“I’m sorry Carmen?” Captain Morgan raised his voice. “What are you talking about?”
“Captain we have an out of control dog rampantly killing people in the coach section!” She hissed into the phone. “I know at least five people have been attacked so far—I can’t check on them—it’s too dangerous. Nobody can move from their seats or they’re immediately attacked.”
“Is anyone hurt or needing medical attention?” The captain densely asked her.
“Captain...nobody can move or they are attacked!” She cried, squeezing the phone until her knuckles lost blood circulation. “Have you talked with Nancy?”
“No Carmen…she hasn’t called. Didn’t you say the dog wasn’t killing people in first class?”
“Yes sir, only in the front of the coach section so far…what should I do to help the passengers?” She said drawing her breath. “Nicco...and a little boy...and an old lady...and a cop are all dead sir…how much longer until we land?”
“Oh God, Carmen. I need you to remain calm for the passengers. I’m going to make an announcement to have people stay in their seats. You stay where you are and make sure nobody moves. I’m going to get us to Miami as fast as I can.”
The captain clicked off.
Carmen looked around the galley for anything she could use to fend off the deranged creature. She opened a drawer containing trash bags. She could try and smother the dog with a bag. She envisioned sneaking up behind the creature and pulling the plastic bag over its head. Her imagination then played out the scene with the dog’s teeth slashing through the thin plastic and so on. She looked up at the overhead compartment above the last row in coach. Row 33; with the three empty seats held in the upright position, permanently pressed against the bathroom wall. The overhead storage compartment held the emergency first aid equipment. Maybe it held something that could be used for defense. Should she chance making noticeable movement in the cabin, in order to get a bag that might have something for her to use as protection?
Then, it occurred to her; maybe she could use the defibrillator as a weapon.
She quietly tiptoed, sliding her body along the bathroom door; the sign read vacant. She lifted her arm to quietly unlatch the handle lock on the upper cabinet.
Click, it sounded loud like a gunshot, even blanketed by the hum of the airplane’s engine.
She paused and waited for any shift from the dog. Then she let the compartment door slide open. Extending her slight body to lift the large bag out of the high space, she spotted the smaller yellow bag next to it. Grabbing the smaller yellow demo bag instead, she hugged it to her chest. Leaving the compartment door open, not wanting to take the chance to alert the dog by making a second click. She slowly backed up against the bathroom wall, side-stepping her way into the relative safety of the galley. Carmen placed the yellow bag on the floor and unzipped it. It contained the demonstration items for the safety announcement at the beginning of the flight.
“Nothing in the safety briefing on how to respond to an attack dog,” she muttered. The lack of preparation the airline had given her for something like this angered her.
She pulled out the life preserver.
“What can I do with this?” Holding the preserver, she answered her own question, “Maybe hang myself.”
Then she heard the beast start to howl.
“Arh-wooooo.”
It moaned a sorrowful tune. It sounded like a cry for his lost friend.
She pulled duct tape from the bag.
He was a trapped dog. That meant he was probably a scared dog.
“Arh-wooooo.”
Then the baby started to cry. She could hear the baby’s wails all the way in the back of the plane.
She reached into the bag and pulled out the weapon of choice—the only choice. The dog was probably going to kill her.
She heard a commotion at the front of the coach section and then the heart-fluttering scream.
“Maxie!!!”
She reached for the phone and attempted to ring Nancy in first class.
Brnng, brnng, brnng…
A husky female voice answered the ring on the other end; she didn’t sound like Nancy.
“Nancy is that you?”
35 Darnell Barkley
Darnell had been forming a plan to save his daughter from the massive demon pit when he heard the baby start to cry. Ezra was his world, and he was going to save her, but the thought of another child being killed made him rethink his initial plan. This dog was a hell of a lot more bite than it was bark.
On a hot July night, thirteen years prior, he had brought home the newborn Ezra. Home to their bi-monthly, seedy Vegas hotel room, in a desperate part of town.
