“This is where most of us sleep,” Tessa whispered, gesturing to her right. “F1 is the only flat claim belt left in the entire airport. Like so many other things in this place, it has been out of commission for as long as I’ve worked here. Longer, probably.” Tessa shrugged.
A dull sheet of metal leaned against the wall half covering a white plastic sign with blood-red lettering. Do not leave baggage unattended. A long conveyor belt protruded from the rubber skirting over a dark rectangular hole in the corner of the room. It was shaped like a test-tube and stretched out nearly fifty feet into the room before curving back in on itself. The channel disappeared past the large metal plate that covered the second opening.
The baggage claim belts were at least three feet wide and no more than a foot off the ground. Nearly every inch of the roundabout, as well as the floor space that ran down the middle, was covered in blankets and cushions. The perimeter was cordoned by divider poles, much like those being used to create the passenger maze at each of the ticket counters a floor above us. A patchwork of blankets and tarps had been draped across the nylon bands that stretched between them.
“Try to keep it down,” Tessa said, flattening her palm to the ground. “Last night’s storm was rough on all of us. Especially the littles.”
Hands and feet dangled over the side of the platform, and soft snores echoed off the low-hung ceiling. There had to be at least thirty people crammed into this cramped corner of the airport. On the back wall, just past the luggage area was a bank of seats that matched the ones we had passed on the way in.
A woman with dark hair sat three seats in from the end closest to the claim belts, her eyes half-lidded, and her expression vacant. She looked as though she hadn’t slept well in days. Then again, who among us had?
A boy of about twelve clung tightly to her left arm, his legs slung out across the seat next to him. His mouth hung slack, and his head rested on the woman’s shoulder. Another boy, maybe six years old, was sprawled across her lap. His legs were scissored around her waist, his arms dangled loosely at his sides. He was nuzzled so tightly into the crook of his mother’s neck that her head sat at an awkward angle that couldn’t possibly be comfortable.
Both boys had the same dark hair and complexion as the woman to which they so desperately cleaved. The girl lying to her right practically glowed in comparison. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, and her hair was so blond it was white. She couldn’t have been more than ten years old, though the blotchy red lipstick and tear-streaked mascara she wore suggested she thought herself older.
“How are they doing, Brenda?” Tessa asked softly.
“Better, for the most part,” the woman sighed. “The boys finally passed out a couple of hours ago. Sammy held out until just before you got back. Poor girl just wants to get home to her parents. I didn’t have the heart to tell her—.”
“Shhh,” Tessa shook her head and looked at the girl with sad eyes. “I’ll talk to her later, okay? Just try to get some sleep. You could damn-near pass for a lurker right now, honey.”
The woman nodded and closed her eyes. Tessa waved us on and wound her way around a bank of lockers that jutted out into the room. I watched over Zander’s shoulder unable to tear my eyes away from the sleeping shadows lumped together on the conveyor. We had not seen that many civilians together since all of this had begun. My throat tightened. Was that hope I was feeling, or fear? I simply couldn’t tell anymore.
“How’s it going, Squints?” Tessa asked as we rounded the six-foot stack of metal cubes.
The haggard looking man sat with his back to us at an L-shaped desk, hunched over Tessa’s battered shotgun. The baggy coat he had been wearing earlier lay in a heap at his feet, leaving his upper body fully exposed. On his head sat an orange construction helmet with small flashlights taped on either side. The beams shined down onto the table. Tools were laid out on a towel at his side as if he were performing delicate brain surgery. He grunted, the lights shaking back and forth with his head then threw a dismissive wave in our direction and set back to work.
“Don’t mind him. He’s a bit odd and not much of a talker,” Tessa said, “but he can fix just about anything.”
“Maybe he should fix his hair, or at least bathe.” Christa wrinkled up her nose. Eli laughed softly at her derision earning both of them a glare from Tessa. Christa shrugged, unfazed, and twisted the end of her braid between her fingers. “What? I’m just saying.”
