“Skymaster. No. Of course not.”
“Good.” She hesitated, then leaned over toward him and placed her hand on his arm. “How do you feel about landing this plane?”
Berry looked directly at her. Her countenance and the language of her body were unmistakably clear and had little to do with the question. Yet there was nothing brazen about her. Just an honest offering. Within hours they might be alive on the ground. More likely, they would be dead. Still, her offer did not seem out of place. “You’ll help me. We can land this plane.” He felt slightly awkward, a little flustered at her touch and her sudden intimacy.
Sharon Crandall settled back in her seat and stared out her side window. She thought briefly about her last live-in lover, Nick, from crew scheduling. Emptiness, boredom. Sex and television. In the final analysis, they’d shared nothing, really, and his leaving left no emptiness, no loneliness beyond what she’d felt when he was there. He had left the same way he had arrived, like a gray afternoon sliding into a dark night. But she was still lonely. “Why don’t you send a message from each one of us to someone on the ground?” she said. She instantly wondered whom she would send her message to. Her mother, probably.
Berry considered the idea. “No,” he finally said. “That would be a little … melodramatic. Don’t you think so? A little too terminal. We have some time yet. I’ll send one for everyone later. Who do you want to … ?”
She ignored his question. “Your wife must be frantic.”
Berry considered several answers.My insurance is paid up. That should take the edge off any franticness. Or, Jennifer hasn’t been frantic since she lost her Bloomingdale’s charge card . He said, “I’m sure the airline is keeping everyone informed.”
“That’s true.” She changed the subject abruptly.
“You’ve got good control of the airplane,” she said with some authority. “The flight controls are working okay. And we’ve still got nearly half our fuel.” She nodded toward the fuel gauges.
“Yes,” Berry answered, recalling that he had pointed that out to her only ten minutes before. “That’s true. It should be enough fuel.” But he knew that headwinds or bad weather could change that. As far as the flight controls were concerned, all he knew for certain was that he could make a right-hand turn and level out. He had no information about turning left or going up or down.
“I remember,” Crandall added, “how Captain Stuart once told me that as long as the flight controls worked and the engines had a steady supply of fuel, then the situation wasn’t hopeless.”
“That’s true,” said Berry. The mention of Stuart’s name made him look back over his shoulder. At the far end of the lounge, the two pilots still lay motionless on the thick blue rug, near the piano. Berry turned and scanned the Straton’s flight instruments and autopilot. Everything was steady. He stood. “I’m going back to the lounge to see what’s going on.”
“Okay.”
“Scan the instruments. If anything seems wrong, yell.”
“You bet.”
“If the data-link bell—”
“I’ll call you.”
“Okay. And watch the autopilot closely.” He leaned over her seat and put his right hand casually on her shoulder. He pointed with his left hand. “See this light?”
“Yes.”
“It’s the autopilot disconnect light. If it shows amber, call me—fast.”
“Roger.” She turned her head toward him and smiled.
Berry straightened up. “Okay. Be right back.” He turned and walked into the lounge.
The flight attendant in the upper lounge, Terri O’Neil, was walking around now. Berry didn’t like that. The attractive woman on the horseshoe-shaped couch had unfastened her seat belt and was staring out the porthole. The remaining three men and one woman continued to sit on the couch, making spastic, senseless movements with their arms. One of the men had unfastened his seat belt and tried repeatedly to stand, but couldn’t seem to manage it.
Berry could see that, as Barbara Yoshiro said, they were all getting better—physically. Mentally, they were more inquisitive. They were beginning to think, but to think things that were not good. Dark things. Dangerous things.
The Straton, reflected Berry, was a protected environment, like an egg. Puncture the shell of a fertilized egg with a pin and the embryo would not survive. And if it did, it would be changed in some terrible way. He formed a mental picture of the Straton sitting serenely on the airport ramp, two small holes on the sides the only outward indication of anything being amiss. The stairs were wheeled up. The crowd cheered. The doors opened. The first passengers appeared. … He shook his head and looked up.
