by Greg Dragon
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged.
“You stayed for football?”
“Yeah, I asked to stay for the game tonight. Afterward, I’m supposed to drive to Tennessee to discuss my choices. Then you beamed your situation into our heads. No way could I leave you with him. I met with the others, and we hatched a plan. Trev agreed with you about the Hum. I came in through the XO entrance.”
“Why didn’t you send Trev?”
“They lost faith in me. We had voted to quit working with Quitman. And then, I gave you up to him.”
“What’s the XO plan?”
“Pack for us to go high. They wouldn’t leave without us, so they’re near.”
“I think the Hum’s effects will be worse than dealing with escaped Swarmers. Everyone in town needs to go higher.”
“There are emergency phones at the station. Let’s play the cards we’ve been dealt.”
“Cards?”
His cheeks burned red as he gritted out his meaning. “We weren’t dealt a solid. Quitman and the other doctors put this play in motion. We can warn Cloudland residents and call for help. We should leave afterward.”
“But—”
“I want to play football.” He stared at her and then glanced at the screen, where the workers tried to leverage open doors. “Q can’t have the last word on our lives.”
“The new Swarm is airborne.”
He pointed at his eye. “Some men in Cloudland know how to kill them. Heck, we can retrieve the weapons we left behind on the catwalk and draw them away from town.”
“They’ll track us? You’re sure?”
Scot nodded. “XOs are better than blood lures. Quitman told us that. We don’t want to be trapped, though. I’ll get the weapons. Get ready.”
He went out the door before she could protest being separated. Staring at the screen, she prayed for wisdom and felt better. Scot came back in dragging two bags and locked the door. “The new ones are smarter. They’re climbing.” He squatted down and went through the bags. “Quitman’s on his feet. No more guilt.”
His brilliant blue eyes focused on her face.
She nodded. “Agreed.”
He grinned.
She went to the computer and stared at their faces. They knew death loomed, and they didn’t want to let life go. They were lab workers, custodians, and security staff. “Do they get a warning?”
“Don’t know. They…”
“Knew the risks.”
He didn’t quite cover up his surprise. “You sounded like Quitman.”
She flinched. “They kept his secrets and knew about the burn protocol.”
“A few knew. Most didn’t.”
She shook her head. “Q told me scientists came here for the freedom to explore new frontiers without regulations, and to find cures and fame.”
“It’s only fair they face the monsters they’ve created,” he said. “Right?”
She nodded.
“You’re tougher. Ready?”
Her teeth clenched and sweat beaded her forehead from the Hum. Hives itched on her throat and on her chest—new Hum effects.
Scot staggered to the wall, blinking his eyes. “What’s happening?”
“Hum is nearing its end.”
“You feel sick too?”
“Yeah.” Sharp pains behind her eyes made her wince. Her balance tipped and she leaned against the wall. “The most important thing we have to do today is survive the Hum.” She beamed an impression of the after effects to Scot.
He clutched his head between his hands. “Stop!” He looked up at her. “We’ve got to bounce.”
“Not while we’re loopy. We’ll be easy targets.” She reached out to him, and they held on to each other. After the sensation passed, they walked back to the weapons bags and picked them up. “I think that was the last warning.”
He took a deep breath and faced the keyboard. Scot popped his knuckles and typed in the password. He slung the bag’s strap over his shoulder and she did the same.
Swarmers beat on their door. “It might open first,” Scot said, pushing the sofa against it.
A female computer voice came over the intercom. “Emergency burn protocol countdown interruption. Prepare to exit in one minute and then resume countdown.”
Scot shut down the computer, but not before she saw the trapped employees get ready to run. “Exit doors stay open for forty seconds, so don’t trip.” Both doors in the pod creaked, and with a hiss, rolled back.
Behind them, Swarmers snarled as they fought to be first inside. Scot pushed her through the back exit door.
“Follow me,” he shouted, and sprinted ahead.
Rett
Rett Franklin dozed at the wheel.
