The Fall of Society (The Fall of Society Series, Book 1) (3 page)

           
He
washed his hands and left the restroom.

           
Nick
fastened his seatbelt, and then he heard a flight attendant finish her greeting
to the passengers: “—We hope you enjoy your non-stop flight with us and
our flight time to London Heathrow is approximately ten hours and thirty
minutes. Thank you for choosing British Airways.”

           
Nick
sat there thinking about the woman in the bathroom…

           
He
took a drink.

           
The
echo of her howl penetrated his soul…

           
The
bandage on his neck had a red spot in the center that was slowly expanding.

           
He
took another drink.

           
He
saw her eyes change…

           
The
plane’s engines powered up.

           
He
closed his eyes and shook it off.

           
He
finished his drink.

           
The
bandage on his neck was completely red and began to leak as blood pooled at the
bottom.

           
He
raised his empty glass and shook it.

           
“Stewardess!”

           
The
plane began to move.

           
Blood
trickled down his neck and the small veins around the wound became visible as
they darkened.

           
They
were the roots of an evil growth that couldn’t be stopped
…

OVER
THE NORTH ATLANTIC

T
he British Airways Airbus a380 was alone
in the sky
and passing
the southern tip of Greenland and heading out into the North Atlantic, approaching
the Irish Sea for England with nothing but endless water beneath her. The
setting sun behind the plane shimmered off its metal skin and split light into
rainbows that twinkled the remainder of the day. The mood lighting came on
inside the aircraft, supposedly to combat jetlag.

           
This
jet was more of a palace than it was a passenger plane, and its amenities were
a testament to that. It was a double-decker aircraft. The upper deck was the
first class and business class sections, and passengers up there were treated
to luxury seating with flight attendants that served their every whim. The
lower deck was the economy class section; it held the bulk of the passengers on
this flight, which were more than 400 people.

           
In
the middle of the plane, seated just in front of the starboard wing—the
right wing—was Paul Hubber. Average looking guy in his early thirties,
short blonde hair and blue eyes, average build, he wasn’t overweight, but he
wasn’t “Mr. Gym,” either. He wore black khaki pants with thigh pockets and a
flannel shirt. He looked out the window with wondering eyes and a heavy heart; this
wasn’t a good time in his life.

           
“Excuse
me, sir, what would you like for dinner?” a flight attendant asked him.

           
Paul
didn’t hear her because he wasn’t in the plane; in his mind, he already landed
and was trying to fix a personal situation.

           
“Sir?”
the stewardess said.

           
“I’m
sorry, what is it?” Paul said with a British accent as his eyes focused back on
reality.

           
“We
have chicken, fish, or meatloaf for dinner, which would you like?”

           
“Oh,
uh, I’ll take the chicken, please.”

           
She
grabbed a plate from her cart and Paul lowered his tray for her.

           
“Thank
you.”

           
“Would
you like anything to drink?” she asked.

           
“No,
thanks, I’m fine.”

           
“Very
well, enjoy,” she said and moved on.

           
He
sat in a three-seat bank and the seat in the middle was vacant; seated at the
edge was an older man in a suit that looked like a worn out businessman. He didn’t
seem like the flight conversation-type.

           
Paul
had some of his dinner; it was adequate, but really just a glorified TV dinner.
He glanced up toward first class. “I’ll bet the food up there is much better,”
he said to himself.

           
“You
have no idea,” the man at the end of the row said, he was American.

           
“Really?”

           
“Yeah,
I use to fly first class all the time until my company did some cutbacks. Now it’s
economy all the way, baby,” the man said with a grin.

           
“At
least you have a job.”

           
“Yeah,
there’s that.” He extended his hand. “I’m George.”

           
Paul
shook his hand, “I’m Paul, pleasure to meet you, George.”

           
“Likewise.”

           
Up
toward the front of the plane, seated by the staircase that led to the first
and business class sections, were a couple of guys in their twenties, brash Brits
full of attitude. By their muscular bodies, the way they were dressed, and
their haircuts, it was all too obvious that they were both in the British Army.
They had already finished their dinners. “So, let me get this straight, you
think that you can beat my time in that obstacle course, is that what you’re saying?”
Jeffrey said to his friend.

           
Richard
seemed to be the dumb one of the pair. “Well, yeah, I just need some more
practice and I can beat you.”

           
“How
much more practice do you want, mate, fifty years?”

           
“I
don’t think I need that much time—“

           
“—Richard.
I was kidding.”

           
“Oh.
I knew that.”

           
“Yeah,
sure ya did,” Jeffrey said and punched him in the arm.

           
Richard
returned the punch, then Jeffrey did again, then Richard did again, back and
forth with more severity each time and then a pretty stewardess came by and
they stopped. “Wait, wait, wait, look at this,” Jeffrey said under his breath.

           
“Hello,
gentlemen, can I take your plates for you then?” she asked.

           
“Yes,
thank you,” Richard said.

           
Jeffrey
wanted something else. “That’s not all you can take, lovely, I’d like to give
you my heart, what do you say to that then?”

           
She
showed him the wedding ring on her finger. “Sorry, I already have one.”

           
“Ouch.
Well, but he’s not here now, is he?” Jeffrey said with a big smile.

           
“Actually,
he is. He’s the copilot,” she said and pointed to the cockpit that was a few
feet away.