Terri O’Neil wandered toward the cockpit door. Berry stepped up to her. He took her shoulder and turned her around. Terri pushed his hand away roughly and spoke to him as though she were berating him for touching her, but the words were gibberish. Berry was reminded of his daughter at fourteen months old. He waited until the flight attendant ambled off, away from the cockpit door, then began walking to the far side of the lounge toward Stein, who was leaning against the rail of the staircase. Stein seemed unaware of Berry’s presence and continued to stare down the open stairway. “How is it going?” Berry asked.
Stein pointed down the stairs.
Berry leaned over. A group of men and women were staring up at him, mouths drooling and faces covered with the now familiar, repugnant pattern of blood and vomit. A few of the people pointed up to him. Someone called out; a woman laughed. Berry could hear what he thought were children crying. One man pushed his way to the base of the stairs and spoke directly to Berry, trying hard to be understood. The man became frustrated, and shouted. The woman laughed again.
Berry stepped back from the stairwell, turned, and looked at Linda Farley. She slid off the piano bench and took a few steps toward him. Berry said, “Stay there, Linda.”
Stein said to Berry, “I told her to stay away from the stairs. Although this,” he motioned around the big lounge, “this is not much better.”
Berry asked the girl, “What is it, Linda?”
She hesitated. “I’m hungry, Mr. Berry. Can I get something to eat soon?”
Berry smiled at her. “Well … how about a Coke?”
“I looked.” She motioned toward the bar. “There’s nothing left.”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any food up here. Can you wait awhile?”
She looked disappointed. “I guess.”
“How are the two pilots?”
“The same.”
“Take good care of them.”
Linda Farley was getting all of life’s adversities in one big dose. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, fear, death. “Just a little while longer, sweetheart. We’ll be home soon.” He turned. It occurred to him that he was hungry and thirsty, too. And if he and Linda Farley were hungry and thirsty, then so were many of the people below. He wondered if that would stimulate them to acts of aggression.
“Down!” Stein yelled. “Go down!” Berry moved quickly to the stairs. A man was halfway up.
Stein took a coin from his pocket and threw it, striking the man in the face. “Down! Go down!”
The man retreated a step.
Stein turned to Berry. “Do you have anything I can throw?”
Berry reached into his pocket and handed Stein some change. “I don’t like the looks of this, Harold.”
Stein nodded. “Neither do I.”
Berry looked around the lounge. “How are these people behaving?”
“Erratic. They make me nervous. Too close.”
Berry watched Terri O’Neil walking awkwardly toward the cockpit again. He wished he could close and lock the damaged door. The flight attendant stood a few feet from the door and stared into the cockpit, her eyes fixed on Sharon Crandall, who didn’t seem aware of the other flight attendant’s presence. Berry glanced back at Stein. “I think, as a precaution, we might want to help these people get downstairs.”
Stein nodded. “Ye
s. But I’d like to bring my family up.”
Berry turned and faced him. “That’s not possible, Harold. I don’t think it’s really fair.” Berry wished that Stein would just accept things as they were, but he doubted that Stein would.
“Fair? Who the hell cares aboutfair ? That’s myfamily I’m talking about. Who put you in charge here?”
“Mr. Stein, it’s entirely too risky to bring your family up here.”
“Why?”
“Well … anything could happen. It might start a procession up the stairs. We really can’t have people in the lounge any longer. They may go into the cockpit. Bump against something … they’d be disturbing—”
“I’ll watch my family,” Stein interrupted. His voice was firm. “My wife and two little girls … Debbie and Susan … they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. …” He lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.
Berry waited, then put his hand on Stein’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But there’s nothing you can do for them now.”
Stein looked up. “Or ever?”
Berry avoided his eyes. “I’m not a doctor. I don’t know anything about this condition.”
