by Greg Dragon
“Help me, Jesus, help me.”
Rett focused on his breathing and hoped the creatures didn’t make it out of coach before they landed. He felt the plane flatten out, but instead of going in on a slow, graceful glide, she went down fast, engines backtalking the whole way. His stomach bounced between his chest and his lap.
He imagined the pilot made a decision to give the folks in the rear half a chance at survival. His old man had called them shake-and-bake landings. Rett didn’t fault the pilot for trying, and maybe it prevented hysterical people from running up the aisle, boxing them in. His biggest fear was getting blocked in their seats—well, second biggest fear. He felt the wheels touch down and then the brakes slammed hard. Rett suspected rubber slung off the wheels when he heard grinding noises.
More screams. Christ, people were dying and he couldn’t help. He couldn’t. What had been unleashed, growing unnoticed in Cloudland for who knows how long?
Rett clutched the armrests and used his feet to keep his back pressed in the seat. Earsplitting screams from the rear never ceased the whole way down. Rett planned his exit moves until Tommy cried out, “Eddie Jean’s scared!”
The kids always had a mental connection he and Jenna couldn’t fathom. Rett said, “Boys, when this plane stops I’m grabbing you, and we’re jumping out. We’re not waiting on the stairs. You hear me!”
They were too scared to answer. Rett unfastened his seatbelt and then leaned over to pat their shoulders. He used his legs to brace against the hard stop. The plane vibrated and shuddered. He felt the strain of not being belted in, but gritted through it. “Don’t grab your backpacks. We’re leaving this bird with what we’re wearing.”
“Rett!”
He went cold all over, like diving into a mountain stream. His thoughts and reflexes waned. The killing thing shouted his name again. His name! Fear made his heart sputter and start—sputter and start. His mind raced over the many faces at the airport he’d recognized, but not one would want to harm him.
“Rett!”
Or maybe not.
Panic killed his survival plans, and his mind turned to mush. Tommy grabbed his arm and forced Rett to take control of his fear. Crap, an emergency was no time to wuss out on the boys. He put his hand over Tommy’s and took a deep breath. Seconds passed like minutes, but now he knew how to react. His mission required him to get them to the ranch alive.
By the time the plane’s speed slowed he had unsnapped both boys, grabbed each one by their shirts, and made it first to the exit behind their seats. Others did the same, crowding up behind them, and the aisle around first class filled. The killer in the back flung a severed arm over the frightened crowd.
His boys cringed against his legs while Rett watched frantic passengers trying to climb over the occupied seat backs. The teen, changing into something grotesque and definitely not human, had ripped off his seatbelt. He bit into his father’s neck. Crimson blood flowed onto the older man’s white shirt. The father shrieked and punched his son’s head.
People began to fight—biting and kicking each other. It was fight or die time as the cabin erupted into bedlam. Everyone, including old ladies, climbed over the seats. People in the aisle tossed luggage on people still belted in to keep them seated.
“Rett!”
He tried to glimpse the evil trying to get to him—and his boys. The adult thing had made forward progress. It was six feet tall. No eyes and long, worm-like things attached to its crooked nose fanned out. When it swiped its hand out, the claws flayed open like a big mitt, ripping jackets and piercing bare skin. The nares on its hooked nose were widened and crimson colored. It had split lips, which snarled up like a fightin’ dog.
Rett swallowed. It looked right at him and growled. Then it bit into a seated man’s head! How could a man change into a monster?
It didn’t look like the one he’d shot last night. Wait! Its crooked nose—the wife poacher last seen at Thirsty’s Bar? No way. Rett winced and his stomach tightened. It was crook nose. How did he miss him at the airport? It took all his will power not to open the exit door. “Don’t look, boys.” He shielded them with his body.
“Please help my father,” a woman begged.
“What’s wrong with Mommy?” a child yelled.
A rotten potatoes odor permeated the air. A few people boxed in the crowded aisle fainted. Had one released a poison?
“More are changing!”
The wife-poacher beast spat out bloody scalp and brains. The crowd walked over the fallen, trying to surge forward to escape. It grabbed a short, older woman and flung her over the heads of seated passengers. The FBI guy stood behind them panting, with a Glock clutched in his right hand.
