Flight 3430

by Druga, Jacqueline

  FLIGHT 3430

  Jacqueline Druga

  Flight 3430 - Jacqueline Druga

  Flight 3430 - Copyright 2020 by Jacqueline Druga

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Without the help of my beta group and these amazing people, this book would be a mess. Thank you to Paula Gibson, Al J. and Connie N for all your help!

  Cover Art

  Jacqueline Druga

  And

  Christian Bentulan

  www.coversbychristian.com

  ONE – WHO KNEW

  Interstate 90 East – Montana

  44 Miles East of Billings

  Nothing indicated that Dickie Wilson’s day would be any different. He didn’t have that super gut feeling he always relied upon with his job in sales. Dickie had the best gut instinct around. People always called to ask how he ‘felt’ about things.

  His mother always said he should have been a psychic, but Dickie loved his job selling insurance. It wasn’t just the regular kind of life, car, home, it was also hazard insurance. Things everyday folks didn’t think about, but the rural communities did. Those who faced the challenges of tornados, storms and other natural disasters. Events which impacted them personally, but also financially, because their businesses were affected.

  He always made money right before tornado, drought or devastating insect season. Some people didn’t know there was such a thing as drought or insect season, but ask any farmer, they were just as devastating as any other natural disaster.

  Dickie’s company carried it all. If it wasn’t mentioned in the policy and a client thought about it, he had an underwriter put it in.

  Nothing … absolutely nothing wasn’t insurable.

  He recalled one time, a truck stop asked for ‘damage by urine’ to be put into his policy. Dickie had it put in never thinking a claim would be sought, sure enough, six months later some drunk took a wayward piss outside the stop and shorted the entire electrical system.

  How that happened, Dickie still tried to figure out.

  This day started out normal. He left Billings; his first stop was Hardin, then Montana for three days and onward to Rapid City, South Dakota.

  Two weeks straight of traveling and meetings.

  The only bad feelings that swirled in Dickie’s gut were the slight, sudden clouds he could see over Hardin which meant his outdoor meeting would be inside, and the fact he was hungry.

  He had a two PM meeting before checking into his room at the Homestead Inn and Suite, Dickie needed a snack badly. Chocolate frosted donuts sounded good.

  The truck stop was just on the edge of town, and Dickie pulled into the lot of Love’s Travel Stop.

  Not only was it time to get some snacks, but he figured it would be a good time to gather up road trash he had accumulated in his front seat. He gathered the empty cigarette packs, soda bottles, take out burger wrappers and napkins, tossing them in a plastic convenience store bag. With that in his hand, he opened the car door and stepped out.

  It took him up until he placed the bag in the trash before he realized he didn’t see anyone. He wondered if the store was even open. He grabbed the door handle to the shop and pulled.

  It wasn’t closed.

  Those chocolate donuts were calling him.

  Dickies stepped in the store and looked immediately to his left. There wasn’t a clerk behind the register, which was odd.

  Maybe the clerk was in the back.

  Luckily, the six pack of mini chocolate frost donuts was on the display right up front. Dickie lifted two packs and walked to the back of the store to the coolers. He’d get some water, then fill one of those jumbo thirst buster cups with diet soda.

  On the way there, he grabbed a bag of chips, then pretzels. It was when he opened the cooler he caught sight of it through the corner of his eye.

  In shock, Dickie dropped the donuts and snacks as he jumped back, slamming his back against the cooler door when he saw the legs.

  The pair of legs, awkwardly positioned like a dropped baby doll, poked out from the aisle.

  “Hello!” he called out. “Someone?” Slowly he took a step forward to the aisle.

  The body of a younger man lay on the ground. A giant, thirst buster cup lay on the floor and the blue liquid was spilt around the body.

  The man’s eyes were open and bulging, his mouth agape, his chest heaved outward as if he died mid inhale.

  “There’s a dead guy here!” Dickie called out and raced to the front of the store. “Hello?”

  The clerk wasn’t there. He spun, thinking, perhaps the worker was in the rest room as he charged down another aisle to the back and stopped cold when he saw another body in the hall by the bathrooms.

  “Holy shit,” barely emerged from his mouth when he turned and ran to the counter again. He had left his phone in the car and would use the stores to call the police.

  His hand slammed on the counter as he pushed the waist high gate to get behind the counter, but Dickie didn’t make it far.

  There he saw the clerk on the floor. Her head against the undercounter cabinets, and like the man with the thirst buster, her mouth was open and eyes bulging.

  It was time to get out and call for help.

  He was in there less than a minute and saw three bodies; that was enough for him.

  Dickie raced back to his car, lifted the phone and called 911.

  <><><><>

  National Earthquake Information Center (NEIC)

  US Geological Survey – Golden, Colorado.

  The ‘Geologists Rock’ mug was standard issue around the lab, that was why Gene Montgomery decided on the one that read ‘My Sediments Exactly’. No one else had that saying on theirs and once Gene found it, they didn’t dare get one. Not that Gene would get angry, but he wouldn’t let them live it down. Jokingly, he’d tell them they wanted to be like him.