“Don’t you?” Stein suddenly took a step down the staircase. “Thereis something I can do for them now. I can get them away from the others. Away from …” He looked down the spiral stairs. “I don’t want them down there. Can’t you see what’s happening down there?Can’t you? ”
Berry gripped Stein’s arm firmly. He nodded reluctantly. “All right, Harold. All right. After Barbara gets back, we can help these people down into the cabin. Then you can bring your family up. Okay?”
Stein let Berry draw him back up the step. Finally, he nodded. “Okay. I’ll wait.”
Linda Farley called out. “Mr. Berry!”
Berry walked quickly toward the piano where the girl was kneeling beside Stuart and McVary. “What is it?”
“This man opened his eyes.” She pointed to Stuart.
Berry kneeled down and looked into the Captain’s wide, staring eyes. After several seconds, Berry reached out and closed Stuart’s eyelids, then pulled the blanket over the Captain’s face.
“Is he dead?”
Berry looked at the girl. “Yes. He is.”
She nodded. “Is everyone going to die?”
“No.”
“Will my mother die, too?”
“No. She’s going to be all right.”
“Can she come up here like Mr. Stein’s family?”
Berry was fairly certain that Linda Farley’s mother was lying dead in the rubble or had been sucked out of the aircraft. But even if she were alive … Berry’s mind whirled with the possible answers—lies, really—but none of them was even close to being adequate. “No. She can’t come up here.”
“Why not?”
He stood quickly and turned away from the dead pilot. He said to Linda, “Trust me. Okay? Just trust me and do what I say.”
Linda Farley sat back against the leg of the piano and pulled her knees up to her chin. She buried her face in her hands and began to sob. “I want my mother.”
Berry leaned over her and stroked her hair. “Yes, I know. I know.” He straightened up. He was not very good at this. He remembered other occasions of bereavement in his own family. He’d never had the right words, was never able to bring comfort. He turned and walked back toward the cockpit. He took Terri O’Neil firmly by the shoulders and pushed her away from the door.
The glow of his technical triumphs was dying quickly against the cold realities of the personal tragedies around him.
Berry entered the cockpit.
Sharon Crandall was on the interphone. “Hold on, Barbara. John’s back in the cockpit.” She looked up at Berry. “Barbara’s all right. How’s everything back there?”
Berry sat heavily in his seat. “Okay.” He paused. “Not really. The passengers are getting a little … troublesome.” He cleared his throat and said, “The Captain is dead.”
Sharon Crandall closed her eyes and lowered her head. She said softly, “Oh, damn it.” She felt a deep sadness, a sense of loss over Captain Stuart’s death. The signs were becoming ominous again.
“Sharon?”
She looked up. “I’m all right. Here. Barbara wants to talk to you about some wires.”
Berry took the phone. “Barbara? What’s up? Where are you?”
“In the midsection.” Her voice sounded distant, and the whistling of the rushing air and the jet engines was louder. “There’s a bundle of wires hanging down from the ceiling near the bigger hole. Some of the passengers brushed against them and nothing happened. There doesn’t seem to be any electricity in them.”
Berry thought for a moment. Everything in the Straton seemed to be working except the voice radios. Severed cables might account for that. He hoped the wires had nothing to do with the flight controls. “They might be antenna wires.” It was logical that on a supersonic jet, the antennas would be mounted in some low-drag area like the tail. He suspected that the data-link utilized a different signal and a flat-plate antenna, which would be near the noise. That was why the link worked while the radios didn’t.
“Do you want me to try to reconnect them?”
Berry smiled. In a technical age, everyone was a technician. Still, it was a heads-up suggestion and a gutsy one, too. “No. You’d need splicing tools and it would take too long, anyway.” If those wires were involved somehow with the controls, he’d have to go down eventually and try to connect them himself. “They’re not important.” Something else was bothering him, and Barbara Yoshiro was in a position to clear it up. “Listen, Barbara, did you see any signs of the explosion? Anything like burnt seats? Charred metal? You know?”
