by Keys, Logan
The pilot spoke, trying to transmit to the airport. But he spoke in Russian. “Can I?” Luckman asked. “Can I try?” The pilot handed him the headset and he put it on. “Hello?” He said. “Anyone there?” The pilot fiddled with the buttons, but Luckman heard no reply.
They had arced to the side approaching San Diego International airport from the west, but as they got closer his stomach dropped.
“What is that?” he whispered.
The pilot answered in Russian and Luckman unbuckled fast and rushed out of the cockpit. “Are you guys seeing this!?” he shouted, running down the aisle.
“Yes,” Greg said with a chilling tone. “Sink holes. The entire airport is full of them and planes and everything have collapsed inside. Nowhere to land.”
“There has to be somewhere.” Terry also sounded hollow, and Luckman was going from window to window, as was German, trying to find something other than a destroyed and pockmarked landing strip.
German and Luckman rushed into the cockpit. “Translate,” Luckman said.
“On it.”
“We can’t land here. We have to try another airport. How much fuel do we have? Can we make it to LAX?”
German translated, and the pilot shook his head and they spoke rapidly. “He said, this looks like more earthquakes and that anything along this area could be destroyed….Maybe this is the same Faultline, Lucky?”
Luckman rubbed his eyes. “yes. Yes. It would be the same fault line. I have no clue where it would be okay to land then.
“We fly back south then maybe? Find somewhere open enough?”
He and the pilot spoke.
“A freeway maybe?”
“Ummm,” Luckman racked his brain. “I’m not sure.
“A field?”
“In California? Okay. Okay. Let me think. Go east and south. There is a lot of open land there. Desert.”
The pilot pointed at him and spoke. Luckman could tell he was saying good idea at the word desert.
“Still dangerous,” Luckman said, but German shrugged.
“You and me,” German said. “Danger is our middle name.”
Luckman rolled his eyes. “Okay. Tell him. We fly southeast until we see desert. We fly as far as we can south. We try to land somewhere in the desert.”
German told the pilot who nodded.
Together they went back and told the group.
“The desert!” Holtz exclaimed. “This thing wasn’t made to land in soft sand. Are you crazy?”
“If we can find a highway that’s not destroyed and empty, we can try that.”
Greg was looking out of the window. “It’s nothing but craters and holes out there, guys. We can’t land here no matter what. They must have had big earthquakes to do this much damage.”
“We don’t have a choice,” Luckman said. “We can’t land at the airport and chances are, LAX is as bad or worse. I think the city would be far more dangerous than open areas like the desert. Plus, what about the ice? I’m trying to cover all the ground here that I can.”
They all watched the ground for places that didn’t look damaged, but most of it was cracked deeply by lines that zig-zagged. Occasionally they saw people hiking across the ground, looking for whatever it was they needed. Probably family. They stayed low. No need to worry about other planes, it looked like they’d all been grounded for some time and now, who could take off anyway?
They found the desert, but it was cracked into bits like a giant puzzle. Still, the pilot did as Luckman had asked, and they turned straight south. And then they kept going and going.
Once an hour had passed of deadly, craggy earth beneath them, Luckman wondered if they’d have to turn east further. He was racking his brain to decide when the overhead intercom sounded, and the pilot came on. “I have to talk to you. Okay. Put on you rope.”
“What is it?” Terry called to Luckman, who obediently put on his safety belt.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
German shouted in Russian and the pilot came on again. “No, it is not toob-you-lance.”
German and Luckman shared a look. “It can’t be,” Luckman said. “Not again. You’ve got to be kidding me.”
German forced his seatbelt on. “Everyone hold on.”
“What?” Greg demanded.
“What’s going on?” Danielle asked.
Luckman began to sweat. “It’s fuel. We’ve run out of it.”
**
They were still above desert, it was still riddled with cracks, but none of that mattered. The plane was out of fuel, and the landing was going to either be bad or worse. Nothing good could come of this
“Is everyone buckled?” Luckman shouted.
“Yes!” everyone said the same time the plane began to drop.
It was coming in fast…too fast.
“Ah!” Danielle cried, and the force of the dip hit Luckman in the stomach.
Everyone shared fearful glances. Hopefully not their last.
“Can we make it?” Terry demanded of Luckman and he nodded.
He wasn’t sure. He had no clue. But he kept on nodding at her, eyes locked with hers, writing checks he couldn’t cash.
German answered, “Yes. We’ve been in worse situations than this, eh, Lucky?”
Luckman’s teeth ground together. “It’s not a competition.”
The plane felt like it was in full free fall now.
“Sure it is,” German shouted over the noise. “This one will be—”
Boom! The plane dropped down and the tail made a godawful sound. And they were not even on the ground yet.
Things flew around in back, drinks crashed to the floor, and overhead bins emptied. Everyone started screaming as they could sense the earth rising up to catch them. They were nose down again and zooming towards the ground, no soft descent like normal.
Luckman could see outside the windows on the opposite side of the plane. The line of the ground was rising up, cutting off the bottom half of the window until it was parallel. Somehow, by some magic, the pilot managed to pull the plane up just enough so that the nose was not the first to strike. But just behind the front of the plane, they made their first touchdown.