  He was lighthearted, always telling people most geologist were. Scientists always got a bad rap for being serious, when in fact, most in geology were actually very fun loving people.

  Gene was one of two people in the lab that week. Everyone else was out in the field, except his intern. Gene sent him for a burger and some Starbucks coffee.

  “That’s age, my friend.” Gene set down his mug. He kicked back in his chair, legs up on his desk, staring at the large computer monitor where he video chatted with his lifelong friend Tom Foster. He had known ‘Tommy’ since they played something called ‘Tee ball’ together. It used to be the earliest form of baseball for five or six year olds. A pipe like post held the ball and the kids would swing at it, teaching them how to hit the baseball.

  Gene probably still couldn’t hit a ball off a tee. He wasn’t even sure little league even had it anymore.

  He talked to Tom once a week, it used to be more texting, until Tom went through the divorce a few years earlier and then suddenly they had something else in common again. Only Gene wasn’t married anywhere near as long as Tom and he certainly didn’t have children.

  “Yep, age,” Gene said. “Your hair and waist go at thirty, your eyes at forty and andropause at fifty.”

  “What?” Tom laughed the word. “What the hell is andropause?”

  “Male equivalent to menopause.”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  “There is. I’m a scientist, I know these things.”

  “You’re a geologist.”

  “Still. I know these things. Look it up,” Gene told him.

  “I will. Maybe that’s what it was,” Tom said. “I honestly couldn’t remember where I parked my car
.”

  “It was Walmart. No one remembers where they parked their car when they walk out of Walmart,” Gene replied. “You get so caught up in there it leaves your mind. It has nothing to do with age.”

  Tom shrugged. “When I was walking around, hitting my clicker, some kid … well, he wasn’t a kid, he was Gabe’s age, like thirty.”

  “It’s a kid to you.”

  “True. Anyhow, he called me an old man. He said, ‘Did you lose your car old man?’ I must be showing my age.”

  Gene looked at Tom. To him he didn’t look old, neither Tom nor himself looked young anymore. Tom had gray mixed in with his dark blonde hair. Unlike Gene who was all gray. Both men held off the facial lines pretty good, but their necks gave them away.

  “You don’t look old, Tom,” Gene said. “You look tired. You’re fifty-two years old and you beat the hell out of your body every single day.”

  “It’s construction. Even though I’m project manager, I still can’t stop getting my hands dirty. I love it. But … vacation is finally here.”

  “Not much longer?”

  “Less than twenty-four hours. The boys are excited.”

  Gene laughed.

  “What?”

  “Your grown ass sons are not excited about going to Vegas with their dad. Now …” Gene cleared his throat. “Maybe they’re excited because Uncle Gene is showing up the last couple days.”

  “Can you get away? You said you weren’t sure.”

  “Yeah, I’m gonna get there.”

  “That’s excellent,” Tom said.

  Gene shifted his eyes when he saw his intern. “Oh, my Starbucks is here.”

  “You’re so pampered.”

  “I am not, I like my pick me ups.” Gene glanced up when Kyle, his intern, handed him the beverage and kept on walking. “Thanks,” Gene told him.

  “Is that pink?” Tom asked.

  “It’s good and your color settings must be off on your computer because this is green.”

  “Oh, stop, it is not.”

  The ‘beep’ of an incoming inter-system message, caught Gene’s attention. “Hold on, Tom.”

  “Sure.”

  Gene opened it, not thinking it would be anything important, he certainly wasn’t expecting to see the image. “What the hell?”

  “What is it?”

  “I just got a picture of a dead cow from the deputy director.”

  “What does a dead cow have to do with you?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll find out,” Gene said. “Looks like I have to go to Montana.”

  “When?”

  “Like …” Gene read the message. “Now. I mean this is vague.”

  “I’ll let you go. If you can, let me know what that’s about.”

  “I will. Thanks. Talk to you later, buddy.”

  Gene ended the video call and his focus went back to the picture of the cow.

  In all the years Gene knew Deputy Director Susan Diel, he had never known her to be so vague. Yet, she was. The message merely stated for him to be at the airfield in thirty minutes and she would meet him at Harding, Montana because she needed him there. Susan was meticulous, but her message, oddly, had typos, which told Gene she rushed to send it. He knew by looking at it something had to be horribly wrong. What a dead cow had to do with his department, Gene would just have to wait a single flight to find out.

  TWO – IN DEEP

  Hardin, MT

  There wasn’t much time to think on the flight that was less than two hours, but Gene did his best to try to wrap his head around what a dead cow in Montana had to do with him.

  He deduced it had to do more with Susan. They had worked together for a long time, and Gene was a senior science advisor, more than likely she needed him there for an argument or to convince an official about something.

  But a dead cow?

  That would be agriculture, not geology. He hadn’t seen or heard of any unusual seismic activity out of the norm in Montana.