“Hate to break it to you, princess, but you don’t exactly smell like a bouquet of freshly cut roses,” Tessa said plainly. Christa’s mouth dropped open, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Tessa smirked at her, unapologetic. “What? I’m just saying.”
Jake’s grim expression finally cracked. His stoic silence gave way to a fit of laughter. Falisha was quick to join him. Riley, who had been beaming since the word coffee, snorted, then giggled into her fist. Even Ty chuckled softly, though he quickly attempted to mask his laughter with a cough. Christa wasn’t buying it. She spun on them with a look that could melt steel.
“Like any of you have room to talk.” Christa spat, jabbing her finger at us. “You guys smell like a litter box full of hot garbage.”
Silence fell over the group. Falisha pulled the neckline of her T-shirt to her nose and scowled. Ty lifted his arm and buried his face in his own armpit. He sniffed dramatically, then stumbled sideways with his tongue lolling out, and dropped to the ground. He twitched and flailed on the floor as though he were being electrocuted, then went limp.
“Damn, that’s ripe,” Ty smirked, lifting his head from the floor.
This time, Christa was the first to crack a smile. Before long, our dark little corner of the airport was echoing with our barely stifled laughter.
“How about we add the washing station to our little tour,” Tessa said, wiping her eyes.
“That would be awesome,” I said, my smile fading when I realized I was once again covered in blood.
Chapter 25
Wax and Warriors
“How many of you are there?” Jake asked as we skirted the baggage belt marked F2.
Just past the tilted circular conveyor, was a series of large utilitarian metal doors. The one adjacent to the claim area was labeled stairs. The second appeared to be a maintenance closet of some sort. The word utility was stenciled halfway up the metal surface in dripping black spray-paint. A solid steel emergency door clipped the corner of the room at an odd angle. Its hinges were only a few inches from the lip of a plain wooden door with a blue plastic sign on it that read Employees Only.
“Thirty-seven,” Tessa said, pushing a row of luggage carts out of our path. “At least until I get my hands on that son of a bitch, Doyle and make it an even number.”
“You should really block that off,” Zander said gesturing to the escalators as we walked by. “You already have an exit point at each end of the building and an alternate route upstairs. This is a huge weak spot.”
“Trust me. It’s on my to-do list,” Tessa said, exhaustion evident in her voice. “I haven’t had time to assign anyone to construction, yet. We’ve been a bit too preoccupied trying not to die to put much time into remodeling.”
“It’d be easy enough to do, I think,” Jake said looking around. He pointed to the maintenance room behind us, and then to the opening above. “You could just pull some of these interior doors off the hinges to make a barricade at the top of the escalators.”
“Those counter tops at the ticket stations would work, too,” Ty said scratching his chin. “’Course, I’m pretty sure those babies are that fancy solid plastic stuff. You’d definitely need self-tapping screws or you’d never get through it and into the floor.”
“You two volunteering for the job?” Tessa raised a brow and pointed a finger at them.
“I wasn’t—,” Jake began.
“Perfect. You can start after we eat,” Tessa said, clapping Jake on the shoulder as we approached a second circular baggage carousel. “Speaking of which, I w
ould like you all to meet our food crew. This little bucket of sunshine is Keith.”
“Hey.” A guy in khakis and a plaid button-down shirt glanced at us over his clipboard, unimpressed, and went back to what he was doing. He clutched the clipboard between his thighs and leaned over a luggage cart full of bottled water. “I am not here to take orders, I don’t pour icy-cold beverages, and I can guaran-goddamn-tee you I won’t be cooking. You want to know exactly how many bags of Doritos we have or who ate the last pack of M&Ms I’m your man. Otherwise, piss off.”
“Like I said,” Tessa shot Keith a look. “Bucket of sunshine, this one.”
“They have coffee and Doritos, Liv,” Riley whispered, clutching my arm. “Pinch me.”
“Picking up strays again, huh, Tessa?” A young woman with curly brown hair smiled at us over a stack of wooden crates. The containers were piled in front of one side of the luggage belt.
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” Tessa returned the grin. “Kids, this is Rhiannon, our resident master chef, slash barber.”