He made the nappy-haired infant a soft bed in the bottom of the hotel dresser drawer. The baby’s mattress was a pillow from the bed. Rolled up towels were installed around the plywood board edges to form a padded bumper. He wrapped her tight in the yellow blanket donated by the hospital; along with two cases of infant formula, bottles and diapers.
“I named you Ezra after your Mimi,” he told her. “She was the first one to graduate high school in the family. I knew you was gonna to be as smart as her.”
Darnell’s original plan had been to grab the little dog kennel, and distract the demon pit, by tossing the crate to the back of the plane. While the demon was busy with the diversion, he would assist Ezra through the barrier into the first-class section. From his front row economy seat, Darnell had watched the first-class passengers jury-rig a blockade, using carry-on luggage and a food warmer. He reckoned it would be easier if he pushed her through the left sidewall of suitcases and over the back seat. She would then drop safely into the final row of first class—the same route as the booted young woman took.
“Waah!” The baby cried. “Waah!”
He loved to tell his daughter stories from the past.
“You screamed for your mama that first night,” he would tell her. “I pulled you out of that draw and I held your sweet little open mouth to my bare-chested nipple. You latched on for a second…and then let out an almighty scream...we both know there was no foolin' you!” He would laugh from deep in his belly. “After that we figured things out.”
Darnell hadn't been able to get his young bride, Ezra’s mother, Glenda, to breastfeed the starving infant. Even after the nurses had explained how important the first few days were for bonding and passing the mother’s immunities to the baby.
Ezra’s mother had become despondent from postpartum depression. She lay facing away from Darnell and the infant child, staring deep into the faded gold, flowered hotel wallpaper. Sometimes her eyes would flutter, as she peacefully slept the days, the months, and years away. Not much had changed in the past thirteen years.
Darnell thought about earlier that morning when he said goodbye to his wife, while Ezra and he were leaving for the airport. Glenda had been as aloof that morning as the day they had brought Ezra home more than a decade earlier.
“Ezra and I are taking off to Miami, Glenda,” he said, leaning on the doorframe of their dark bedroom. “Call me if you need anything. We’ll be back in one week...next Tuesday.”
She had remained silent.
“Bye, mom,” Ezra said when she walked past the bedroom with her suitcase in tow, not slowing a beat. Ezra seemed almost as distant towards her mother these days—as far as the moon and back—as her mother was all the days of Ezra’s short life.
Darnell glanced back after hearing a man’s garbled voice yelling to the demon pit. In the time it took for him to turn his body and face the rampage, the massive dog was already tugging the throat from the ponytailed man with the missing face.
“Maxie!” He heard the man’s wife screeching.
Darnell knew this was his moment to act. The crying baby and his girl Ezra were going to get killed if he didn’t move fast. He heard the baby cry out again. He decided to reach across the aisle to snatch the small crate jammed under the seat.
As he stretched
his beefy arm the two-foot distance, peering over his shoulder at the dog. The butcher animal was approaching the crying baby, all the while glaring directly at Darnell, with yellow menacing eyes.
Darnell began yanking on the dog kennel, but it was lodged tightly under the seat. He reached over with his other hand and started pulling with both of his arms. His excessive gut cutting into the armrest as he struggled to free the wedged dog kennel.
“Arumph,” he pulled back and the kennel came free, with the little dog yapping at Darnell. Clearly, the puffy dog was sensing this was a sinister move by the large man, and recognized it was not that of kind helpful stranger.
Yip…yip…yip!
Darnell propped the cage in front of his feet, reaching his stumpy fingers around the release lever of the metal grate kennel door. It popped open with a clink.
“Get out dog!” He commanded the animal and shook the cage a few times.
The dog would not budge. It backed further into the kennel, trying to escape the giant man roaring at it. Darnell looked back again to see the demon creature had progressed forward; it was now standing menacingly only three rows behind him, next to the row with the crying baby.
