36 Hours (39 page)

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Hannah were gripping their seats; Ash’s head was bowed, praying? Hannah shook her head. The engine whined, screamed. Shelley’s face beaded in sweat. We swooped down over the airfield; his fingers frantically danced among the controls and finally the plane flared, bucking a little – the wheels touched, bumped, touched again, and the nose careened forward, the front wheels smashing into the earth. A muffled gasp escaped my lungs. A screeching roar echoed amongst us, reverberating in the cabin, and the feeling of free falling vanished; I felt sick, but happy as the Caravan lurched to a halt. Shelley released a breath, leaning back, wiping sweaty palms on his pants.

“That wasn’t so bad.”

I just looked at him.
You’re insane.

He got up and went into the back. I unbuckled, stood, felt nauseous, but ignored it. Hannah and Ash were getting up from their seats. Shelley unlocked the door behind the seats and pushed it open. Warm air reached inside the fuselage, wrapping around us. He disappeared. I moved past the girls and dropped to the pavement beside him.

We had come to a rest behind one of the wings of the main building. Lights filled the windows, but inside it was barren, except for walls and seats and cavernous glass windows. Far across the tarmac was an assortment of trucks; against the wing of the building was a jumbo jet with a baggage carrier beneath it; there were bags in the carrier, and some suitcases scattered about the tarmac. It wasn’t raining here; a few scattered white clouds caressed the night stars. Shelley pointed to the trucks: “Our tanker is in there. You guys watch the plane. Don’t leave.”

“We don’t know how to fly,” I reminded him. Those bright, empty windows filled me with dread.

“No. Don’t leave the
plane
. Got that, Austin? Do you have a radio?”

“Hannah has a radio.”

“Don’t run off.”

“I won’t, okay?”

He nodded and ran across the pavement.

Ashlie and Hannah crowded in the doorway above me. I stood under the wing, trying not to feel so exposed. Ashlie said, “Look at the lights.” She waved a hand out towards them. “Do you think there are people in there? The lights on?”

“No,” I said. “Shelley says it is just emergency lights.”

“What does Shelley know?”

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Hannah looked at her. “Obviously enough.”

“I don’t trust him. I never have.”

“
I
trust him,” I said.

“Why?” my sister spat. “He tried to abandon us, don’t you remember?”

“He thought we’d been bitten.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good excuse. I can’t see him owning up to his own cowardice.”

“Ash…”

“Why couldn’t he have waited longer?”

Pouting, “I don’t know. The human psyche can’t be measured all the time.”

“That’s garbage. He’s a selfish coward. He’d leave us in a heartbeat.”

“No, he won’t. He’s flying us to safety, and you hate him.”

“I don’t
hate
him, I don’t
trust
him. There’s a difference, Aus-“ She froze. I spun around. “What?”

She nodded to the window. “I see people up there. They’re waving! Waving at us!”

I snapped around towards the window, but it was empty. “There’s no one there.”

“They were a moment ago.”

I thought I saw something. A movement, a shadow, in the building. A hand waving:
come
.

Hannah breathed, “They need help. Someone in there needs help.”

I looked off towards the huddle of vehicles. Shelley was climbing into a tanker and trying to hotwire the engine.
They need help.
It would take him a little while.
Someone in there needs help
. My legs burnt and I was running across the pavement, towards the main building, heart hammering, muscles pumping. The building looms. Hannah and Ash are left jaw-dropped behind me. Shelley is driving the tanker over to the airplane; he stops it by the fuselage, yells at the girls, then starts yelling after me, cussing and swearing as he shouts,

“Stop! Stop!”
Someone in there needs help.
I spin around as I run and yell,

“There are people in there! Survivors!” He retorts, “You’re crazy! Austin!

Stop!”

I kick open a door against the building. Stumbling inside, I blink in the brightness of the lights. A door with a glass window peers into a room stocked Anthony Barnhart

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full of machinery, belts, and baggage racks. A stairway spiraled its way upwards. I took the stairs, feet clanging loudly on the metal. Shelley bursts inside, panting, hears me running upwards. “Austin! Come back here
now
!”