“Master chef is a bit of a stretch,” Rhiannon smiled and shook her head, “but I make a pretty mean grilled cheese and I have yet to start any fires, so that’s something. And for the fiftieth time, I’m not a barber I’m a stylist.”
“Same difference,” Tessa shrugged. “I am going to head over to check on Ballard and have Collin give everyone a quick once-over. Do me a favor and throw together a quick snack for these kids. I’m guessing they haven’t had anything substantial to eat in a few days. Oh, and throw on a pot of coffee for this one.” She elbowed Riley, who clapped her hands excitedly.
“Sure thing,” Rhiannon said. “I just put out the buddy burners from lunch, but they should still have enough in them to manage a snack. I’m sure I can scrounge something together. Any special requests?”
“Anything but granola or potato chips would be amazing,” Zander said, squeezing my hip playfully.
“I can work with that,” Rhiannon smiled at him, and then raised a knowing brow at me. I liked this girl. “Tessa, if you see Tamsen, can you send her back? I know lunch duty is over, but I could really use her help. Besides, coffee is not really my department.”
“Sure thing,” Tessa saluted.
With a quick nod, Rhiannon disappeared behind the tall stack of crates. She moved slowly as though she had been injured. Keith rounded the stacks, clipboard in hand, and followed at her heels muttering to himself about constant supervision and keeping a rolling inventory.
“It’s not exactly a T.G.I. Friday’s, but it gets the job done,” Tessa said. “Squints came up with most of this stuff. Having a gypsy in the ranks has its advantages.”
“Gypsy?” Christa whispered to Eli. “Isn’t that just a fancy way of saying homeless?”
The “kitchen” they had set up was actually quite impressive, given the conditions. Makeshift counter tops lined the circumference of the luggage carousel creating ample workspace for meal preparation. Most of them were composed of a combination of folding tables, crates, and sheets of plywood and fiberboard.
Large, wooden crates like the ones we had seen in the boiler room were stacked in a meticulous brick-pattern along the side of the carousel closest to the escalators. Behind them were rows and rows of metal luggage carts. The structure they created completely blocked the second emergency exit that rested in the corner. The food carts rested along the inside of the crate wall, each labeled with a paper sign designating its contents.
Rhiannon and Keith stood in front of them with their backs to us, arguing quietly as she pulled items out and put them into the plastic shopping basket that rested on her hip. Keith was tapping furiously on his clipboard and then glared at us before turning back to Rhiannon. Our arrival had thrown a wrench into his earlier calculations, and he was clearly not happy about it.
“What’s a buddy burner?” Christa asked.
“Come on over here and I will show you,” Tessa put her arm around Christa and led her toward the opposite side of the kitchen. The rest of us followed, equally curious. Tessa clicked on her flashlight and pointed the beam at a pile of bricks and wire mesh stacked on the left side of the kitchen area. “This is a buddy burner. Granted, it isn’t much to look at, but we are able to cook simple, hot meals with them. It’s a hell of a lot better than living off of vending machine garbage, right?”
“Definitely,” Falisha groaned, moving in to take a closer look at the contraption. “How does it work?”
“It’s actually pretty cool,” Tessa smiled and handed the light to Falisha. “Check this out.”
The bricks were stacked two-high in a triangle with a small gap between two of the edges. A mangled piece of wire caging lay across the top of the pavers. Inside the little hut sat a small tuna can, half-filled with a black liquid and what looked to be floating bits of paper.
Tessa hopped over a dip in the counter and dug through a bin beneath it until she found a small, metal saucepan. She set the pan on the counter next to the ramshackle cooking device and emptied a plastic water bottle into it. Then, she reached her hand through the gap in the bricks and pulled out the tuna can. She placed it on the table in front of us, and we crowded in like a kindergarten class on a field trip.
“This is the coolest part.” She stuck her finger into the muck inside the can, scraped out a small channel with her fingernail, then held out her hand. “Anyone have a lighter handy?”
