by S. T. Boston
If a plane crashes and half of it lands in one country and the other half in another, where do you bury the survivors?
It wasn't the most taxing of problems to work out for anyone with half a brain. You wouldn't need to bury the survivors.
The sudden influx of light caused Oriyanna to stir in the seat next to him. Adam slid the blind back down and returned his attention to the cabin, searching for a steward. He needed another bottle of water, his mouth feeling drier than the desert below. As she slowly blinked her eyes open, the rash on his arm began demanding his attention again. Adam slid his hand up his sleeve and went to work on it, simultaneously moving his shoulder to get some of the feeling back. Oriyanna yawned and stretched her legs out, and accidently kicked the seat in front, much to the annoyance of its occupier who purposely tutted loud enough for them to hear.
“Where are we now?” she asked quietly, her voice still sleepy.
“Just crossing into Egypt,” Adam replied, scratching at the inflamed section of skin. The patch on his leg began to kick off, as if it were jealous of the attention its sibling was receiving. Sliding his hand out of the sleeve, Adam froze in horror at the sight of fresh wet blood on his fingers.
“Where did that come from?” asked Oriyanna urgently, instantly awake.
“My arm, it started itching not long after we left JFK.” He rolled his sleeve up to reveal the rash, the top layer of skin had almost worn away from the constant scratching, leaving a bloodied mess, as if someone had rubbed sandpaper over the skin. It looked much worse than it had half an hour ago. “I've got a rash on my leg, too.” Oriyanna didn't need to say a single word, he could tell by the look on her face what she was thinking. “It's just a rash though, right?” he asked in a panic. “I mean, I had pretty bad eczema as a kid, maybe all this stress has caused it to flare up.”
“Have you noticed anything else?”
“Only my head hurts like crazy,” he replied, his voice growing shakier by the second. “But different to how it felt after Finch took me, it's more like I haven't drunk enough water. I've had three bottles whilet you were asleep but nothing seems to shift it.”
Oriyanna grasped his arm and examined the irritated skin, her eyes wide and alert, before placing her hand on his forehead. “You're running a temperature, too, can't you feel it?”
“I don't know,” he whined, suddenly nauseous. “I just thought it was starting to get a little warm in here.” Adam could feel a state of panic coming on. “Do you think…” he couldn't even bring himself to say it.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the captain's voice announced over the intercom, “I will soon be activating the fasten seatbelt sign for our approach to Cairo International Airport, we expect to have you on the ground in around thirty minutes. It's a warm pleasant evening down there, air temperatures are in the region of twenty-one degrees centigrade, that's seventy fahrenheit.”
“Well, at least it's a damn sight warmer than it was back in Denver,” said Sam, rubbing his eyes. “Shit, did I need that sleep. I don't remember a thing after…” he trailed off. “What's the matter with you two?”
“How do you feel?” asked Oriyanna.
“A little knackered still, but I just woke up. Why?”
“No, how do you feel?” she repeated impatiently.
Sam noticed the bloodied rash on Adam's shaky forearm, “Oh— what the fuck is that?” he cried in disgust.
“It came on just after we left JFK, he has one on his leg, too, plus he is running a temperature. Are you showing any symptoms?” Oriyanna was desperately trying to sound in control.
“I— I don't know,” Sam stammered, rolling up his sleeves and patting down his legs, as if he were trying to brush off an invisible army of ants. “No, I'm fine! And what do you mean by symptoms?”
“I didn't say anything before,” began Oriyanna. “I didn't want to make you both hyper aware of what to look for.” She took hold of Adam's hand, but on this occasion even her touch didn't help the way he was feeling. “This virus starts by attacking the skin,” she said seriously, “it's likely those who contract it will get a series of rashes and sores to begin with. After that, it turns every cell in your body against the other—”
“Okay, stop!” pleaded Adam, snatching his hand back. “I don't need to hear it. How long do I have?”
“I'm not sure,” she replied truthfully. “I think maybe twelve hours at most before you can't function properly, then another hour before…” She couldn't bring herself to say it, and she didn't need to. “Adam, I'm so sorry,” she concluded, dropping her eyes and feeling helpless.
Adam slumped dejectedly back into his seat, “I— I don't know what to do. What can I do?” he pleaded, gazing at Oriyanna through frightened eyes. A disturbance further back in the aircraft caught her attention, unclipping her lap belt she knelt on the seat and looked back down the fuselage. Three rows down, two male flight attendants were attending to a young boy of no more than ten, his frightened face was covered in red rash-like blotches which had started to bleed. She could just make out similar blemishes on both of his pale arms. The commotion was drawing the attention of a number of other passengers, causing the hum of background chatter to raise in volume, as if some unseen person had a remote control and was gradually cranking the volume up. Scanning the rest of the cabin, Oriyanna made out at least nine other passengers with similar symptoms, though the young boy looked to be the most advanced case and was the one drawing the most attention.
“It's started,” she said, sitting down and refastening the lap belt. “You're not the only one, Adam,” she continued, as if it would offer some comfort. “There are at least nine other sick passengers that I can see. How many people are there in this cabin?”