I reached the top of the stairs and blew open the door with my shoulder. I stumbled into the bright lights. There are papers all over the place, a knocked over coffee dispenser; the seats before the giant bay windows were empty, with luggage left here and there. A large display of screens read:
ALL FLIGHTS

CANCELLED
. The terminal was completely deserted. I looked out the large window, but saw only my dim reflection. Blood splashed the window further down, next to gate C3. I turned, breathing hard, looking around – the other side of the terminal was deserted as well, and the wide corridor was completely empty. A rectangular light dangled from cords, hovering effortlessly midair. Shelley threw himself inside, grabbed me, shook. “What the heck are you thinking!”

I ripped away. “There are people in here! I saw one!”

“They’re infected! This place is empty! Deserted!”

“I
saw
someone. They
waved
at me. They were calling for
help
, Mr. Shelley!”

“There’s no one here!” he screamed. “You’re hallucinating!”

“Ashlie saw it, too! Do two people hallucinate?”

He was about to respond, but he heard it, too. I turned and gazed down the corridor, ears perking.

Crying.

“The infected don’t cry,” I said.

Shelley ran ahead of me. I followed behind him. Our feet thudded loudly, echoing through the cavernous hallway. We jumped over fallen suitcases, passed barren bathrooms. The bookstore door was open, its glass window shattered, a shelf of books knocked everywhere. Tables in the coffee café had been knocked down, chairs strewn; one of the upright tables held three cups of coffee, two upright chairs, and one knocked over and twisted around. No one was behind the counter. We turned the corner and faced frozen escalators stretching down to a lower level. The crying was louder, but not downstairs. The women’s bathroom.

We ran inside. A body lay on the couch, the wrists slit, blood everywhere; it stank of putrid rot. The mirror gathered our reflections. Shelley opened one of the stall doors and backed away; waddled in clothes and a small cloth blanket, Anthony Barnhart

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placed in a baby carriage, was a newborn baby, just weeks out. I told Shelley to move and picked up the basket. It was light. I rolled away the blanket and saw the baby wheezing, coughing. He – or she – began to wail again.

“Shut it up,” Shelley fumed.

“I can’t. It’s a baby. It doesn’t know any better. It’s hungry. Or thirsty. How long has it been here?”

“We can’t take it.”

“You want to leave it?”

“No. We just can’t take it.”

“Why not? We’re going to San Francisco! You say things are better there.”

“They are, but-“

“They’ll take the baby in California, Mr. Shelley. We’ll just carry it for the ride.”

“I don’t know how in the world to take care of a baby. I imagine you don’t, either.”

“No… But the girls do.”

Shelley looked over at the body on the couch. “You think it’s her mother?”

“Or his mother. Yeah. I’m guessing. She slit her wrists in desperation.”

“Can we leave now?”

I looked down at the basket. “Yes.”

We left the bathroom and the stench of rotting flesh behind us. We began walking back towards the door we came through when I heard some pattering steps down the escalators. Shelley began to tell me, “No,” but I handed him the baby and took off down the stopped escalator. He set the baby carriage down and trumped after me. As I hit the bottom, I saw that I was in a gigantic lobby. The glass windows at the front of the building were webbed or shattered, and the massive marble pillars holding up the roof choked me in. The service desks were empty, and the rope lines were knocked down. The baggage retrieval belt was shut off, and some suitcases still littered the machine. I moved among the pillars, looking and listening, hearing nothing but my own footsteps. Shelley was behind me. I looked down to the right, said, “I heard someone, but there’s-“

Shelley stammered: “Oh my… Austin…” He tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and followed his gaze. A ball rose in my throat. I fell against one of the pillars, weak in the legs. About twenty nooses hung from the rafters, bodies swinging back and forth. They hung silent and still, hovering in the air, mouths Anthony Barnhart

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open, humming with flies. The flesh on the necks was bitterly purple, bruised and torn; flight attendants, captains, service clerks, a janitor… All employees, taking their lives in desperation. Bloody handprints covered the windows and for a moment it flashed through me: the infected smashing against the windows, the employees staring, knowing it was all ending, knowing there was no escape now; they strung up the nooses in a hurry, defiant – they would not turn into those monsters. They hang themselves just as the infected smash through the glass. Over the roar of the screams and breaking windows the employees twitch and twitter as the lives are choked from their veins. Driven to insanity by desperation.