There was a pause. “No. Not really. No.” There was another silence. “It’s odd. There is absolutely nothing that looks like an explosion—except for the mess and the holes.”
Berry nodded. That had been his impression. If the holes had been in the top and bottom of the fuselage, he would have suspected that they’d passed through a meteor shower. He knew that it was an infinitely rare phenomenon, even at 62,000 feet. Could a meteor travel horizontally? Berry had no idea, although it seemed unlikely. Should he put something out about this on the data-link? Did it matter? “Barbara, how are the passengers?”
“About half of them are still pretty quiet. But some of the others are wandering around now. The turn stirred them up, I think. There’s been some fighting.”
Berry thought that her voice sounded cool and uninvolved, like a good reporter’s. “Watch yourself. Work your way slowly. No abrupt movements.”
“I know.”
“There are people congregating at the bottom of the stairs,” he informed her.
“I can’t see the stairs from here, but I can see part of the crowd on both sides of the forward galley and lavatories.”
“When you get to the interphone in that galley, call me. Or shout to Stein. One of us will help you back up.”
“Okay.”
“Take care of yourself. Here’s Sharon.”
* * *
Barbara Yoshiro didn’t feel like talking much longer. As she looked out of the flight-attendant station in the midsection galley, she saw that the passengers were beginning to pay too much attention to her. The station was a cul-de-sac, and her only advantage with these people lay in her mobility.
“Barbara?”
“Yes, I’m coming back now.”
“Is it very bad? Should I come down?” Sharon Crandall asked.
“No.” Yoshiro put a light tone in her voice. “I’ve been a flight attendant long enough to know how to avoid groping hands.” The joke came out badly and she added quickly, “They’re not paying any particular attention to me. See you in a few minutes.” She replaced the interphone and stepped into the aisle. She kept her back against the bulkhead of the lavatory and stared into the cavern that lay between the front of the airliner and herself, then looked back toward the tail.
&n
bsp; The flimsy partitions of the Straton’s interior had been swept away by the decompression. Its entire length, which she remembered being told was two hundred feet, lay exposed, except for the three galley-lavatory compartments. They rose, blue plastic cubicles in a row, from floor to ceiling—one near the tail, the midship one she was standing at, and the one in the first-class cabin that blocked her view of the spiral staircase.
Dangling oxygen masks, uprooted seats, and dislodged wall and ceiling panels hung everywhere. Sixty feet from her, midway between the galley she was standing at and the first-class section, were two bomb holes—if that’s what they were.
Barbara Yoshiro studied the possible routes she might take through the aircraft. She could see that she had two return routes to choose from. The aisle on the left—the one she had come down earlier—was now nearly packed with milling passengers. The aisle on the right had only a few people in it, but it contained more debris. Worse, it passed very near to the larger of the two holes in the fuselage. Even from where she stood, she could see the Pacific and the leading edge of the wing through the gaping hole. Perhaps, she thought, she’d travel up the right aisle, then cross over before she got to the open area of debris between the holes. While her eyes fixed on the scene in front of her, she failed to notice that a young man in the aisle next to her was watching her closely.
She drew a deep breath and took a few tentative steps up the aisle. The stench was overpowering despite the fresh, cold breeze, and she felt queasy. She looked up as she walked, her eyes darting quickly in all directions. About a hundred men and women still sat in their seats, blocking the spaces between the rows. Another hundred or so stood in groups or by themselves blocking the main aisles. Some were walking aimlessly, bumping into people, falling into the aisles or into the seats, then getting up again and continuing. Everyone was babbling or moaning. If they would only remain quiet she might be able to ignore them.
It was their clothes, too, she realized, almost as much as their faces or their noises, that gave them away. Their smart suits and dresses were tattered; some of them were half naked. Most people had one shoe or were shoeless. Almost everyone’s clothes were stained with blood and splattered with vomit.
Mayday Page 16
