A New World: Untold Stories (4 page)

It feels as if the crashes against the door are timed with each couple of hundred feet they descend.

How can those infected sustain that kind of intensity without harm?

Twelve thousand feet.

They turn to the east, setting up for a long turn to final.

Bang!

The vibration sounds different. It has a ring to it as if the door is loosening. Beads of sweat break out on his brow. The race is going to be a close one.

Please let the door hold
.

Although muffled from his headset, Sheldon hears Mary whimper with each slam against the door. Passing through eight thousand, with the engines in flight idle and speed break deployed to aid in their rapid descent, Sheldon turns to a long final. In the distance, he sees the strobes of the approach lighting system and the steady white of the runway lighting.

“It’s been a helluva night,” the co-pilot says, bringing the flaps down another notch.

“That it has,” Sheldon replies, adjusting their airspeed.

With the continued pounding behind them, almost in their sub-conscious, the gear is lowered. They forgo their normal announcements as, well, they just do, feeling the need for them to be rather moot at the moment. Three green lights flash on and remain steady near the gear handle.

Seven thousand feet, two thousand feet above the ground, and descending in a landing configuration. The pounds against the door continue. The aircraft shakes as it goes through turbulence stemming from the mountain waves. Sheldon applies small corrections to the controls to keep the aircraft aligned. The strobes from the approach lighting blink in rapid succession, pointing toward the runway.

Their bright landing lights illuminate the red metal towers of the approach systems as they flash underneath. Another bang on the door and Sheldon can definitely feel and hear the difference. He knows the door is giving way.

Six thousand feet and the strong beams of their landing lights begin picking up the runway markings. Red flashing lights from the responding emergency vehicles stand out near the runway, the vehicles positioned along its length. Sheldon knows that some will chase the aircraft down the runway when it lands. Due to the nature of their emergency, Sheldon will stop and hold the aircraft on the runway, awaiting further instructions.

Almost there.

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The tower crew watches Delta Flight 1493 approach, their binoculars trained on the landing lights
 
that are growing larger and brighter by the second. Due to the nature of the emergency, they’ve cleared the field and airspace around. Of course, it’s early in the morning so they don’t have much traffic to begin with.

With clearance to land given, it’s just a matter of waiting for the flight to touch down and then handing control off to the authorities. They are short-staffed due to the large numbers who have called in sick but, using on-call personnel, they have enough to manage.

The reports from center were sketchy. The pilot reported that the passengers were being attacked and that they had numerous casualties on board. How many there might be is unknown as the pilot was unsure. The latest report indicated that the pilot, co-pilot, and one other flight crew member might be the only ones left alive. They had also reported someone trying to gain entry into the cockpit. That means a hijacking and it may leave Denver closed for some time.

Staring at the approaching lights, the tower personnel note the occasional swing as the aircraft rides through turbulent air. The red flashing lights of emergency vehicles stand to the sides of the runway, the only real indication that something is amiss with the flight. Other than that, it looks like any other airliner approaching for a night landing. The runway controller holds a radio in his hands, ready to turn control of the flight over to the FBI agents who arrived a short while ago. Once the wheels touch the ground, it’s their show.

Over the approach lights, the landing lights break through the darkness. The aircraft experiences another wobble of turbulence which is almost immediately righted. The runway threshold begins to be illuminated under the intense glare. Going through another moment of turbulence, the 757 slews slightly to the side. Used to seeing the effect of turbulence from the wind passing over the mountains a short distance to the west, the controllers gathered together in the tower expect an immediate correction. They are taken aback, and then watch in horror, as the aircraft slides to one side of the runway and slams into the ground. Dirt, metal, and fuel are thrown into the air and to the sides. Skidding across the ground, the aircraft begins coming apart. The fuel, thrown from ruptured tanks, becomes vaporized by the impact and ignites with a tremendous concussive explosion that lasts only moments before settling back down to a slow burning fire.

They were right about one thing; Denver would be closed for some time.

Kyle Thornton stands unmoving on the sidewalk, staring at the reflection in the window of him and his family. The small store advertises T-shirts and other touristy items familiar to many of the small shops in the towns along the Oregon Coast. People from the interior and other locales descend upon the coastal communities during the summer months to partake of the sunny days on the long stretches of beach and scenic views of the mostly rock coastline.

Kyle’s red T-shirt reflects starkly as he gazes at the torsos of the partial mannequins just inside the window, each one hosting a shirt with scenic screen prints plastered on their fronts. Looking to his daughter, who is approaching her eighth year, he smiles as she reaches into the small white sack to extract another salt water taffy. Her white summer dress blows gently against her legs from a light onshore breeze.

“That’s enough candy for now,” Kyle’s wife, Carol, says, leaning down to pluck the sack from her small hands.

She adds the small bag to the other larger, plastic ones she is carrying from the shopping they’ve done during the morning. Her long, tan legs extend from a pair of jean shorts with her button-up blouse blowing in the breeze. Even with the illnesses that have spread throughout the world, the day couldn’t be more perfect.

With so many sick, it feels like they almost have the town to themselves. The usual number of tourists in the small coastal city is much less than is usual. Spending the first weeks of summer at the beach has become a ritual for them and they almost didn’t get to make it this year. The firm Kyle works for has come under a shortage of personnel due to the vast amount of workers calling in sick and his supervisor asked him to cancel his vacation until they were better staffed. Kyle told him that he wasn’t going to do that and that his boss could fire him if he felt so inclined. Looking at the reflection of his family, and feeling the perfectness of the day, he’s glad he made that choice.

