“What do I do? Where do I go?” The frenzy heightened.
“Madre de Dios,” screamed a lost soul, locked deep in the belly of the burning rubble.
“Help me, please help me,” cried another. Tumbling over the crushed debris, I scrambled to follow the desperate cries. I viewed a figure moving slowly at the base of a cinder mound. Suddenly a screaming figure dashed from within the belly of the destruction totally ablaze, running and twirling like a fourth of July explosive. I could not get near the bewitched human flame. An airport fire truck arrived and the crew hustled to assist the terrified man, first dousing him with portable extinguishers then they carried and covered his damaged body in multiple blankets. The screams intensified in volume and frequency as many more inside the belly of the raging inferno were becoming cognizant. I froze with fear as I evaluated that most of the passengers who were not torn apart by the calamitous impact must have been knocked senseless and were starting to regain consciousness, awakening, having to come to terms with the bleak situation, the madness. I witnessed the lamenting of tormented souls in a purgatory of twisted metal and fire, a scene that was destined to visit me and inflict it's torture during countless endless nights yet to come. The air space around Benito Juarez International Airport hung heavy with the smell of jet fuel, burning flesh grotesquely embraced by desolation..
Shaking with dismay I spotted a charred figure lying alone, isolated on the tarmac and its right leg a few feet forward. There were body parts littered all about some no more than a lump with clothing, a part of a sweater on a torso, brown charred polyester on a singular leg. Other pieces were recognizable by the angle of the body part but many more were not. I hurried along a visible line on the tarmac of the crash and then backtracked, trying to make some semblance of the destruction. There was a man rolling in the rubble in front of me so I fell forward onto the ground and reached as best I could and grabbed his leg. I yanked hard hoping the limb would not become detached. Others scurrying about quickly rushed in to aid me as we pulled the man out. As we lifted the poor soul I could see that both his arms were severely burned as some in the group quickly carted him away.
I turned to join the remnants of this vigilante band of brave bystanders who like many that morning risked their own lives to try to save lives of loved ones and strangers alike. Then there were the others, those who were appalled by what they had witnessed and sat motionless, paralyzed by the ferocity of this great loss. In morbid irony those affected continued to don the masks, costumes and disguises, so filled with grief they unwittingly resembled celebrants at Muerto's horrid fete.
This ever growing crowd had initially gathered atop the vast spectator venue at the Mexican airport, patiently awaiting the arrival of 2605. Many of the festively clad citizens of El Distrito Federal had been aware of the delayed departure of the flight from LAX and happily passed the time, children playing make-believe dreaming of the goodies they would enjoy later that evening. Their mothers' thoughts were on the spouses who were with me inside the jumbo jet, the fathers of these children who played gleefully about, the laborers who lived and worked far away for such long durations in an effort to try and make a better life for themselves and those they left behind. Family was there to greet a brother, a mother or sister, others waited patiently looking for an associate or friend unaware that Death would scar their souls forever.
They all had been gathered there when the fog sailed in, partially blocking their view of runway 23 Left, the main pathway onto Benito Juarez. And they were all witness to the horrible explosions that destroyed the magnificent metal bird, the very vehicle that carried their loved ones. Instantly there was a mad dash over the balcony wall, and through security fences onto the tarmac, dodging airport vehicles racing at a frantic pace in a seemingly insurmountable effort to reach that brother, sister, mother, father who was trapped mercilessly under the burning mounds of wreckage. There was the phantasmagoric figure of a skeleton grunting in anguish, moaning words at random, desperately seeking the fate of a sister. A woman dressed as what I believed to be a Mother Goose character was on her knees crying and praying for the Holy Virgin to intercede on her behalf seeking comfort from the overwhelming heartbreak and hopelessness that now afflicted her. In a dizzying whirl I once again viewed the werewolf figure scurrying about as he assisted a man, a passenger from 2605 who although was covered in soot looked familiar. I moved in closer to assist the wolfman and instantly recognized the battered figure as the businessman who had been rude in his displeasure inside the plane, the craft that no longer existed. I shook my head and thought that indeed only the truly innocent die young. The survivor was carried about thirty yards behind where firefighters were engaged in battling the flames and deposited into an emergency vehicle where Mexican paramedics ran amok trying to make sense of the nonsensical. Somehow, deep inside I already knew no matter how severe his injuries this fortunate soul would survive.
