Right now, it was displaying a rate of negative 5 with a red light lit up next to it. Goddard had no idea what was considered an acceptable rate of descent, but apparently 5,000 feet per minute wasn’t what the engineer’s at Airbus had in mind for its A380.
Goddard applied gentle backward pressure to the joystick and the rate of descent reduced to 2,000 feet per minute. The glow from the red light disappeared.
He adjusted his position on the joystick until it balanced comfortably around the 2,000 mark, and let the aircraft continue its descent until it reached 5,000 feet. At that point he gently maneuvered the joystick until the nose was resting level with the artificial horizon.
Goddard then let go of the joystick.
The aircraft continued flying straight and level. The autopilot, having accepted no further human inputs were being given, continued to maintain control.
He grinned.
They weren’t kidding when they said anyone can fly these things.
He waited and watched the PFD and other gauges for a few minutes to make certain the aircraft wasn’t going to simply fall out of the sky without his input. The compass kept them pointed due south. No reason to change that, he guessed. When he was confident the plane was indeed flying itself, he unclipped his harness, stretched and then opened the cockpit door.
He froze.
Because, the first class was empty. The man with the suit, tie and running shoes had disappeared. Andrew hooked the door latch to the side of the cockpit passage, so that the door remained opened. No longer restricted by carrying the oxygen cylinder and keeping the mask on his face, he ran through the aisles toward the tail end of the aircraft.
“Hello!” he shouted. “Is anyone awake?”
No response.
“Please! We need help. There’s been an accident. Can anyone hear me?”
His voice echoed down the empty cabin, but there were no replies.
Goddard made his way aft, toward business class.
Row upon row of luxurious seats were empty. Not a single person — passenger or crew — was there.
No! No! Where did everyone go?
He glanced out the window. They were still above the clouds. He started running toward the tail.
“Where have you all gone!” he screamed.
But only silence and the hum of the jet engines returned to him. Economy class was empty. Andrew reached the tail end of the aircraft.
Losing control for the first time, he shouted,
“Come back you motherfuckers!”
His world was really spinning now. How could they have all gotten off the aircraft during flight? What the hell was he missing?
He ran the sweaty palms of his hands through his hair and slowly walked back to the cockpit. So what if they’d all left him? They were unconscious before. It wasn’t like any one of them was going to help him. They may as well have been dead. They were no use to him.
He grinned. It was sardonic.
If he was going to make it out of this whole thing alive, he would have to put the damned aircraft on the ground himself.
He was a smart guy. The aircraft used computers. He didn’t know a thing about jets or flying, but he knew computers. With confidence bordering on insanity, he thought, I can do this!
Andrew reached the end of first class and stopped at the door to the cockpit. Fear rose in his throat like bile, and the tingling sense of Death teased at his spine.
Because the cockpit door he’d made certain to lock open so that he didn’t accidentally lock himself out, was now closed.
No way! It can’t be!
He pulled on the handle. It didn’t move. He then peered through the security hole.
There was a man at the controls. The plane was no longer on autopilot. Someone was actively steering the aircraft.
He banged on the door.
“Let me in!”
The man made no reply.
“I have to know… please, just let me know what the hell is going on?”
While keeping one hand on the joystick, the guy turned his head, looking straight at him. It was the man with the metallic sneakers from before — the one he was certain had moved, who was wearing a suit with tie and running shoes. He was right, the man had moved before — not that it was going to help him any. It was now impossible to get inside the cockpit. The aircraft’s only axe was lying on the floor inside the locked cockpit.
Goddard yelled, “Just tell me know what’s going on…”
The stranger turned and looked at him. The man’s dark eyes were wide like a pair of saucers, they focused on him. The man smiled, put his finger to his lips as if to quiet him, and whispered, “Shush.”
As though all that yelling might wake the other passengers. A moment later, silent as always, the man turned to face the windshield. He carefully adjusted the controls and actively steered the aircraft on a brand new course.
Andrew screamed…
“I just want to know what’s going on!”
Chapter Four
Jesse McKenzie switched on the old diesel generator.
The engine sounded like someone shaking a bucket full of loose nuts and bolts until it warmed up, before finally settling into a resonant drone that comfortingly filled the shaft. The ventilation fans started to turn. Nearly a minute went by as he waited until water started to flow from the twin extraction pipes which ran out from the descending tunnel. Content that the water pumps were working, he picked up his hard hat, switched on the helmet light above his forehead, stepped in through the rickety adit, and commenced his descent into the underground mine shaft.
At sixty years of age a lifetime spent down the mines had changed him from what his natural genetic disposition had determined. Despite being nearly six foot tall, he appeared short and stocky. Unlike the giant “show muscles” of a professional bodybuilder, he had stocky, undefined muscles that worked like the hydraulic mining machines nearby, exerting extraordinary strength compared to their size. He had a hard face with a strong jawline, that matched the rest of his body. His deep-set eyes, the same color brown as what remained of his still thick brown hair, appeared hooded like he had something to hide. Deep lines creased his furrowed brow, revealing the despondency of a man who knew his way of life was already over, but just refused to accept it.
He had the kind of mining experience that, in previous generations, would have made him a valuable foreman. But that was back in the days when experience meant something and long before mining had turned to automation for everything and anything, leaving jobs few and far between for an old man nearing retirement.
It was nearly three years to the day since the largest of the mine’s gold veins had abruptly ended as fast as it had begun, and the company went bust. Six hundred miners had walked out that day and no one but him had been back ever since. He had worked nearly forty years at the Queen Maggie Mine. He couldn’t imagine working anywhere else. All the equipment had just been left there to rot. There was still gold in the mountain. It doesn’t just disappear overnight. The problem was it becomes less profitable to mine. Commodity prices fluctuate. Automation had changed everything, making some winners and many losers. Sometimes it’s no longer viable to run such a big operation. He figured a smaller group would buy it soon enough.