Rett smelled FBI’s fear. “Shoot them,” Rett said.
FBI shook his head.
“Give us a fighting chance, man.”
The boy attacked people standing behind them. Rett had the feeling it wanted him. Maybe the pair communicated. Rett knew he had to keep distance between his boys and those things to give them a survival chance. Can I shoot a kid?
It screamed, sounding like a wolf fighting a bear and shoved people aside with uncommon strength. That ain’t a kid anymore.
“God help us!”
Rett grabbed FBI by the wrist and swiped his Glock. He fired twice into the kid’s chest. He staggered backward and fell on seated passengers’ laps. Screaming erupted and reached ear-piercing levels. The boy thing staggered up and resumed his forward charge with blood dripping from its mouth. He fired twice again and it fell. What could survive four direct hits to the heart? Wait, what had Joe Vickers said? Shoot through the eye. But this wasn’t the same rabid thing he’d seen on Quitman’s land.
FBI grabbed his arm and Rett returned the weapon. “Just protecting my sons.”
The fed swung the Glock at the boy in the aisle.
“Hang on to my legs, boys!” Rett shouted.
The pilot slowed their momentum by steering the plane out in a circle on the apron. Rett opened the emergency exit and the door blew off. The twins screamed. Clutching them against his body, Rett jumped out into the bright, clear air.
Behind them, the adult thing roared. The chute inflated and they dropped onto it and slid down. He landed on his feet and staggered a moment. Both boys landed on the ground, but he yanked them up before the people behind knocked them over. He grabbed their hands and shouted, “Run!”
He was relieved the plane had stopped at the end of a long runway far from the massive airport. Rett was shocked when FBI ran past them. He guessed standing at the bottom of the chute to kill a real monster wasn’t in his job description. Or he knows it would be futile. Then Rett saw the teenage zombie, because that’s what he had to be, jump down the chute and onto the back of a young mother. The sight nearly paralyzed him. He’s still alive?
FBI ran off to the left to intercept a black SUV and pointed his gun and badge at the driver. Rett watched the vehicle knock him up in the air, the thud of metal on flesh seared into his brain. The SUV continued to the plane.
Shocked, Rett paused and then ran over to the fed. Out cold and still breathing. Rett shoved the FBI badge in his own pocket, grabbed the fed’s wallet, and jammed the Glock in his back waistband, hoping his jacket covered it. Might come in handy.
“Daddy!” Teddy shrieked as a red ambulance came right at them. A medic with a short buzz cut jumped out. “Why’d he run over him?”
Rett shook his head.
The medic opened his kit and said, “Man, we’re riding solo because the whole world’s gone nuts. What happened on board?”
Rett took deep breaths and crossed himself. He could see terrified passengers running in every direction while the boy thing fed, unhindered, on the woman. A toddler stood nearby, wailing. “Someone started killing passengers. A lot of passengers. Blood everywhere. We flew out of Atlanta.”
“Monsters are on the plane,” Tommy said as the medic hooked FBI to a heart monitor.
The medic jerked his head
up and then a silver Chevy truck pulled in behind the ambulance. Another medic jumped out. Buzz cut looked relieved to see him.
Rett glanced back at the crimson-smeared chute. He took the boys’ hands, and they backed away from the working medics. Another chute had opened. From the plane, he heard the adults roar and toss bodies on the emergency exit. Lucky passengers ran to the airport.
As they passed the medic’s Chevy, the keys sparkled at him.
Rett opened the door and threw the twins inside. They didn’t react as he cranked the truck. Rett hoped the medic stayed safe, but knew once the adults got off the plane it would become the Wild West at the airport. He eased the truck into a circle and sped back in the direction it came from. Passengers screaming for help, the bloody adult jumping off the plane, and FBI bleeding out combined to keep both medics too distracted to notice.
He followed the wheel treads in the grass until they came to a rusting gate. Rett jumped out to push it open and drove through. All he could figure was the second medic lived nearby. He’d cut the lock and threw it in the tall grass in order to help injured people. Fifteen tense minutes later, they hit a road to connect them to I-45 S.