Zander reached into his pocket and dropped a yellow Bic into her palm. That lighter had fed the flames that devoured his childhood home, less than three days ago. I ignored the searing pain in my ribs and squeezed him tight to my side. His jaw unclenched slightly, but I could tell his mind had gone there, too.
Tessa flicked the flint on the lighter and held it to the contents of the small can. On the third try, it lit, and the can flared to life. Blue and green flames engulfed the shredded material inside the small tin. She carefully slid the burning can back inside the brick triangle, centered the wire grate, and placed the pan on top. The flames were just high enough to lick the bottom of the metal pan.
“Cool right?” Tessa clapped her hands together.
“Is it safe to burn this indoors without proper ventilation?” Jake asked bending at the waist to look at the can while it burned. “What is that fuel? It smells like…like—?”
“Is that pumpkin pie?” Ty asked.
“It’s wax,” Tessa said smiling broadly. “It’s nothing more than bits of old candles and broken crayons, melted down onto coils of corrugated cardboard. They don’t last forever, and I wouldn’t trade my old six burner gas stove for a million of these things, but they do well enough for cooking, boiling water, or sterilization purposes. Hell, Rhiannon even managed to fry up some powdered eggs in a cast-iron skillet, yesterday.”
“You taking notes?” Falisha elbowed Jake, who nodded and tapped his temple with a smirk.
“Cool,” Christa said sounding oddly like her brother. “Who knew you could cook food with crayons?”
“That’s what I said,” Tessa laughed. She shouted over to Rhiannon as she hopped back over to our side of the counter. “One pot going, hun. I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Rhiannon threw a thumbs up over her head but didn’t turn to face us. The basket on her hip was almost full. I couldn’t tell what was in it, but it hardly mattered. We had been living on sugar and salty snacks for the last few days and my stomach was more than ready for something new. It grumbled loudly in anticipation.
Tessa led us down the long corridor and back toward the hatch. We passed a tall stack of suitcases that ran down the middle of two rows of chairs. It was piled high with rows of folded laundry, blankets, and shoes in every size and color imaginable. I eyed a stack of tank tops and made a mental note to stock up on as many non-pink racer-backs as I could get Tessa to part with.
“Those doors lead to the restrooms,” Tessa gestured to the double corridor openings just past a broken down water fountain mounted on the wall. “The plumbi
ng down here is gravity-fed, so you can use the toilets as long as you dump a bit of water in after you do your business. You know the drill, though. We have to conserve as much as we can, so don’t be flushing willy-nilly. If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown—”
“Flush it down,” Christa sneered. “We got it. So gross.”
“Actually, I was going to say if you have to do that, use the unisex bathroom,” Tessa said, pointing to the large handicap accessible stall just past the bathrooms. “There are wash basins in both the men’s and ladies’ facilities for washing up and such. You are welcome to use them after Collin checks you over.”
“Please, tell me you have shampoo,” Christa said, clasping her fingers together in front of her face. “I swear to you, I would kill to wash my hair.”
“No need for violence, Princess,” Tessa patted her shoulder. “I’m sure we can rustle something up for you. First, things first, okay?”
Christa nodded and picked up the pace, following closely at Tessa’s heels as she led us to the last row of chairs. Tamsen, who looked much less anxious than the last time we had seen her, was knelt over Ballard, holding his hand. The young guard had a bandage wrapped tightly around his head and his forearm. A wide strip of gauze dissected his abdomen. An older man with silvery-gray hair was on a knee at the young man’s side, listening to his heartbeat. Ballard’s bloodied uniform shirt lay on the floor next to him.
A scruffy looking guy with muddy-blond hair scooped the shirt up from the floor and tossed it into a nearby garbage bin. He sprayed the bloody floor with a bottle of cleanser and scrubbed at the stain with a grimy towel. I stared at him, fascinated. His eyes moved constantly, taking everything in, but they never connected with anyone else’s. Even when spoken to, his eyes shifted nervously between his task, the person speaking, and our approaching feet.
Ballistic: Icarus Series, Book Two Page 22
