globe as a professional stuntman for stage, film, and television. While working for Universal Studios, he met Cinderella at Walt Disney World and they were soon married. After moving to Alaska, he worked as a tour guide, police officer, and Criminal Justice professor. He has been stationed on a remote island in the Aleutians as a Response Team Commander and his last job in the Arctic Circle was protecting engineers from ravenous polar bears. His first science fiction novel, ‘Europa Journal’, released in 2015 and became the #1 bestselling book on Amazon. His second novel, Bedlam Lost, has been called by the Spokesman Press, “A creeeeepy novel that brings back memories of early Dean Koontz…”, and his third bestselling novel, White Death, was inspired by actual events he expe
rienced while working in the Arctic.
For more on Jack, his adventures, and his books, visit: www.JackCastlebooks.com