An angry blare from a car horn jerked him back to alertness. He swerved into the right lane just in time. He missed getting sideswiped by a white sports car going over ninety. Red brake lights flashed and then sparks ignited as the driver lost control, and the white car slid along a guard rail before flipping outside of Atlanta on I-85.
He accelerated to move past the car in case it flipped back onto the roadway. Traffic in his rearview dropped from sight. Since he left Cloudland on the run, he didn’t stop to help. Rett wouldn’t let guilt creep up on him either. There were times in a man’s life when family had to come first. Like this one. His sons’ soft breaths reassured Rett he had done the right thing. In Texas, they could heal. He drove on and continued checking his rearview.
He considered and rejected stopping until he found rooms at a Holiday Inn close to the airport. Rett parked the SUV in back, so it couldn’t be seen from the road. In the room, he tucked the boys under sheets and blankets and took a hot shower. Before falling into bed for four hours’ sleep, Rett called Eddie Jean’s cell and then the number for Doctor Allen. No one answered. Despite the cramps in his muscles and heavy heart, he fell asleep. He managed to snooze through the alarm, but when the room phone gave its wake-up call, Rett sat up.
Herding the boys through a quick shower, he managed to grab fresh fruit, milk, and biscuits before they checked out and took a shuttle to the airport. They were booked on the earliest flight out. The boys ate before they passed through security.
He scanned the other passengers at the gate and noticed three Cloudland residents. They looked sick and pale. The men didn’t act like they recognized him or the boys. Rett pretended the same. First class boarded.
He read the newspaper while the other passengers found their seats. At 6:30 a.m. they were wheels up. A heavy weight lifted from his shoulders.
Rett allowed himself to close his eyes after the pilot gave a brief welcome and flight attendants stood to prepare refreshments. Both boys fell asleep as soon as he buckled them in.
Something’s wrong.
Rett folded the newspaper. He felt a change in cabin pressure, and his ears popped like crazy. Then a foul, bloody discharge oozed out both ears and dripped onto his jacket. He swabbed out his ears with a napkin tucked inside his jacket. The same dark brown substance oozed down Teddy’s cheek too. He checked his watch—thirty minutes into the flight. He signaled to the flight attendant. She handed him damp washcloths and said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re not the only ones.”
Rett wiped his ears and face again and then did the same with each boy. They woke and then fell back asleep. His ears stopped throbbing and the buzzing noise stopped. Suddenly, a force grabbed hold and shoved the jet straight upward. He could feel and hear the engines straining and whining in protest.
Passengers screamed.
Their bird bucked and vibrated for way too long. Luggage spilled into the aisle from overhead compartments and yellow oxygen masks dropped. For a horrendous moment, the plane rocked wildly before righting itself. Panting, Rett put his mask on and then leaned over and put masks on each boy. Rett crossed himself, grateful they were still asleep. He saw their flight attendant stand to make an announcement, but she fainted right before he blacked out.
/> ***
Rett woke to pandemonium. Had the oxygen failed? He yanked the mask off and glanced around. Most people wore their masks. From hysterical conversations, he learned a few people passed out, including the pilot, while others didn’t. No one knew why.
He glanced at his boys. They were so pale their skin looked like the underbellies of fish, but they were breathing. Both had dried blood around their noses and inside their masks. Passengers prayed and others called out for medical assistance. White-faced flight attendants were either still sprawled in the aisle trying to get up or terrified and buckled in their seats.
Rett wiped the boys’ faces clean first and then his own. What a disgusting mess. An older woman across the aisle handed him clean ones. “Thank you.” He swabbed out their masks and put them back on.
“We need a doctor in the rear,” a flight attendant called out five minutes later. “Any kind of doctor.”
FASTEN SEATBELTS flashed.
Five minutes ticked past before the pilot spoke. The tremor in his voice trumped his words. “Folks, I’m back in charge. I had pulled our plane back on course and flipped on the autopilot before the flight crew passed out. We’re fine up here and hope you are as well. We radioed Dallas/Fort Worth, and we’ll be one of the first planes down.”
