The group’s mission this morning was to find something to eat. The empty, churning sensation in their bellies had become a constant reminder of their predicament.
Over the past few days, the issue of acquiring drinking water had been a rather easy one to solve. Step one: grab a cup from one of the gift shops. There were several to choose from, a task made easier by the fact that the glass sealing the shops off had been shattered long ago. In Holly’s case, she’d grabbed a pair of large travel mugs, the ones with closable lids. Step two: open any emergency exit―you didn’t need to worry about any blaring alarms going off, not anymore―and fill whatever you brought with you. It was cold in the airport, especially in this corridor. Still, it was warm enough that the ice would eventually melt. Holly had learned long ago to avoid putting the ice in your mouth to let it melt. While tempting, doing so actually drew energy from her body she was sorely lacking. The best bet was to let it melt on its own. Holly had quickly realized filling up a coffee thermos or two before bed was the most efficient way, since much of it would melt overnight.
She glanced over at Dillon in the dim light and noticed the bruise ringing his left eye. The sight of it broke her heart and had fueled her hunt for a more formidable weapon. O’Brien’s Restaurant and Bar kitchen had provided her with a big step up from the house keys she’d been using. She had grabbed two stainless-steel chef’s knives from the restaurant. But they hadn’t been on the cooking line. No, any weapons from there had likely been coveted long ago. These she’d found in the chef’s office hidden in a case under his desk. They’d both been signed by Gordon Ramsay and Holly was happy she could put them to good use.
An added bonus was the small fridge on the opposite wall, where she had discovered three chocolate éclairs. One she’d eaten on the spot, the second she’d given to Dillon and the third she was saving for Doug, a humble thank you she would gladly give the man if she ever saw him again.
Nearby, Dillon tripped over his feet and fell to the hard floor with a smack.
“Hold up,” she called to the others as she bent down and tried to help him up. He resisted her, wrenching his hand away.
The group stopped. Concourse B was barely visible at the end of the long corridor. “We really shouldn’t be hanging around in here,” Johnny called out, his voice laced with a tinge of fear. “It isn’t safe.”
“Nowhere is safe,” Holly barked at the self-centered banker before turning back to Dillon. Her son had been acting a little strange since yesterday and she suspected it wasn’t merely the stress of the situation. That would be enough to take a toll on any of them, Asperger’s or not. However, she was beginning to suspect the attack had rattled something loose inside the very private world in which he lived.
In an effort to conserve his medication, she’d cut his daily dose of Zoloft in half not long after the lights had gone out. She was by no means a fan of giving antidepressants to children. But the difference between Dillon on Zoloft and Dillon off Zoloft was undeniable. It offered him the ability to function and to have something akin to a normal life. Without it, her son sank into bouts of depression, became snappy and exhibited difficulty focusing on even the simplest of tasks.
Holly reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and removed the last tablet, snapped it in two and gave him half. He washed it down with a swig from the thermos.
“Are we ready to go?” Johnny whined, his Saint Laurent ostrich-skin shoes tapping against the chilled floor.
Sandra threw the banker a dirty look and bent down to help lift Dillon to his feet. “Feeling better?” she asked him.
Dillon craned his head to one side where it did a little dance. For him that was about as close to a nod as anyone could expect.
Once again, they were off, pushing through the darkened corridor on their way to Concourse B.
“So, how sure are you this guy wasn’t just giving you a line to get into your pants?” Johnny asked, likely projecting his own lack of morality on those around him.
“I’m sure,” Holly replied evenly. “Doug isn’t like that. He’s had plenty of opportunity to try something if that was his goal.”
In the bag of muffins he had brought them, Doug had slipped her a paper with a map of Terminal One. On it were a series of X’s wherever he thought they had a chance of finding food. The restaurants, cafés and snack shops had been emptied long ago. The locations Doug indicated on the map were small, out-of-the-way spots others might not think to look—broom closets, employee break rooms, areas largely off the beaten path. With food running so low, she had gathered a few of the folks she’d come to know and set off to check each spot one by one.
Johnny was a friend of Sandra’s and so had joined them by default. The family from California—Eric Johnson, his wife Ann and their sixteen-year-old daughter Riley—had been camped right next to Holly and Dillon, sharing some of the burden of going on water runs. They were sweet and friendly people and if there was a stash of food out there, she wanted them to share in the spoils.
Johnny’s snide remark about Doug was still not sitting well with Holly. Two days earlier, Doug had offered her the tantalizing prospect of escaping this growing hellhole only to leave her in the lurch. That wasn’t to say he had gone and left her behind, but in an airport filled with stranded travelers, what was to say he hadn’t simply found someone else to take her spot? Perhaps someone willing to give him what he really wanted. Holly squeezed her eyes shut against the darkness, angry she’d even let a thought like that in. But she was more upset she’d allowed Johnny to plant it in the first place. Surely she was entitled to a few moments of doubt after everything she’d been through.
Just then, her stomach seized into a sudden and painful knot of hunger. She considered the éclair in her pocket, the one she’d put aside for Doug, and fought the undeniable urge to break her commitment. Women were often much stronger than they were given credit for. Childbirth tended to make up the bulk of the argument, but Holly thought menstrual cramps made a far more compelling case. Labor usually lasted a matter of hours and then it was done. Period cramps, on the other hand, could last for days and they returned, sometimes with a vengeance, once every month up until menopause. So, like many other women, Holly was no stranger to pain. Knew the terrible feeling of white-hot needles stabbing at your insides. The cramps from hunger were agonizing, yes. But they were also nothing new.
Soon, the group emerged from the incredibly long corridor and into the brightness of Concourse B. They paused, surveying this new area stretching before them in both directions. A handful of people, weak and despondent, shuffled by. They didn’t seem to be going anywhere meaningful, but merely trying to keep themselves occupied until help arrived. Shapes under layers of clothing lined the far wall, making it hard to tell if these were bodies or people who were still sleeping. One person had pillaged broom handles and busted-up restaurant chairs and tied them together with shoelaces in order to create a frame he laid over his bed. He had then draped clothing over the frame, which offered him a modicum of privacy. All in all, Concourse B looked a lot like Concourse C, a pattern Holly was willing to guess repeated itself throughout the airport. Over the last week, it had gone from desperate people lying on benches and along stretches of carpeted floor to a full-blown homeless camp. If someone had told her she was in the slums of L.A., she might have believed them.
“What’s the map say?” Sandra asked.
Johnny was beside her, his head swiveling around nervously. Familiar as it looked, they were strangers to the people of Concourse B and that meant they could be in danger.
Holly opened the map. Doug had provided her with an actual printout of the airport often handed out at information booths. Leaning over her shoulder, Eric pointed to an X by Gate B-16. That was to the left, which also led to the last gate in Concourse B, Gate 22.