“Por amor de Dios,” screamed the chorus of the damned. Another carriage all ablaze shot out from the holocaust. “Mother, mother,” cried someone’s adult child perplexed by the madness. I tackled him around his ankles as he ran past me. I quickly rolled away to avoid any flames as firefighters quickly arrived and doused him with foam. The wretched soul reached and caught a shred of my regulation service apron which I was still wearing. I rolled away on the squalid tarmac as more people rushed in to take charge. Lying on pavement I recognized the non-costumed individuals as airport employees. There was a luggage handler bearing the colors of Aeromexico. Another was a security man in his uniform, an agent from an international carrier. Mechanics working long night shifts in the hangars came running, all with the desire to try and make a difference in the calamity. I painfully sat up to see that the man receiving the aid would not make it and deep down I hoped he wouldn't, I wished him peace and to be dead. Any alternative would have been cruel.
“Mama, mama.” I caught focus of a faint cry. A child.
“Ay, un nino,” a female voice indicated.
“A child somewhere over there,” I stated to the firefighters standing over the deceased figure. I arose and hobbled blindly through a maze of twisted baked metal, trying to locate the faint cries.
“Mama,” the voice persisted in what now seemed like a whisper.
“There, right there,” I cried. I spotted the young child, his face framed by hot iron and steaming debris. The boy immediately recognized me as I spotted other motionless bodies beside him by the ever changing light of the growing fire. I was sure the trapped figure next to the bewildered boy was his mother. I became a raving lunatic, quickly storming the hot metal to find a way in, but there was none. Burning my hand I backed away and stumbled. Muerto would repay me for my insolence, a sin to carry always, vengeance for my earlier taunts. The flames crackled loudly as they danced and shot into the brisk morning air. There was little time left and I had to hurry. Javier was hurt, barely audible. The harder I tried and no matter how hard I prayed, it was obvious that I was doomed to be rendered useless, designated a spectator to the unimaginable. The fear was raised a notch when I determined that a third figure emerging from the debris was the boy's brother. I screamed in horror as various figures ran about, yelling, crying, grasping at their own throats, ripping their garments and asking God for divine intervention. I was among them.
“No God! No God! by the holy name of your precious son, no!” I cried. An airport fire truck arrived at that moment and the workers fanatically scrambled to douse the flames but the aged vehicle malfunctioned. The hoses remained limp. Nothing was available to fill them to squelch the fires that now began to consume the tiny figures. The child and his brother screamed. In the few seconds remaining in their short lives the brothers wailed their death song like wild dying animals.
“How could you?” Devastation consumed me, I went berserk. No more than a beast I screamed in terror, a proclamation of hostility on life itself. I instantly understood that I would never be released from Muerto's gift of pain and t
orment, a witness to ruination. Just minutes prior I had been filled with ecstasy, great joy at my good fortune. The check had finally arrived and payment was due in full. Like a lunatic I attacked the two firefighters who held the lifeless fire hoses. I howled like one of the many ghoulish figures I was in the midst of, yet I was the one possessed by demons now. I suddenly went flaccid and began to weep overcome with feelings of abandonment. I would struggle with mortal men, but I squarely laid the blame on this all-knowing God who clearly failed in His responsibilities. I hobbled about as best I could, recklessly searching for Death, in whose presence I stood. I soon realized that Muerto's torture would be heightened by letting me live.