“What happened?” a man yelled. “People passing out isn’t normal.”
“We deserve to know,” another shouted.
A flight attendant spoke. “Please remain calm and remain seated.”
“Any nurses on board?” a flight attendant shouted from the rear. “Anyone with medical training? Please come to the rear.”
A man screamed from the back. The sound made Rett’s neck breakout in goosebumps. The last time he heard similar screams, Anna Martin’s relatives were on Quitman’s land. The rough flight continued another three to five minutes, and the plane rattled like it was shaking apart. Rett couldn’t remember ever being on a plane traveling this fast through rough air. When they transitioned to smoother air, Rett relaxed tense muscles and stretched out his legs.
The first-class flight attendant stood and shouted, “The pilot says we’re low enough to take off the oxygen masks.”
Rett left his on. Everyone he could see did the same.
A strange sound erupted from the back. It sounded like animals snapping and growling—like Jenna did. Wild screaming and panic erupted from rear passengers.
People left their seats, crawling up the aisle to escape. Rett unbuckled his seatbelt in order to look behind him and removed his oxygen mask. Passengers stampeded up the aisle. They pushed and shoved each other in the surge. Spilled luggage and a wedged refreshment cart blocked them. “Help! Help us! He’s killing people with his bare hands!”
“People are dyin’ back here, please Jesus!”
“Oh my God. Another one!”
Rett couldn’t believe his eyes when cranberry-colored blood speckled the air and landed on startled passengers. A man in a dark suit sitting two rows in front of Rett stood and walked back to the coach section. He held onto seat backs and raised a federal badge. “FBI! Go back to your seats.”
Rett stood and caught a glimpse of the people jammed up in the aisle at the back and center. Forward passengers shoved them back, not wanting to get blocked in their own seats. A young boy’s face began to change into something hideous in the middle section. Rett couldn’t believe his eyes. It looked like the thing on Quitman’s land.
A dark-haired man beside the teenager unbuckled his seat belt and jumped up, screaming, “Help. My son’s having a seizure!”
Rett knew it wasn’t a seizure changing him. If it went the same as for the things on Quitman’s land, the whole plane would be infected soon.
The FBI guy whipped his head around and shouted back to the first-class flight attendant, “Land the plane! Oh my God. Tell him to land. Now!”
The air became turbulent again. Rett heard a flight attendant screaming through the intercom in the galley. “A man has gone insane. He’s killing people right and left! Tearing their arms off and biting their heads.”
What the hell? Rett dropped back down into his seat. He felt the jet engines kick in and momentum pressed him into the cushion. Minutes ticked and the screams continued. Passengers shouted for help. A cacophony of terror woke the boys. Rett leaned over to remove their masks and consoled them.
“Stay calm, boys. We’re landing soon.”
“Daddy!” Timmy shrieked, eyes bulging. “We’re crashing!”
Rett leaned over and hugged him. “No, son. We’re fine.”
The pilot came on: “Flight attendants, prepare for emergency landing. Say again, prepare for emergency landing. Open all chutes and save yourselves!”
Rett couldn’t believe his ears. He concluded the pilot knew what occurred in the rear and suspected they might not make a landing. Evil had boarded from Cloudland.
That’s when Rett knew he wanted to live, to make a difference, to give the good life to his boys as the old man had handed to him. Rett’s habits were the old man’s habits. He knew where the closest exit was, and he kept his body in top shape for emergencies. He had never heard of a flight like this one. He only hoped the pilot was as talented as the one who landed a plane in the Hudson River.
“Rett!”
No, the lunatic in the back did not call out his name.
The plane dived. The engines whined and then eased into a sigh. As soon as it did, the screaming in the back grew louder. Timmy grabbed Rett’s hand and he did the same with Tommy. Screams marked every passing second.
“Rett!”
Louis
“Louis! Wake up.”