“I'm not sure,” replied Sam, glancing around and mentally calculating. “Maybe a hundred and fifty, why?”
“That means just over six percent of people in this cabin are sick.” She ran the numbers with the speed of a computer. “If we look at this as a cross section for the global population, it would mean that already over four hundred and fifty-five million people are sick, and that's inside the first twenty-four hours.”
“What can I do?” Adam cried. He'd started to scratch at his other arm and the skin was showing the first signs of blotching.
“Drink plenty of water,” replied Oriyanna comfortingly, as she pulled his hand away to stop him. “I know that sounds crazy, but you're going to lose lots through sweat as the fever sets in, if you don't replace it you will feel worse.” She found her half-finished bottle under her seat, unscrewed the cap and handed it over. “Drink it,” she encouraged.
“Is there nothing you can do?” exclaimed Sam. A mounting panic was starting to set in throughout the cabin. A stewardess rushed by, her hands covered in blood. Sam couldn't make out if it was hers or not. The worried chatter of the other passengers continued to rise, as more and more people realised what was happening.
“We need to get on the ground and to the Tabut,” replied Oriyanna, keeping her voice deliberately calm.
“Why, what's the fucking point?” spat Sam, raising his voice over the growing bedlam. “We don't have the Key Tablet now, thanks to me. We don't have any weapons, what the fuck can you do? Nothing! That's it, game fucking over!”
The monotone bong of the intercom cut Oriyanna off before she could tell him to calm down.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the captain's voice, only this time it wasn't as calm and routine as it had been a few minutes earlier. “We have a developing situation on the ground, air traffic control has asked us to remain in a holding pattern over Cairo for the time being.” There was a long pause as the cabin noise suddenly dropped into a deathly silence. “In the last few minutes they have halted all air travel, I'm being advised that with immediate effect all airports have been closed. They are working on a way to get us down as I speak, I'll update you—”
The intercom went dead and a small, subtle shockwave rippled through the cabin. As the in
tercom died, so did the cabin lights and every inbuilt headrest TV screen. The silence brought on by the captain's announcement held on to the passengers of Egypt Air Flight 205 pensively, as if every person was straining to hear the same sound; but the sound they all longed to hear was gone.
The engines had stopped.
* * *
From the small café style bar at Cairo International, Xavier watched in horror as the Arabic subtitled BBC News program began to report the epidemic. Having landed an hour ago he'd cleared customs and immigration before heading to the arrivals hall to await Oriyanna. Judging by the news report, the first cases had been reported while he was in the air. Over the last few hours, the story had gained pace. As more and more hospitals around the world began to report cases of the mysterious virus, the story had taken over the news completely. It had hit so suddenly that the initial reports were sketchy at best. From the forty minutes of coverage he'd seen, Xavier had learned that the first cases had appeared in China, England, Australia and the USA, and then like a bushfire, it had spread within hours, touching countries all over the globe. Some reporters in China were claiming people were already dying; the Chinese Government had almost immediately denounced it as a lie.
Xavier checked the arrivals board, the Egypt Air flight from JFK was still showing as on time but the growing military presence at the airport was making him uneasy. Something was happening, something big. As he stared at the LCD arrival screen it erupted into a flurry of activity, as every single flight's status changed to 'Cancelled', prompting a wave of dissatisfied and shocked cries from those waiting to greet friends and family. The background noise became so great that no one noticed the tannoy announcement which first came in a hurried torrent of Arabic. Xavier didn't need to wait for the translation, like all of his kind he could speak, read and understand every widely-used language on Earth. They were closing the airport! After the announcer had finished in his native tongue he switched to English.
“Cairo International regrets to announce that due to a developing situation, we are closing the airport with immediate effect. Please vacate your current building via the nearest emergency or non-emergency exit.”
The queue at the information desk was becoming massive, as those waiting either chose to ignore the request or just didn't hear it. People began jostling for position and pushing each other out of the way. Xavier watched two Arabic men hurling a torrent of hurried insults back and forth before they became engaged in an all-out fist fight. Frozen to his chair, he watched as a number of soldiers marched into the arrivals hall and immediately began evicting people. Those who chose not to go quietly were grabbed and dragged from the building before being deposited roughly onto the pick-up and set-down area out front, like a gang of unruly drunks being ejected from a bar. Xavier couldn't quite understand why things were happening so fast, the virus was only on its first day and only hours old. Somewhere on the planet a research lab must have obtained an early sample and realized its deadly potential, it was the only explanation for the sudden turn of events. The crack of gunfire echoed across the arrivals hall, as one of the soldiers fired two rounds into the air in a desperate attempt to restore order. Xavier had seen enough, and collecting his bag he pushed his way through the ruckus and left the airport.