Please don’t let those things track us down.
Wilbur
Sunlight eased into the library on Friday morning at Harwood House. Wilbur woke with a jerk when the women unblocked the doors. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.
Lee sat beside him and put her hand on his forehead. “You moaned all night.”
“I’m good to go.”
“We stayed up discussing our options. Nothing made sense without you.”
He smiled. Wilbur suspected they were too frightened to sleep. He never thought he could close his eyes inside the mansion again, but he did. He hobbled to the bathroom. When he came out, the women worked as a team in the kitchen to make their last meal.
For the first time during his tenure, he smelled no delicious cooking aromas wafting from the kitchen. No fresh-ground coffee scent either. From the looks of things, they would eat cold cereal, juice, and leftover apple tarts. The five ate in exhausted silence until full.
“Tell me your decision,” Wilbur said, sitting back in a chair. “Rose?”
“I can’t kill my patient by setting her bed on fire,” Rose said firmly, “so I don’t want to hear any more crazy talk. The responsible thing to do is call the police, except we’ve got this debilitating disease we might harbor to consider. Let me say for the record, I don’t believe I’m infected. I should’ve had mild flu-like symptoms, for instance, and haven’t. I don’t agree with patient abandonment either, so I’m undecided.”
Wilbur agreed with Rose on her former point and not the latter. “Lee?”
Lee rambled on about how to stake Evaney and be done with it.
“Except,” Rose said, “we need to consider how this will sound to a jury.”
“Amen,” Cookie said.
“We’ll puncture a blood bag in front of her and let the jury watch. I think we’ll be found innocent,” Lee said.
Wilbur flinched at what Lee said. For an instant, he was back fighting with Mary.
“Burr?” Lee asked. “Listen to how they kill vamps on the show True Blood.”
Apparently, the women had discussed various means to kill Evaney Harwood using tips gleaned from TV shows. “I’m not sure if the writers guessed or used actual science,” Lee said.
“More crazy talk,” Rose mumbled.
“Crazy talk? Where have you been, Rosethorn?” Lee snapped in reply. “She hasn’t tasted your blood yet. Is that why you feel safe to take the high road?”
Cookie shook her head and Veena kept quiet. They looked at him.
Wilbur thought vampire powers and their physical appearance had gotten mixed up over the centuries. Maybe true vampires, if they existed—because he wasn’t sold yet—looked like Evaney Harwood. A half-dead corpse described the patient they cared for around the clock.
Veena stood to clear the table. She came back in, carrying the half-empty OJ carton for Wilbur. He’d never quenched his thirst despite drinking and snacking through the night. He grabbed the carton before she poured, swigged it down, and ignored Cookie’s glare.
“I almost saw what happened to the Duke students,” Wilbur said, wiping his chin with his hand. “When our minds connected, I saw her memories. They found the cave.”
The others stared at him in disbelief.
“Your mind synced up to hers?” Rose asked, sounding puzzled.
“Yeah, like watching a movie.”
Veena said, “She asked me to come up and feed her. It’s past her tube-feeding time.”
“Asking you how?” Lee shouted back.
Veena flinched and covered her face with a dish towel
“You aren’t to leave the first floor, honey,” Cookie said, reaching over to pat Veena’s arm and shooting Lee a scowl. “Nurses do tube feedings, not you.”
“She said we’re both abuse survivors.” Veena’s voice shook.
“Yeah,” Lee growled, “if you go up there, Vee, you’ll be her blood pastry.”
“I’ve asked my guides, spiritual guides to protect me,” Rose said. “As long as we sit in her home, eating the food her estate provides, we have to look in on her at least.”
Wilbur recalled Rose’s dowsing pendulum. “How can you be sure it wasn’t Evaney answering you and not your spirit guides?”
Rose nodded. “Good question. I’ve been dowsing long enough to sense the difference, plus, I’ve got a built-in safety program.”
“You people are drowning in the deep end,” Lee muttered.
“We may seem nutty,” Rose answered, “but you’re the one panicking. You can’t sit still, and you’ve developed a facial tic right here.” Rose pointed to the spot.