Sirens suddenly broke the crackling chorus of burning wreckage. I stopped and glared into beaming headlights of a fast approaching vehicle. More silhouette rushed to join the chaos. An illumination to my right made me aware of another figure. There, extending from the wreck was a single arm, hand open, maybe reaching, strikingly rigid, a reminder of the very moment. I slowly and awkwardly stepped up the side of the hot unstable mound. I fell on my knees and reached to grasp a possible friend, maybe another crew member. Death, sadistic and frivolous, arranged for the limb to be severed. I instantly let it loose as it tumbled some feet away and rested on the charred debris. The need to survive forced me to become jaded as reality made an unexpected call. If the graciousness of a giving God had planted faith and hope in my precious heart, it was grievously stomped on and tossed to the wayside by a world that can be brutal and unforgiving.
The morning sun’s rays began to pierce the heavy fog as the light began to fully reveal the total extent of the catastrophe. There was a young girl stuck as her clothing was caught on a jagged frame of metal. She seemed too untouched physically to have been a passenger on 2605. I assumed she was one of the panicked multitudes that had witnessed the crash and rushed to find one so dear to her, one now gone. Her dressed had been snagged and she screamed. I rushed forward and yanked the cloth. It ripped and she quickly she ran away into the morning mist, I never saw her face. As I stumbled about the line of the wreckage once again I found a man whose hands were severely burned, the skin failing to cling to the bones any longer. I took the fabric from the torn dress and used it as a wrap. A vehicle carrying paramedics arrived. I turned and stood, taking in the whole scene with little emotion. I saw the hordes running about and I began to chuckle. Some individuals had suitcases in hand, a purse over there; many items being snatched away from the wreckage had telling scars from the fireballs that torched the cabin. The many shades of gray and brown revealed themselves tell tale signs of the crimson flames that danced upon them. This was Mexico City, where five hundred years prior thousands had been sacrificed to satisfy the lust of the gods for blood. The crowd surrounding the crash site seemed to be of the opinion that such an ancient ritual had just happened again. An ancient culture whose beliefs, though extinct long ago, arose again this awful morning to heighten the fear that already existed.
Reina, Gary, the others-they were gone and I knew it: whisked away leaving me behind. The cataclysm distorted any sense of mentally finding direction. Other than the rudder of DC-10 NW903, there was little that was recognizable. If there was a fuselage it was now in destroyed chunks covered by the rubble that had once been buildings
I now had to dodge those that ran impaired with terror and insanity. I became aware of the claustrophobia that was slowly growing around me from the shocked, hopeful and newly converted that now began to seek me out. I saw people gathering, some in the costumes of this day and others who were pointing to single me out.
“Mi madre?” A woman could wait no longer, she grabbed me by my leg as she fell to her knees. She braced herself upon it and refused to let go until I could give her some information concerning her mother, whom she feared was dead. Her action caused my leg tremendous pain but as I gazed upon her face I was instantly aware that her pain was far greater than mine. In my baffled state I could not say yes nor could I say no to her desperate pleas; I could only face this crowd that stared in anticipation. I recognized that I had to seize the morsels of optimism that still might exist although I myself had abandoned such hopes. There had to be some sense of purpose for these poor souls drowning in despair. I decided to try and exhibit actions of noble design. Comfort and care were in short supply that fateful morning and I tried to distribute a dose of promise no matter how diminutive it seemed in the shadow of fire and death. I bonded firmly with the simple people of this great city in sharing our lament. Their faith and superstitions somehow had convinced them that I could provide answers they sorely needed and deserved. In the despondency that was to be, there would always be comfort in the fact that I acted in the finest tradition of my profession whether intentionally or by chance, lives had been saved and comfort given.
The wailing rose in sound waves of savage chanting as spirits and demons were summoned in hysteria. The religious sought the miraculous 'aeromozo,' (flight attendant), who had walked out of the madness and stood visually whole in front of their very eyes. This walking phenomenon certainly must have some magic as an old woman rushed forward to kiss my hand as I frantically backed away. One man slowly removed his mask, another a hat in an act of respect which made matters more awkward. Yet, I knew their actions were reserved for the greater source that dictated my fate.
Perhaps I was merely the fool selected to confound the wise. These genuine children of the world seemed temporarily sustained by the fact that I existed.