  He was drawing a blank on guessing.

  Gene never liked mysteries or suspenseful movies, he always fast forwarded to the end.

  But he supposed he would find out shortly.

  He landed in Billings and a government car waited for him.

  He did ask the driver if he knew what was going on, to which the driver merely replied, “Something happened in Hardin.”

  Thinking, ‘Well that narrows it’, Gene’s thoughts reverted back to it being something really bad when he saw the roadblock. Not only had the police and military blocked the road, but tons of news vans lined the highway.

  The news kept a distance, held back by police and military officials all wearing half mask respirators.

  “Okay,” Gene said. “This is more than I thought.”

  When they stopped at the roadblock and showed their credentials, they were immediately handed masks and instructed to put them on before going any further.

  Gene felt completely out of his league.

  Something biological was not his forte, and clearly that was what happened.

  “We’re supposed to meet Director Diel up there at that truck stop,” the driver told him.

  “Thanks.” Gene kept his gaze out the window, he didn’t see anything yet.

  The blockade was a half mile from the town’s city limits, and as they drove that last little bit the truck stop came into view.

  He knew instantly, it was something no one could figure out.

  The county health department van was there, a Department of Agriculture sticker was on the side of a blue sedan, even more worrisome was not only the presence of the coroner, but the Center for Disease Control as well.

  “What the hell?” Gene spoke his thoughts out loud.

  The car pulled to a stop, Gene shouldered his bag and when he stepped out, he saw Susan.

  Susan Diel was always put together, whether she wore a dress suit or casual. But wearing jeans and a blouse, she looked out of sorts.

  “Gene.” She extended her hand. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Well, you said I had to be here. Now … I’m curious.”

  She exhaled with almost a whistle, then pointed back to an older tan, SUV. The driver’s side door was open and two individuals in full hazmat suits stood there.

  “Jesus, Susan, what is going on?”

  She handed him a pair of gloves. “Put these on and try not to touch anything. Not that I think it matters.”

  They walked to the tan SUV.

  Gene saw the cell phone on the ground by the open driver door, and the arm that dangled out.

  They moved around to the other side of it.

  “County emergency received a call from this man,” Susan said. “A short call for help, stating everyone was dead.”

  Gene stopped walking as they passed the SUV completely. “Everyone is dead? You mean here?”

  Susan widened her eyes and tilted her head almost as a point. Gene turned around and looked, not far from the truck stop, a man lay by a tractor trailer. Across the street was a gas station and while there were cars at the pumps, Gene could see no one standing.

  “We have a meeting with everyone at the Holiday Inn in Billings shortly. Let’s walk into town,” she said.

  “Do I want to?”

  “No. But you have to. Every division you can think of is here to figure out what occurred.”

  The town wasn’t far, in fact, they were a mere block from the business section and clearly it showed signs that whatever it was that happened, happened fast.

  Immediately he saw four wrecked cars. Two had hit into each other, one went through a bank window, the last one wrapped around a telephone pole.

  Dead people spread about the streets, groceries scattered on the ground, spilt, take out coffee in puddles near the bodies. There were officials everywhere walking around, most of them looked like CDC.

  “Do they think it’s biological?” Gene asked.

  “That’s the general consensus,” Susan replied. “Perhaps
a weapon.”

  “But, you don’t think so?”

  Susan shook her head. “Neither should you.”

  As soon as she said that, Gene knew he had seen the sight before. Not that he wanted to see a body, but Gene needed to.

  He walked a little further down the street and paused at the next body he saw. A woman, probably dressed for the office, lay on the sidewalk. She was huddled like a turtle. Her knees to the ground, arms back, her body arched forward, head to the sideway. A small pool of blood surrounded her head. He crouched down and looked at her eyes and wide open mouth. After standing, Gene walked over to another body, that of a man. He was propped up against the side of a pharmacy.

  He just stared at him.

  “Gene?”

  “This has all the telltale signs of a limnic explosion,” Gene said. “But there are no lakes.”

  “No.”

  “Obviously, there is something here that made you bring me in.”

  “There is.”

  “What is it, Susan?” Gene asked. “What is it that out of all your geologists you had to call me? I’m good. But there are others who are better.”

  “Not about this,” she replied. “This is you. When you see, you’ll know why.”

  His curiosity piqued again, Gene followed Susan. Wherever they were going was in walking distance, but not close. She picked up the pace.

  The first thing Gene saw, parked in the lot of the Big Horn Body shop and towing company was the blue van marked, Earthquake Studies Offices. Gene wasn’t familiar with anyone who worked there, but he had often received reports from them. The doors at the back of the van were open, and he saw a younger woman with a tablet. Her fingers swiped across.

  She turned her head his way, it was hard to see her expression with the mask.

  Gene approached her.

  Susan introduced them. “April, this is Gene Taylor from my department.”

  “How do you do, Doctor Taylor,” she said.

  “Just Gene will be fine. You have activity?”