“Daddy!” Ezra cried out, reaching to grab his arm with her long thin fingers. “Don’t hurt the little dog.”
He was already reaching his meaty hand into the kennel, pulling the yellow dog out by its scruff in one aggressive swipe. The little dog growled and yipped, biting him on the pointer finger and drawing blood.
“We need a distraction from us, and that little crying baby, Ezra,” he calmed her with his rationality. “One for all.”
He stood and tossed the squirming little mutt like a football over the offensive lineman dog’s head, aiming for the pile up of dead bodies.
“The little yapper should keep that demon pit busy for a while.”
36 Stacy Pettington
Stacy had grown up around aggressive dog breeds. She knew them well. She understood Pitbulls were designed to be guard dogs and or fighting dogs. Her uncle had to pay additional insurance on his house because he owned two Rottweilers. The dogs were a liability, even if they were the nicest dogs in the world. The service dog in coach was doing exactly what the Pitbull was bred by humans to do. She snorted.
Stacy wasn’t worried about herself being killed by the animal, sitting in a window in the safety of first class. She had heard the economy passenger’s cries coming from behind the curtain. The tormented screams blending with a small dog’s continual barking.
“I thought airlines were all about safety,” she groaned sarcastically, under her breath to the businesswoman across the aisle. “They got rid of peanuts, because they were dangerous...but Pitbulls are fine to fly!”
She assumed there were enough “bait-dogs” behind the curtain to keep the beast busy, like the ones she kept hearing barking and crying.
Stacy had watched the senator run to the bathroom feigning sickness.
Good move, she thought.
Behind her she could hear world traveler, Mr. Derek Beeman, tending to the injured booted woman. The girl had balls for breaking down the wall, and entering their safety zone, with that dog on her tail.
“Here, Margot. Let me help you rest your leg on this blanket for padding,” Derek told the pretty young woman. “We should keep it propped up.”
He was probably feeling bad for belting her across the face as she ran terrified for her life, seeking refuge in first class.
“Thanks Derek. Mmm. That feels so much better.” The girl swooned in pain. “You will protect me, won’t you? I’m so scared.”
“Absolutely. Here let me help you up here. How does that feel?”
“Oh!” she heard the booted newcomer gasp quietly.
The young woman sounded startled—caught off guard—by something Derek had done.
Stacy was quitting her job the second the senator returned.
She glanced over at the unconscious, bruised, and abused flight attendant. She could see a darkening mark forming on the woman’s cheek.
“Not much I can do for her,” she muttered.
She was feeling a little guilty for just sitting in her seat while people were being killed behind the curtain.
Brnng, brnng, brnng.
Stacy heard the buzzing coming from the kitchen area. She unbuckled her seatbelt and removed her heels. Standing quietly, she tiptoed barefoot into the galley area. The wall phone buzzed, with the bulb blinking red, the phone continued to ring unobtrusively.
“Hello?” She whispered.
“Nancy is that you?” The woman on the other end asked.
“No, this is Stacy, I believe Nancy is currently resting in a seat.”
“Excuse me? What did you say?” The flight attendant demanded. “I am going to need her help!”
“She isn’t available right now. Is there something I can help you with?” Stacy asked the concerned flight attendant.
“We can’t let any more people die! I’m going to do something crazy and I need you to help me. I’m apparently the only flight attendant left…I’m Carmen.”
Sounding wary of her own plan, Carmen asked, “Do you know how to whistle?”
Stacy did know how to whistle.
It was predestined, she supposed, that the most devastating moment of her life should be triggered by the request for a whistle, in the midst of a canine catastrophe.
Stacy and her ex-husband had decided to take a holiday. Departing from their usual sailing excursions, they instead chose to drive their Volvo on a month-long cross-country road trip. Ten days into the holiday, they stopped among the red rock canyons of the southwest.
