Whatever was making that sound was on its way, and it didn’t matter, because they would still be here when it arrived. There was no way out of that. He understood the reason why it was so, even if none of the others did... and Brian Engle suddenly understood how an animal caught in a trap must feel as it hears the steady thud of the hunter’s approaching boots.
Chapter 6
Stranded. Bethany’s Matches. Two-Way Traffic Ahead. Albert’s Experiment. Nightfall. The Dark and the Blade.
1
Brian turned to look at the writer. “You say we have to get out of here, right?”
“Yes. I think we must do that just as soon as we possibly—”
“And where do you suggest we go? Atlantic City? Miami Beach? Club Med?”
“You are suggesting, Captain Engle, that there’s no place we can go. I think — I hope — that you’re wrong about that. I have an idea.”
“Which is?”
“In a moment. First, answer one question for me. Can you refuel the airplane? Can you do that even if there’s no power?”
“I think so, yes. Let’s say that, with the help of a few able-bodied men, I could. Then what?”
“Then we take off again,” Bob said. Little beads of sweat stood out on his deeply lined face. They looked like droplets of clear oil. “That sound — that crunchy sound — is coming from the east. The time-rip was several thousand miles west of here. If we retraced our original course... could you do that?”
“Yes,” Brian said. He had left the auxiliary power units running, and that meant the INS computer’s program was still intact. That program was an exact log of the trip they had just made, from the moment Flight 29 had left the ground in southern California until the moment it had set down in central Maine. One touch of a button would instruct the computer to simply reverse that course; the touch of another button, once in the air, would put the autopilot to work flying it. The Teledyne inertial navigation system would re-create the trip down to the smallest degree deviations. “I could do that, but why?”
“Because the rip may still be there. Don’t you see? We might be able to fly back through it.”
Nick looked at Bob in sudden startled concentration, then turned to Brian. “He might have something there, mate. He just might.”
Albert Kaussner’s mind was diverted onto an irrelevant but fascinating side-track: if the rip were still there, and if Flight 29 had been on a frequently used altitude and heading — a kind of east-west avenue in the sky — then perhaps other planes had gone through it between 1:07 this morning and now (whenever now was). Perhaps there were other planes landing or landed at other deserted American airports, other crews and passengers wandering around, stunned...
No, he thought. We happened to have a pilot on board. What are the chances of that happening twice?
He thought of what Mr Jenkins had said about Ted Williams’s sixteen consecutive on-bases and shivered.
“He might or he might not,” Brian said. “It doesn’t really matter, because we’re not going anyplace in that plane.”
“Why not?” Rudy asked. “If you could refuel it, I don’t see.”
“Remember the matches? The ones from the bowl in the restaurant? The ones that wouldn’t light?”
Rudy looked blank, but an expression of huge dismay dawned on Bob Jenkins’s face. He put his hand to his forehead and took a step backwards. He actually seemed to shrink before them.
“What?” Don asked. He was looking at Brian from beneath drawn-together brows. It was a look which conveyed both confusion and suspicion. “What does that have to—”
But Nick knew.
“Don’t you see?” he asked quietly. “Don’t you see, mate? If batteries don’t work, if matches don’t light—”
“then jet-fuel won’t burn,” Brian finished. “It will be as used up and worn out as everything else in this world.” He looked at each one of them in turn. “I might as well fill up the fuel tanks with molasses.”
2
“Have either of you fine ladies ever heard of the langoliers?” Craig asked suddenly. His tone was light, almost vivacious.
Laurel jumped and looked nervously toward the others, who were still standing by the windows and talking. Dinah only turned toward Craig’s voice, apparently not surprised at all.
“No,” she said calmly. “What are those?”
“Don’t talk to him, Dinah,” Laurel whispered.
“I heard that,” Craig said in the same pleasant tone of voice. “Dinah’s not the only one with sharp ears, you know.”
Laurel felt her face grow warm.
“I wouldn’t hurt the child, anyway,” Craig went on. “No more than I would have hurt that girl. I’m just frightened. Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Laurel snapped, “but I don’t take hostages and then try to shoot teenage boys when I’m frightened.”
“You didn’t have what looked like the whole front line of the Los Angeles Rams caving in on you at once,” Craig said. “And that English fellow...” He laughed. The sound of his laughter in this quiet place was disturbingly merry, disturbingly normal. “Well, all I can say is that if you think I’m crazy, you haven’t been watching him at all. That man’s got a chainsaw for a mind.”
Laurel didn’t know what to say. She knew it hadn’t been the way Craig Toomy was presenting it, but when he spoke it seemed as though it should have been that way... and what he said about the Englishman was too close to the truth. The man’s eyes... and the kick he had chopped into Mr Toomy’s ribs after he had been tied up... Laurel shivered.
“What are the langoliers, Mr Toomy?” Dinah asked.
“Well, I always used to think they were just make-believe,” Craig said in that same good-humored voice. “Now I’m beginning to wonder... because I hear it, too, young lady. Yes I do.”
“The sound?” Dinah asked softly. “That sound is the langoliers?”
Laurel put one hand on Dinah’s shoulder. “I really wish you wouldn’t talk to him anymore, honey. He makes me nervous.”
“Why? He’s tied up, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but—”
“And you could always call for the others, couldn’t you?”
“Well, I think—”
“I want to know about the langoliers.”
With some effort, Craig turned his head to look at them... and now Laurel felt some of the charm and force of personality which had kept Craig firmly on the fast track as he worked out the high-pressure script his parents had written for him. She felt this even though he was lying on the floor with his hands tied behind him and his own blood drying on his forehead and left cheek.
“My father said the langoliers were little creatures that lived in closets and sewers and other dark places.”
“Like elves?” Dinah wanted to know.
Craig laughed and shook his head. “Nothing so pleasant, I’m afraid. He said that all they really were was hair and teeth and fast little legs — their little legs were fast, he said, so they could catch up with bad boys and girls no matter how quickly they scampered.”
“Stop it,” Laurel said coldly. “You’re scaring the child.”
“No, he’s not,” Dinah said. “I know make-believe when I hear it. It’s interesting, that’s all.” Her face said it was something more than interesting, however. She was intent, fascinated.
“It is, isn’t it?” Craig said, apparently pleased by her interest. “I think what Laurel means is that I’m scaring her. Do I win the cigar, Laurel? If so, I’d like an El Producto, please. None of those cheap White Owls for me.” He laughed again.
Laurel didn’t reply, and after a moment Craig resumed.