Was that Cindy Van Zant? His secretary had turned into a supermodel. Her vivacious smile dazzled and her eyes sparkled like sun beams on the ocean. She had an oval face, sorrel-colored eyes, and curly auburn hair. Louis felt good, like waking up at home in his boyhood bed.
Cold water splashed his face and flooded up his nose. Louis sat up, gagging.
“Sorry, Louis,” Cindy said, handing him a towel, “but you pinched my ass.”
He coughed and then vomited on the floor.
His stomach cramped as sour smells fouled the air. Seconds later, Cindy scooped up his emesis with newspapers and dumped it into a trashcan. Louis looked around and realized he was back in his lab at UVA. What the…
“Feeling better?” she asked, dampening a washcloth at the sink. Cindy walked back to his cot and wiped his forehead.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the cloth and rubbing it over his face. “I feel spacey.”
“Your skin turned so gray I thought you had a heart attack. Almost called 911.”
Groaning, he dropped his head in his hands. Queasiness also gave him a pounding headache. He took a deep breath and stared down at the glossy linoleum floor. He heard Cindy at the sink washing her hands. A wintergreen scent cleared the sour odors from the air as she sprinkled air refresher on the floor.
“How did I get here?” he asked.
Startled, she whirled around. “You don’t…” She cleared her throat. “I got a call from a Flameion rep. She said you required security to be waiting at the airport. I asked campus police to pick you up and take you home. They said you arrived drunk, but they drove you home. An hour ago, security called and said you staggered into your office. I came in, and we talked but you fell asleep.” She put the disinfectant bottle on his desk and patted his shoulder. “You’re not yourself. What’s happened?”
The ache in his head felt like an electrical zap. As if he had a nerve stimulating device, like a TENS unit hooked on his scalp. “What day is it?”
She looked crushed and grasped both his hands. “AL’s really kicking you. It’s Friday morning.”
“Friday,” he repeated in a daze.
“Some Halloween party.”
He released her hands. “No party and no drinking.”
Concerned, she dropped to her knees in front of him. “Your clothes are mismatched and you’re m
issing pieces.”
What? Louis rubbed his eyes. “Is Grandpop’s brain safe?”
“Yes.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven-thirty in the morning. Your nine o’clock meeting was canceled. The dean’s wife had surgery for appendicitis. I sent flowers from you, by the way. Want me to drive you home?”
He opened his mouth and snapped it shut. To speak of what happened in Cloudland would make him sound like a certifiable nut. The truth often complicated matters. Still, Cindy was perceptive and into spiritual crap and natural cures.
Her eyes narrowed and she said, “Spit it out, Louis. What happened to you?”
“Instead of swiping my microbe, Flameion’s representative, Doctor Ava Allen, flew me to Alabama to tour their lab facility.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I saw things there no one would believe. Monsters.” He laughed, wishing he hadn’t said monsters. “Cin, she doped me and injected my brain with acid. I thought it would kill me.”
“Louis, you’re shaking and you’re scaring me.”
His eyes jerked from focal point to focal point, and his fingers clutched at her pink sweater. “Better hit me with the water again.”
“Could this be AL fog? You’ve wandered from home to the lab enough times that security notes it and follows you to make sure you’re safe.”
Christ, did students know him as the campus lunatic? Louis reached over and pulled her up to sit beside him. He had confided in her once about the spacey feelings he had from time to time. “No, it’s not from AL.”
Cindy’s eyes searched his face. “Flameion is secretive but legit. Its lab is in Atlanta, not Alabama. Their specialty is immune system drugs, not Alzheimer’s treatments.”
“You found their public face. Search deeper.” He coughed and grabbed for a wad of tissues in his tee-shirt pocket. Cindy picked up something red while he blew his nose. “Is this your jump drive?”
Tears of gratitude flooded his eyes as he took it from her fingers and into his hand. Susan Cho didn’t tell Ava he had it. Cho wasn’t all bad, just desperate. “A Flameion microbiologist, Doctor Susan Cho, escaped with me on the company jet. She stole the jump drive along with other items to use as proof. Doctor Allen drugged me in flight. I woke up here.”