Boom!
They slammed into the ground and slid.
The belt cut into Luckman as chaos ensued. A sort of white noise filled his ears as they kept going forward in a long rush of churning sand and scraping metal. The white noise died and the world exploded with sound.
He saw sparks. Felt heat. Fire broke out, blinding everyone with smoke. The sound of one wing shearing off was loud enough to make his ears ring, but at least once it was gone it dimmed the sounds once more. He felt as if he touched the ear on that side, he’d find a burst eardrum and blood, but he was too busy gripping the seat rests as his body pressed so tightly against the restraints that he was certain he would break in half.
And still, they were sliding and not stopping, the plane was like a giant train off the tracks, losing bits of itself along the way.
The other wing must have come off too, because air was billowing through, and lastly the tail dislocated with a giant yank, the metal crunching into the sand with a sickening grind.
Finally, by God’s grace alone, they slid to a stop.
Luckman blinked, the dust and smoke making it hard to see. His brain was jostled and he felt like he might pass out. Or have a heart attack. Or both.
“Lucky,” German wheezed. “Lucky, you okay?”
Luckman breathed a sigh of relief to hear his friend. He found his voice. “Yes. Is everyone okay?”
Terry screamed a loud screech of horror that made him jerk around. Across the plane Greg was slumped over against the missing window and side of the plane. He’d been the only one who’d wanted to sit that close to the wing and now his head was covered in blood and he was still, not breathing.
Luckman fought his buckle before rushing Greg’s side. “Hey. Hey. You okay, buddy?” He unbuckled Greg and pulled him from his seat. With German’s
help, they gently laid him on the floor between rows. Luckman performed CPR, but it was already clear that Greg was gone.
Metal pushed tightly into the side of his head. Luckman glanced up, and that entire side of the plane was missing. Some of the pieces must have blown back and struck him.
“Danielle!” Terry cried.
“I’m fine. It’s ok. I think I broke my arm.”
The other sister appeared to be unscathed, but she was so shaken, that she was rocking in her chair back and forth.
Luckman stopped pumping Greg’s chest and Terry wailed and hugged her sisters.
“German, where are you bleeding from?” Luckman asked.
“I’m not,” German answered. “I’m…oh.” He touched his side and piece of protruding metal sat there.
Luckman gasped at the size of it. “Sit down.”
“It’s a scratch, Lucky,” German promised, but he was already pale, and blood ran down his side onto the floor.
Luckman growled at him. “Just sit down, would ya? No need to be big, brave Russian guy, okay? We get it. You is caveman. Please. For me. Sit down so you don’t bleed to death.”
German moved over to a seat that was still intact. Reluctantly, he sat. Together they lifted his shirt by ripping it from the hole downward so as not to move the metal.
“There. See. Fine,” German said.
But Luckman was worried when he saw how much blood there was. “Should we remove it?” he asked.
Terry and her sisters were still hovering over Greg’s body in tears. They quietly wept for their lost brother, each whispering words to him as if he could hear.
Luckman touched the metal in German’s side but then pulled back his hand. What if it had struck something vital? “We should leave it.”
German shook his head, beads of sweat on his brow, face paler than moments before. “Ah. Not gonna happen. It hurts like a …anyway…” He reached down and tugged on the piece.
“No!” Luckman shouted, but it was too late, and now the wound was bleeding freely.
Luckman searched the cabin in a frenzy until he found a cubby that had a first aid kit inside. He pulled out all of the gauze.
“Put pressure on it,” he said, handing it in a wad to German.
German did as he was told but leaned back as if he were weary.
Luckman squatted next to his friend. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
German smiled. “I’m not going down without a fight. Don’t worry. It takes more than a piece of metal.”
He wanted to stay but he rose to his feet. “I need to check the pilot,” Luckman said.
He weaved his way through the items that were strewn across the aisle and found the door shut tight and stuck.
Holtz appeared at his side and he began to help Luckman with the door. He seemed unharmed as well.
“Like the door at the bar.” Holtz reminded Luckman of the door that was frozen shut back in New Zealand.
It wasn’t a good memory.
Together they got it to open and Luckman went inside. “Ah, man,” he said, when he found the pilot was slumped over the controls. The man’s face was bloody and there was only half a windshield left. Some of the desert had piled inside and the cactus was everywhere so Luckman couldn’t get close to the pilot. But he could see that the man was already dead.
The crazy pilot who’d escaped death so many times had finally bit it. Luckman sniffed. “Thank you,” he said to the man he’d never even gotten a name from. The man who got them there but sacrificed himself to do it. “Sorry you didn’t make it, buddy.”
He and Holtz went back into the other part of the plane…what was left of it. “The pilot is gone,” Luckman said to German.
He was surprised to see the big Russian turn emotional. German blinked and looked away as he absorbed that information.
Luckman looked through one of the giant holes in the side of the plane. Cacti dusted in snow as far as the eye could see dotted an otherwise empty desert.
Holtz had brought a map from the cockpit and he opened it now with a snap.