Stacy, her ex-husband, and their dog Chance set off on a sunset stroll along one steep canyon ledge. Walking the top of ancient rocks that jutted hundreds of feet into the heavens, forming islands in the sky, towering over deep dark canyons. They let the dog run ahead, chasing squirrels, and sniffing rabbit holes. It had been a long road trip, driving several thousand miles from Tallahassee to hit up all the most famous sites along the way. They had gone out of their way to enjoy photo opportunities at the largest rubber band ball and the world’s biggest corn maze.
Chance needed to release the pent-up dog energy from the long ride. He had been gone for a while. The trees had begun turning to black shadow creatures. The earth darkening under the quickly emerging twilight, with the vivid red rock outline in the far distance a reminder of the days end. The glowing half ring of a crescent moon joined the far-off North Star to welcome the night.
They had circled back along the bluff. A large canyon expanse stretched between where they stood and where they had come from. It looked like a black ocean between two islands. Fixating her gaze across the dark ocean canyon, she waited to see any movement from her furry white and brown mutt.
“Chance!” Her ex yelled out to the dog. “Here boy!”
Stacy raised two fingers to her mouth and whistled, Whewwwwww!
On the far-off ridge they could just make out the white of his fur bounding towards them. The bright red sliver of the last of the sun’s rays sliced the skyline behind him. Chance was running straight for them.
With her voicer raising an octave, she asked, “Does he see the canyon between us?”
“Excuse me? Stacy! Are you able to help distract the dog?” Carmen brought her back from the disturbing memory of watching Chase fall the near five hundred feet to the bottom of the dark abyss.
“Yes Carmen…I can whistle,” Stacy decided to assist the flight attendant.
Apparently, the animal was triggered by the high-pitched sound.
Then Stacy heard a commotion coming from the first-class cabin. She leaned her body out from the galley to see what was happening.
Derek and the pretty young first-class immigrant, Margot, were both fighting off a young African American girl, who was attempting to squirm her way through the opening above the seat. Derek was body-checking her back into the coach section, using the gunmetal suitcase a
s a shield. The young booted woman was beating the younger girl over the top of her head with a rolled-up Freedom Airlines Magazine.
Stacy was relieved to avoid becoming part of the mounting situation. Returning to the phone, she held it to her ear, “I can skip the whistle Carmen...we have a distraction...and you better hurry.”
THE MUTT’S NUTS
37 Buster
It almost felt like I was playing. Shaking the mini wolf-descendant Pomeranian, trapped in its kennel. I just wanted to shut the dog up. It was like a game...breaking into the cage...and then the prize was breaking its neck. I wanted to floss my teeth with the scaredy cat’s toothpick bones. I was defeated in my attempts to end the high-pitch yip, and the poufy dog continued barking from the safety of its plastic cage.
The suffocating smell of ammonia from a human’s urine clobbered my nose, overwhelming the piss and shit released from the mini wolf during my aggressive harassment.
The booted woman shouldn’t have run from her seat. I would have killed her if she had not hurt me so badly with the claw heel. I could still taste the shoe leather lingering on my pallet. I rubbed my dangling eye against the seat cushion. Ow.
I could not tell who on the airplane threatened my Aunt June. Anyone who moved I considered my enemy...and I would make them my prey. I am Buster, the descendent of my wolf forefathers. Human-engineered to be more brutal, to be more loyal, more intelligent, and more vicious.
What would Cindy want me to do? I wondered. I was befuddled by the split in my former training as a protector dog, having just been recalled by the sound of a whistle, and my more recent training to be a Service Dog. I was feeling an internal conflict; the urge to answer a human designed call...from the wild.
After the woman hurt me, I returned to guard Aunt June. I listened for the comforting beat of my companion’s heartbeat. Nothing. She had been murdered. I felt unbearably alone. Trapped behind enemy walls. I wouldn’t fail her again. The airplane continued buzzing in my head like an annoying gnat. The stifling smell of plastic was making my mind spin. The baby started to wail. I needed to end it.
Beware of Flight Attendant Page 17