The hum of the nearby main road greeted him as he paused by the taxi rank. He didn't know what to do. Somewhere up there was Oriyanna's flight; closing the airports was one thing but what were they going to do with the thousands of flights currently in the air? They would have to land them somewhere and quarantine the passengers – the aircraft wouldn't fly forever. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, he felt useless. There was no conceivable way he could see her getting to him now. He knew Buer would ultimately be trying to reach the Tabut, and he knew that on his own and unarmed he had practically no hope of being able to stop it. Part of him wanted to hail a cab and head out to the plateau, while the other part was screaming to stay near the airport in case things changed. Standing frozen outside the arrivals hall, Xavier felt as if his body wanted to tear in two, until a beaten up beige Mercedes screeched to a halt right in front of him. Xavier watched as an unshaven, dishevelled man jumped out of the car, left the engine running and dashed toward the building, only to be stopped by a soldier who had taken up a post at the door. The part of him which was keen to try and reach the plateau won, and without thinking he rushed over to the old Mercedes and climbed in. Slamming the vehicle into reverse, he gunned the engine before leaving the ever-building chaos of the airport behind. Despite the developing events, the highway outside was still packed with Monday evening traffic, and for the moment things seemed relatively normal. It was a stark and strange comparison to the scene he'd just left behind. Xavier's mind was reeling, and he had no idea what he would do when he eventually got there. One thing had become clear though, he had to try and do something, even if he died in the attempt.
Staying clear of Cairo city centre, he sped through the smaller outlaying town of Al Abajiyyah, following signs for Giza. It seemed as if he was working blind, there was no way of knowing just how much time he did or didn't have. Buer could still be thousands of miles away, caught up in the chaos he'd caused, or he could already be in Egypt, maybe even out at the plateau. The thought didn't bear thinking about. Not for the first time, Xavier pushed his worries to the back of his mind and concentrated on the task in hand: getting there and not getting killed. As he approached the El Rawda bridge the labouring traffic eventually came to a compete standstill. Cursing under his breath Xavier joined a queue of cars, all trying to cross the muddy waters of the Nile. The afternoon sun streamed in through the dusty windows, making it uncomfortably hot. The vehicle's air conditioning had seen better days and even with it cranked up high, it did nothing besides offer a feeble trickle of foul, eggy scented air which only added to the unpleasant stale tobacco smell in the cab. Xavier wound the window down and leaned out, trying to see what the hold-up was. Up ahead, an old bus appeared to be broken down right on the bridge, steam pouring out of the engine compartment. The passengers who were gradually disembarking stood in a line by the railings, looking out over the river. A few cars back, someone began sounding their horn impatiently, as if their annoyance could suddenly fix the situation. Leaving the window down to try and let a little fresh air into the car, Xavier forced himself to relax into the seat and wait it out. His mind drifted back to Oriyanna and what it must be like to be stuck up in the air, thousands of feet above the city. Suddenly, he felt a small pulse race through the car. Immediately, the waiting traffic fell silent as every engine died in unison, leaving the bridge bathed in an eerie silence. One of Xavier's questions had been answered; he now knew exactly where Buer was. Unlike the majority of other road users, Xavier knew there was no point trying to restart the Mercedes. Abandoning the stolen car, he set out on foot; he still had a good few miles to cover. Among all the uncertainty, one thing was definite: in the next two hours, fate would decide the outcome.
* * *
“So then, Karim,” said Finch, leaning forward to read the portly tour guide's name badge, “how would I go about getting some tickets to tour the inside of The Pyramid of Khufu?”
“Tickets go on sale at seven thirty AM,” the guide replied in perfect English. “They only let around two hundred and fifty people in a day, so you need to arrive early to avoid disappointment.” The small wooden hut was uncomfortably warm. Karim had the benefit of a desk fan blowing in his face, and selfishly, none of the flowing air was making it as far as Finch's side of the counter.
“And what about evening tours? My friends and I were hoping to go in tonight. We are especially interested in visiting the lower chamber.”
“I'm sorry, sir,” Karim replied suspiciously, “tours finish at five thirty, we have just locked up for the night. Besides, the lower chamber has been shut off to the public for some time now, the passageway down is too dangerous. I'm not even sure if we will be open tomorrow, the news is saying somethin
g about all tourist attractions staying shut. I'm waiting for an update from my boss in Cairo.” Finch watched Karim start scratching at a red blotchy rash on his neck, and his hands also looked a little on the sore side. Karim obviously wasn't privy to the exact symptoms of the virus which was now busy at work on his body. If he had any idea, he wouldn't be so relaxed.
“So, there is no way you can personally take us in then?” Finch removed his wallet and fanned out a large wad of American hundred dollar bills. For a brief second, he saw the temptation flash across the guide's eyes.
“No, I'm sorry,” he said firmly.
“What? Don't you have the keys?” Finch probed. “This is a lot of money, more than you must earn in a year.”
“I have the keys, but I could end up in prison if I were caught. I have a wife and child who depend on me. I'm sorry, sir, but it has to be a no,” the guide concluded, shaking his head.
“Prison,” muttered Finch, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “Surely that must be better than dying?”
Karim's brow creased slightly as he tried to register what the strange, pushy American had said. “Dying?” he repeated, “Why would I—”
Finch whipped the silenced pistol up and over the counter and shot the guide squarely in the head. For a few seconds, Karim's thick legs held his body weight as a thin line of dark red blood ran down into his left eye, the confused expression still stuck on his face as if he were a living photograph. Finch watched as the inevitable happened; Karim's legs eventually gave way and he fell to the floor in a heap.