“Where are we?” Luckman asked the scientist.
Holtz took a deep breath. “Mexico, I think.”
Chapter Ten
New York City, New York
Michelle was sorry they had to leave Bob’s house. Mostly because Bob seemed very sorry to leave it. She felt guilty that her plan brought him away from what he had barely just gotten ahold of once again. But still, he had Carry, and his children, and grandkids. In the bowling alley they would fair much better with Cameron’s ingenuity.
“Would you stop it. You look like a kicked dog,” Bob said with a half-smile that she didn’t buy for one minute.
“I feel bad.”
“Always.” Bob shook his head. “Unless you have magical powers I don’t know about, none of anything…at all, is your fault. Not the weather. Not us leaving here. And certainly not Mrs. Haverstick dying.”
Michelle hugged herself and sighed. “If we had left her at the hospital maybe they could have done something.”
“Not without power. They’re probably in worse condition than we are, Michelle. She was lost the moment she got sick. She was elderly. Maybe it was her time.”
“You ready?” she asked. Donny, Bob, and Michelle had stayed behind to lock up valuables as best they could, and Bob also reinforced the doors and windows. Hopefully, no one would mess with the place while they were gone.
They got in the truck and started the slow drive back. The ice was already almost impassable so, the going was at a crawl. No one else was trying to drive in this but them. The cold kept people inside, but Michelle was sure many were without heat and that the exposure was going to kill a lot of people. Elderly and children first.
It made her heart hurt.
They took the bridge and the truck got stuck in almost the same spot as before. Close to the middle. Luckily, Bob was able to get it out without too much time in the freezing air. This was it, Michelle thought as he climbed back inside. They couldn’t drive anymore and so they would have to bunker down in the bowling alley and hope that the storm passed eventually. They would have to hold out for things to clear up and that could be…well, she tried not to think about how long this could go on.
As they pulled off of the bridge, Michelle saw that there were two cars on the side of the road and people were standing outside. “Probably stuck,” Bob said, pulling over, and he was about to get out, when Michelle latched onto his arm.
“No,” she said, her blood chilling. “Look!”
It was the cop car. And a family from another car was also there. The ones who’d killed the police officers had them surrounded. Michelle remembered the one with the crowbar. She could see him more clearly now. He had a handkerchief wrapped around the bottom of his face.
Michelle cried out as the man lifted the crowbar and swung it to smash in the skull of the father who fell with a spray of blood into the snow.
Michelle covered her face, then uncovered it to stare wide-eyed as the family screamed and rushed to the father’s side. It was clear he was dead already.
The man lifted the crowbar again, but Bob was already throwing the truck door open. He leapt into the snow, rushing toward the group. “Stay there!” he shouted back at Michelle when she opened her door.
For a moment, she froze, obeying, but then she slid to the ground and strode in their direction. She’d be damned if she was leaving Bob alone with these monsters.
“Put it down!” Bob barked. The gun in his hand had appeared like magic, and his stance was all business, ingrained. He’d been trained to kill people, Michelle was reminded.
The one with the crowbar swung around in surprise, and then seemed to smile beneath his handkerchief because his eyes crinkled. None of them were Jefferey or Herc, but she knew they were worse.
A woman with the group strode forward. Her face was covered in soot and her ratty hair framed her crazy expression. She pulled out a gun and aimed it at Bob. Even Michelle
could tell it was a wide aim, but still, her palms were sweating in her pockets from the thought of Bob being shot.
“What’s the trouble, pop?”
Michelle jumped. She had completely forgotten that Donny had been following them.
“Donny, get back–”
The woman’s gun went off and Bob immediately returned fire. The crazy woman stumbled backward and fell into the snow. Bob took no more chances and he fired at the man with the crowbar. Michelle finally had the sense to pull her gun too, as two other guys rushed towards Bob.
She aimed but they were too close by the time she got her gun up. She didn’t think, she just acted.
Michelle ran to where the two men had surrounded Bob. He shot one, and the other rushed him, striking him low in the waist. They both went down.
The one on top of Bob was fighting him for the gun. Michelle was at their side without remembering having run over.
She struggled with decision as they both held the gun now. It went off once, making Michelle shout with fury as she tried to get ahold of the guy by the jacket. When he looked up at her, she let go, lifting a heavy snow boot to stomp on the side of his face.
He went limp and Bob threw him off.
“Are you hurt?” Michelle hovered over Bob, kneeling in the snow.
She’d missed the last guy who now latched onto her back and ripped her away from Bob.
He had both her arms behind her back. “Let me go!” she screamed, seeing the blood in the snow. It made her weak in the knees. Had Bob been shot?
But Bob was stumbling to his feet anyway. He aimed at the guy holding Michelle.
“Put it down or this one here gets cut!” the guy holding her shouted.
Michelle felt numb with dread as he put a knife to her throat.
Bob’s gun went off and she screamed as she, and the man, fell backwards into the snow.
Now it was Bob who was over Michelle asking, “Are you hurt? Did he cut you?” His eyes were wide.
She touched her neck. “No. I thought you were shot!” she cried, coming to her feet, pulling him into a hug.
