“We’re almost there. Let’s get through the doors and you can use your inhaler.”
She directed him around an overturned luggage cart, a dozen or so bags spilled off to the side. Several people were flailing on the ground, having made poor judgment of these obstacles, even though the light from the outside was better here.
They were at the door, Darla grabbing Danny’s suitcase, and yelling over the din of commotion that caught up with them, “Danny, you go first. I’m right behind you.” They were ten or so people from the exit, a clogged funnel of people surrounded them, trying to get through their chosen exit. The funnel pressed up against them. Just five people to go now.
A loud crashing sound and then an explosion behind them caught every one’s attention and quieted most of those around them. Darla pressed forward, not looking where others were. Three people to go.
Danny’s breathing was raspy, his lungs trying desperately to get air. An opening was just ahead, as two people fell forward and to the right of them. Darla pushed Danny to the left. Fresh air!
Darla steered Danny now to the right about ten feet to an area away from the door. Tossing their suitcases aside, she thrust his inhaler into his mouth, his hands there to guide her, “Breath slowly, Danny. You’re going to be just fine. Take another spray.”
His head was covered in sweat, his eyes looked dilated, but he was starting to calm down and his breathing was starting to sound more normal. He was probably seconds from passing out. Whew.
She took a moment to check out their surroundings outside. Cars were parked where they had abruptly stopped. There were people streaming out the exits all around them, like water from a fire hydrant, their streams running in between the cars and any other open spaces. Another explosion to their right, and this time, it drew both Darla and Danny’s attention. It appeared to have happened around a runway, out of their view, but they both could see the top of the fireball.
“Can you breathe enough to move?” Darla felt like they had to get away from the airport, quickly. She led him again, this time towards where they parked their car, thankfully a long walk away.
After they had slept a few hours in the car, her mind felt clearer. It felt like mid-morning.
She was now faced with a decision. Their car didn’t run, but apparently nothing else did, for that matter. They had little food and water. Waiting for help wasn’t going to work as she was pretty sure there was no help coming for a very long time. No matter where they went, it would be by foot, not an enviable prospect with an asthmatic brother. At this moment, the decision was simple. They would walk the fifty miles between them and their home in Chicago.
She was about to announce their decision to Danny when she smelled smoke, lots of it. Turning to the airport terminal, she could see its source. All the structures in their path were on fire.
37.
Wilber was carrying his Mac 90, a sort of AK-47 knock-off made in China, but tricked up with a silicone stock and short Kimber scope. He had this gun for years and felt very comfortable with it, having shot maybe ten thousand rounds through it. It was slung around his neck, his hand on the grip, barrel pointed down. He walked quietly, looking for the wreckage of the plane that crashed on his property a couple of hours ago. He was pretty sure that they were not on his property for nefarious reasons, but you could never be too sure.
His Lab, Trixie, was leading the way, stealthily sniffing and walking through the brush and trees, honing in on something. Of course, the old girl could be hot on the trail of one of the feral cats around here as well.
The creaking noise of grinding metal on metal caught both their attention. It was dead ahead less than a few yards from them.
In a clearing, Wilber could see two of the larger oak trees on his property. He stopped to take in the abnormal picture of a two airplane wings, one on each of the side of two large oaks trees. A small private plane had flown directly between the two, sheering off its wings. He continued, while Trixie trotted ahead further and out of sight, obviously catching the scent of someone.
Barking from his dog brought him to a run, until he found himself staring at the beat up rudder of a plane. What was left of the fuselage was wedged into a bramble of bushes and smaller trees. Trixie was on point and growling at the occupants. Wilber couldn’t see any movement. With riffle pointed at the cockpit, he carefully walked forward.
Peeking inside, he saw both occupants. The pilot looked bloody and unconscious, the other was moving, looking like he had just come to and playing with his open door. Wilber opened the cockpit door, its injured hinges alerting the waking co-pilot to the intruder.
“Let me see your hands,” Wilber announced his demand to the co-pilot, who had a small gash on his head, but otherwise looked unharmed. Again, he demanded, “Your hands.”
The co-pilot lifted his hands up, and pleaded with the gun, “Please don’t hurt us,” just noticing the pilot, “Please help us… my father is hurt.”
Wilber re-slung his rifle around his back, assessing they were no threat and needed his help.
“I’m Wilber, this is Trixie, and she won’t bite you if you don’t make any sudden moves. Are you able to exit the plane and come around to help me with your father?”
“Sure, thanks. He’s John and I’m Steve.”
38.
Crashing to Earth
Melanie’s calculating mind found endless folly in her actions, now figuring her chance of survival at maybe one in a thousand. She found much more comfort in her memories, even the sad ones. She thought about her family and friends. She had always been single, married to only her career, and her parents passed on long ago. So her friends and colleagues were her only family. What a sad sack, she thought. Then she thought of R.T. She really had feelings for him. He was attractive and available, being divorced for almost a year now. She laughed at the awkward ways he attempted to hide his interest in her. Yet, he was always professional. That’s what first attracted her to him on this mission. Most men, especially in superior roles, hit on her constantly. It was maddening and an affront to all the hours of work she invested in her career.
But R.T. is different… was different.
She replayed in her mind, the moment she said goodbye, touching her lips as she did.
Together, they released the first escape module, sending out four of their comrades. Then, the remaining two and finally Melanie started to enter the second module, when she turned to find his face in front of hers.
“Make it a good life. They’ll need you more than ever now,” he said just loud enough to be heard. “It was a pleasure knowing you.”
She didn’t know what possessed her. She leaned forward and kissed him softly on his lips. “Thank you.” It was all that she could muster, before he stepped back and closed the hatch, but she could see his face had changed. It was still a face of determination, but also happiness.
The ISS was now a faint dot in space, unremarkable except for the feelings she left behind.
“Lieutenant?” a distant voice.
Make it a good life.
“Lieutenant?” Conrad’s voice from behind, pulled her back to the reality. “How much buffeting do you think we should endure before pulling the chute?”