Shelley took a deep breath. “Can we go
now
, Austin?”

“Yes,” I mustered. “Yes, we can go.”

Then the sound of running feet echoed off to our right.

“Survivors?” I asked aloud.

Shelley’s face paled. “There’s too many of-“

More running from the other direction. Between the spaced pillars were flickers of movement. Lots of people. Coming towards us.

“Time to go,” I said. Shelley and I took off, running between the marble pillars, ascending the stopped escalators. I looked back to see the infected swarming at the foot of the escalator, snarling and screaming, coming after. Shelley took up the baby carriage and ran hard. We spun around the corner, passed Borders Books and Starbucks Coffee. Movement in the shadows before us, and more infected came from the area we’d entered. Our exit was blocked.

“Not good,” Shelley breathed.

“This way!” I ran between aisles of seats in front of a large window and was suddenly enclosed by an accordion of steel. My footfalls echoed like thunder as I ran down the ramp. Shelley was quick on my heels. The baby screamed. The gateway locked against the open door of a 747. I jumped through the door and ran down the aisle way, the empty seats, the soft leather and curtained cloth. Shelley stumbled inside, bumped into the wall, almost dropped the baby. I was looking for steps downwards but didn’t find any. Tried to bust the window. It wouldn’t. “Shelley! Shut the door!”

He did drop the baby. He ran back and slammed the door shut, locked it tight.

“Are they close?” I panted.

The door shuddered as they hurled themselves against it.

“They’re close,” he said.

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I searched for a stairwell, running to the front of the plane and back. Shelley told me, “They’re going to bust through!”

“There’s no way out! We’re pinned in!”

“Check for the elevator shaft!”

“The what?”

“Elevator-Watch the door!” He brushed past me and ran towards the front of the plane.

I picked up the baby and stood by the door. The zombies smashed and bashed at the door, screaming, trying to get in. We’d been locked in for five minutes when the lock broke. The door flashed open, smashing me in the forehead. I reeled backwards, dropping the carriage; the baby rolled out against a seat. I pressed my legs against the wall and pressed the door backwards. Grimy, filthy hands reached out, clawing at my clothes. Their breath traveled through the air.

“Shelley!” I screamed. “Shelley!”

One tried to bite me; I smashed my bruised forehead into his own and his head snapped back. I turned; the door opened a bit; I tried to shut it, pressed hard; one of the zombies stepped back and the door smashed on three pairs of arms. The hands dangled, clawing at the air.

“Shelley!”

He appeared. “I found the elevator-What happened to the lock!”

“It broke! What does it look like!”

“I found the shaft!”

“I can’t! The door will open! Find something blunt! Or something sharp!”

He began going through the compartments. They were all empty. He ran for the front of the plane. The infected’s hands kept trying to get me. How could they not feel pain? Shelley returned with a 9mm Army pistol.

“Where the heck did you get
that
?” I yelped.

“All commercial airliners have guns now, ever since 9/11.”

“Shoot them!” I launched off the door. It flew open; several infected popped inside. The gun roared, drowning the baby’s wails. Blood splashed against the doorframe as heads exploded. Shelley fired right into the hulk of incoming bodies, nailing them right in the heads; the back of their skulls burst open and sprayed either the doors, walls or each other.

I wrenched the baby up in my arms and ran past Shelley. “Where’s the elevator!”

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“Screw the elevator!” he said. He ducked away and ran after me. The infected ran through the aisle.

He stopped next to an emergency door, shot the lock, and kicked it open. A rubber emergency exit chute descended, flapping, to the ground. “Go! Austin!”

The infected swarmed us; Shelley fired a few more rounds, began to reload. The infected had dropped back a little at the gunshots, but now came again fullstrength. He finished reloading, raised the gun, and rolled out the slugs. Blood splattered everywhere as zombies fell to their second deaths. Holding the baby tight, I jumped into the ramp. That free fall feeling came again and I careened down to the ground. My feet hit the pavement and I flipped over, landing on my back, the baby safe in my arms. I swaggered up, saw flashes of light in the Jumbo jet, and then Shelley leapt down onto the ramp, falling fast. He got to his feet; the infected stood inside the doorway, not understanding what to do. One of them stepped out and fell to the pavement, breaking her bones. She screeched, crawling towards us.