           
“Copilot?
I see. But he’s not the captain, is he? I’m a captain in the Army.”

           
Richard
corrected him. “No, you’re not.”

           
And
Jeffrey elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut it, you fuckwitt, I’m talking to the
lady.” He returned his attention to her. “This is my best mate, Richard, and
I’m Jeffrey. What’s your name then?”

           
“Suzanne.”

           
“What
a lovely name,” Richard said.

           
She
smiled. “Thank you.” She took their dinner plates. “Can I offer you gentlemen
anything to drink?”

           
“Yes,
please, can I have Guinness, thank you,” Richard said.

           
“Me,
too, love, because I. Am. Very. Thirsty.” Jeffrey said with long words and a
wink.

           
“Oh
my,” she said and left.

           
“Why
do you embarrass me like that?” Richard asked.

           
“I
embarrass you?”

           
“Yes.”

           
“Shut
up.”

           
Richard
gave him a serious look and then they busted out laughing. “You do know that
she wants me, right?” Richard said.

           
“I’m
sure she does.”

           
“You
didn’t see her looking at my willie?”

           
Jeffrey
almost choked. “What?”

           
Up
the staircase to first class, Nick was lying back in his seat that extended
into a bed; he was asleep, but it wasn’t sound. He occasionally tossed and
turned; other passengers glanced at his restlessness, but they didn’t concern
themselves too much. They would be concerned if they got a good look at his
face. The blanket hid what festered in Nick’s skin. His face had blotches of gray
tinge; he sweated more than normal and shivered badly. He opened his eyes and
they rolled around while he tried to focus on his surroundings. His eyes looked
pale.

           
“Stewardess!”
he called out.

           
The
same flight attendant came and she looked slightly annoyed with him, but kept
up her professionalism. “Yes, sir?”

           
“Get
me another drink, would you?” Nick said with a tired voice.

           
“Are
you sure that’s a good idea, sir? Perhaps you should have some dinner or would
you care for some water?”

           
“If…”
he lost his train of thought. “…If I wanted water, then I would ask you for
water.”

           
“Yes,
sir,” she said with a smile and went to get his drink.

           
At
the flight attendant station, a male steward noticed her dismay. “Something
wrong, Karen?” he asked.

           
“I
think the guy in five has had too much to drink.”

           
“Really?”
he said and glanced down the aisle at Nick.

           
“And
he’s acting weird, I think he’s sick, yeah?”

           
“Let
me take him his drink, so I can have a look.”

           
“Okay,
thanks, Mark.”

           
“No
problem.”

           
Mark
took the drink over to Nick. “Here’s your drink, sir.”

           
Nick
tried to push the controls to raise his bed into the seated position, but he couldn’t
do it because his fingers fumbled on the controls.

           
“Allow
me to help you, sir,” Mark said and leaned over.

           
He
pushed the proper button to raise the chair and that’s when Nick coughed right
in Mark’s face, his mouth was open.

           
“I’m…sorry,”
Nick mumbled.

           
He
did his best to hide his repulsion. “It’s quite alright, sir,” Mark said and
wiped his face with a napkin, but he didn’t know that Nick coughed small
droplets of
blood
on him.

           
“Here’s
your drink,” Mark handed him the glass.

           
Nick
took a drink and spat it out. “I asked for water!” he said in a raised voice.

           
“Apologies,
sir, let me take that for you.” Mark reached for the glass, but Nick threw it
to the floor and broke it.

           
Other
passengers and flight attendants stopped what they were doing because of the
spectacle.

           
“Sir,
that wasn’t necessary,” Mark said.

           
“Just
get me…some damn water!” Nick barked.

           
“I’ll
get you your water, sir, but I need you to calm down.”

           
Mark
picked up the pieces of the broken glass and went back to the station where the
other attendants waited for him.

           
“What’s
that guy’s problem?” asked Peter, who was a small stature steward.

           
“I
don’t know; he seems more sick than drunk,” Mark stated. “Peter, do me a favor
and vacuum the rest of the broken glass.”

           
“Sure,”
Peter said.

           
He
grabbed a handheld vacuum out of a storage compartment and went to Nick’s seat.

           
“Did
you see him cough on me?” Mark was annoyed as he wiped his face.

           
“What
is that on your cheek?” Karen said.

           
“What?”

           
Karen
looked closer and wiped a dark spot with her finger, it smeared.

           
“Disgusting,
is that blood?” she said.

           
“What!
Please, tell me that you’re joking?” Mark said startled and went to a mirror.

           
“No,
it looks like blood,” Karen said and got some hand sanitizer.

           
Peter
vacuumed the shards of glass around the seat and Nick was sitting there quiet
with his eyes closed as if he were meditating. The attendant accidentally hit
the base of the seat with the vacuum and Nick snapped awake—he grabbed
Peter by the forearm and squeezed hard. “Where’s my drink?” Nick demanded
angrily.

           
“Sir,
please, let go, you’re hurting my arm!” Peter demanded.

           
Peter
couldn’t pull his arm away, and then he noticed Nick’s eyes: They were
bloodshot, but some of the veins were a greenish color. His mouth was full of
saliva that was slightly dark, and it frightened the young attendant.

           
Mark
rushed over and forcibly removed Nick’s hand from Peter and the attendant’s arm
was cut in the struggle from Nick’s fingernails.