My thoughts began to disconnect and I decided it was time to leave. I had spent much too long in the presence of Death. It was at that moment I pondered whether he would let me leave. Shaking my head, I bent over trying to force myself from going over the edge, losing a sense of reality. At this point it would have been so easy to do, I had to regain my composure. Although my uniform was in tatters I was a crew member of 2605 and with that had responsibilities that needed my focus.
“I need to contact the company, contact LAX.” I had to find a way to get to Operations on the airport grounds, a facility that was surrounded by chaos. I suddenly felt my strength abandon my body. I was nauseous and I fell to the tarmac like all the other wounded pulled from the wreckage. Some of the locals around me quickly came to my aid. They carefully lifted my limp body, placing my feeble arms over the shoulders of two hefty Mexicanos.
“We will be your legs, amigo,” a good man stated as another assisted in clearing a path through the irrational crowd. We proceeded quickly, the two supporting a human puppet in an effort to get me to a safer place.
“Yo quiero hablar con mi familia, my family, I must get word that I am okay,” I whispered to one of the hefty gentlemen, the one who spoke some English. I explained that the company's Operations is where I needed to be. The kind man acknowledged my request and knew just how to get me there. A tug used to taxi aircraft about was brought alongside as a band of helpful citizens gently placed me on the seat. They all smiled once I settled in the compact vehicle. Another man sat on the hood as we sped away. These true men, salt of the earth, saw there was something good to come out of the bedlam for me. They turned to smile and stare for they were joyous for my good fortune, and to them I still express my gratitude.
I could see the fires still burning across the tarmac. As we rolled along the runway, the people continued to stream toward the disaster: men, women and children, some dressed in costumes other just wandering citizens. Some had been out and about in the brisk morning air walking past the vast airport facility, when their attention was drawn in by the massive jumbo jet descending through the thick blanket of fog.
I could now see that the path of destruction led much farther than I originally estimated. The momentum of the DC-10 had carried outside the airport boundaries. A neighborhood on the fringe was burning. I shook my head at this unfathomable situation just as the sturdy tug approached the back stairs of the main terminal lobby. With my two escorts in tow, I became impatient and flung the doors open to the
long mausoleum-styled corridors. The howling wails and dire tears of the damned are what greeted us. If the peace I had felt during the point of impact represented the eye of this hurricane, the lobby of the terminal building was certainly its antithesis. This stone building was equipped with an observation deck on the roof where a great number of the people were witness to the carnage. In one swift stroke they were also branded with a plague for the soul.
The throngs in the hallways and on the main floor were in shock, invoking the names of countless saints, They tortured their own bodies, twisting and flinging themselves upon the marble floor in a painful attempt to break Death's grip. Fearing the Prince of Darkness had mercilessly imprisoned their souls in a personal hell of eternal torment, they cried and pleaded for compassion. One man in particular, dressed in the skeleton outfit was enormously distraught. I would later be informed that he lost his whole family in the crash. Still wearing his mask, the face of Muerto, he leaped from one position to another and screamed for someone to end his life. The burden he was now to bear was indeed unbearable.
“Maria, Jose y Jesus!” A small child attired in the garments of a hobo, wept bitterly. Another zombie-like child, a little girl with long dark braids, clutched a small statue of some saint, maybe Jude, its garment incongruously embroidered with gold. My religious upbringing led me to wonder how so many souls would be found at the entrance of eternity. This was indeed the starting day of El Dia de Los Muertos festivities was it not? The horrible screaming, moaning and crying became a leech that sucked what little life remained in my tormented heart. I wanted to retreat; I was not brave enough to be in the presence of that much anguish. Sensing my distress, my Mexican guardians each gently grabbed an arm and increased the pace across the marble floors. One man gripped ever tighter as we slid by the broken people partly in an effort to quell our own fears. Being supported by others, I raised my injured hands in an effort to cover my eyes as I tried not to imagine what these souls were thinking after helplessly witnessing the airplane's disintegration.
Jumpseat- A Tale of Twisted Fate Page 14