Lee knocked her glass to the floor and pushed her chair back. “I saved his ass, and I’m willing to save yours too. What more proof does anyone need?”
“Lee’s right,” Cookie said. “Mary’s dead from blood loss and Miss Harwood tried to do the same to Wilbur. Let’s get our stuff, leave Doc a message, and get as far from Bridgeport as we can.”
Rose sighed. “Can’t dispute your logic, Cookie. If Wilbur’s right and we’re carriers, we’ll make people sick wherever we go. I’ve got three grandkids I want to hug and kiss. Maybe she knows the cure, or maybe she can say we’re not infected. Wilbur, would you consider having another go at her to get us answers? Please?”
“He’s done enough! Put your blood in her,” Lee said, sounding shrill.
Rose didn’t respond to Lee. She stared at him. “I don’t have a bond with Miss Harwood like you do, Burr. You’re both young, college educated in literature, and you’re male.”
“You quiz her, thorny,” Lee said before pacing again.
Wilbur hesitated. No way did he want to endure helplessness like that again. He functioned now because his mind’s eye averted from what happened. His size quelled bullies as he grew older, but size didn’t intimidate her kind.
“You won’t be alone. I’ll go with you,” Rose added.
“Me too,” Cookie volunteered. “Veena can wash the dishes.”
And, before he could debate the idea with his usual logic, Wilbur said, “I’ll do it.”
“What?” Lee skidded to a stop.
“I’m tired of talking and thinking, Lee. Let’s end the stand-off.” Wilbur realized he’d spent his entire life searching for answers on addiction, behavioral problems, and abandonment issues. If he learned one thing about himself, he discovered that before he could close the door on a problem he required answers.
Lee balled her hands on her hips and glared at Wilbur. “You don’t need a lifeline, you need an exorcist. I can’t bear to watch you suffer or, worse, turn into her.”
“You think I want her sucking on me? No, I go back with armor.”
She looked suspicious. “A wooden stake?”
“If she’s a vampire, as you think, wouldn’t we be able to use that UV wand
we sterilize the room with once a month to keep her away? Maybe force her to answer our questions?”
Lee’s eyes widened. “Wish I’d thought of it. Yeah, the wand should work if we put it on an extension cord. This is about finding out what happened in Alabama, isn’t it?”
“It’s about getting all the answers we need, but I’d be a fool not to notice that every clue leads back to Cloudland, Alabama.”
“If she doesn’t cooperate?” Cookie asked.
“Then we play it Lee’s way.”
Rett
Police cars were everywhere with flashing lights, but they weren’t looking for stolen trucks. They were setting up checkpoints. As they passed, Rett noticed one side of the street had electricity and the other side went without. Traffic lights still worked. Had an EMP been released? A newsflash had reported on several plane crashes across nine states. A second report featured a power blackout stretching along the eastern seaboard and leaving thousands without power. No reasons were offered. He decided against an EMP because their flight remained airborne. But what caused the thrust and vibration that set off the murder scene in the rear, crashed other planes, and made people faint, then?
Rett kept to the speed limit, feeling better after every mile marker. He felt confident the things wouldn’t be allowed to leave the airport.
“Daddy, I gotta go,” Tommy said.
“My tummy hurts,” Teddy chimed in.
“Okay, next gas station.” Rett really wanted distance, but knew from experience the kids couldn’t hold it. Besides, the need to piss was a normal function. His kids weren’t in shock.
Rett pulled over to an open Exxon station and they used the facilities. Teddy threw up and then Tommy. Rett washed their faces, helped them rinse out their mouths, and then carried them back to the truck. He opened the glove box and found a thick wallet. Between the fed’s wallet and the medics he had almost four hundred dollars in cash. Rett filled up the tank first.
He locked the boys in before going inside the gas station. In the Subway restaurant, he ordered six different foot-longs with everything but peppers. Afterward, he bought a cooler and filled it with ice and drinks. He grabbed up snacks, sunglasses, a map, and a few Texas tee-shirts and ball caps for later. Last, he fixed up the biggest mug of coffee money could buy. Rett paid cash. If the world didn’t end, he would pay the men back with interest.