His smile broadens at his daughter’s mild complaint about having her candy taken away, begging for just one more. It’s her usual plaintive request, “just one more, pleeeease.” Her complaint is short-lived as his wife, Carol, shakes her head.

“Dad, can we go to the beach now?” his daughter asks.

Reaching down to ruffle her dark brown hair, he answers. “Sure, hon.”

“Can we get a kite? Huh, can we?”

Looking to Carol, his wife shrugs her shoulders as if to say, “Why not.”

Closer to the beach, nearing the end of the tourist shops and across from their hotel, they enter a shop advertising kites for sale. A short time later, with his daughter prancing with glee, they emerge with a kite added to their already numerous bags.

“Come on, guys,” his daughter says, skipping ahead of them.

“Sarah, you stay close to us,” Carol states.

Even though there are only a few people strolling along the sidewalk, Carol, her motherly instinct at the forefront, is protective about keeping Sarah close to them. The sun is directly overhead, bathing the small town in its bright light, and begins warming the day to the extent the closeness of the ocean and onshore breeze allow.

“Do you want to go throw the bags in the room before we go?” Kyle asks Carol.

Sarah, upon hearing, turns with a frown at the proposed delay.

“No, I think it’s fine. Let’s just go,” Carol replies. “We have an early dinner reservation so let’s enjoy what we can of the day.”

Nearing the promenade sidewalk edging the beachfront, Kyle can’t imagine a more perfect day. Carol looks as good as the first day they met and stole his heart. Watching Sarah, his pride and joy, skipping as they draw near the beach, he feels contented and wishes this moment could last forever.

With the hiss of the small waves gently rolling up the shore, they descend a series of steps and feel the soft, warm sand through their flip-flops. Gulls cry from along the beach and the long sidewalk, fighting each other for scraps of food left behind by tourists.

The long strand of beach, stretching to the limits of vision, is normally filled with travelers and beach-goers. However, on this sunny day, there are only a few out enjoying the day, with a small beach volleyball game going on just past the stairs. Finding a place nearby, Kyle spreads the blanket he’s been carrying since they started out in the morning. He then sets to work putting together the newly purchased kite without breaking the plastic cross members or making himself look like a fool.

Minutes later, with Sarah holding the small plastic handle wrapped with twine, Kyle holds the lime green kite in the air and releases it. The kite flutters in the steady breeze, the edges ruffling as the wind sails past. Squinting in the direct sunlight, Sarah, holding onto the handle as the kite lifts into the air, squeals in delight as it climbs higher. Kyle shows her how to release the line a little at a time so the kite doesn’t plummet down. Soon the diamond-shaped object, with a long yellow tail whipping from side to side, is a small shape against the light blue sky.

As expected though, Sarah soon grows bored of just holding the string as the kite slowly moves in the changing breeze. Thinking that he should have purchased one of the trick kites, so he could have enjoyed it some, he begins the long process of winding the kite in. He wraps the string around the handle, drawing the kite in five short inches at a time. As the kite grows slowly larger, Kyle glances to Sarah, who has dumped the buckets and shovels from another bag Kyle had been carrying. Carol lies stretched on the blanket, shielding her eyes and watching the process with a knowledgeable smile, the reflection of Sarah’s activities showing in her large, dark sunglasses.

“Can we go to where the sand is wetter?” Sarah asks. “It’s easier to build sand castles.”

Carol looks to Kyle, who nods. “Go ahead, hon. I’ll wrap this up here and join you.”

Carol rises from the blanket and blows Kyle a kiss. With Sarah darting ahead, the two move closer to the incoming surf.

“Will you help me build the biggest castle ever? I bet we can…..” Sarah says, her voice trailing off as they get farther away.

Winding the kite in, Kyle thinks of just cutting the string and dealing with the ramifications later. There’s a chance that Sarah won’t even notice her kite missing. However, he continues with the tedium until he has the kite firmly in hand. With his hands sore from the constant winding, he removes the cross pieces. With the small number of people around, he isn’t worried about someone making off with their stuff, so he leaves everything and joins his wife and daughter.

Arriving at the place where the largest sand castle ever made was supposed to be underway, he sees that Sarah has managed to only dig a big trench, which has collapsed in places from the water lying in the bottom. Several buckets of wet sand have been upended seemingly at random. Sarah and Carol are busy trying to create castles out of the wet lumps, being only marginally successful.

“Oh good, you’re here, Dad. I need help making the castles. Mom’s not doing a very good job.”

“I think it’s beyond help,” Kyle mutters, grabbing a small plastic shovel as he kneels to help create the battlements.

Hours later, without having created the largest sand castle ever, but still making the attempt, Carol asks, “Shouldn’t we be going if we’re going to make our reservation?”

“Awww, Mom. Can’t we stay a little longer?”

“No, angel. Your mom’s right. We need to get going, but we’ll come out and work on it tomorrow,” Kyle says.

“But it’ll be gone by then. The waves will wreck it.”

“We’ll come out earlier and build a bigger one,” Kyle says, rising and brushing the sand from his hands against his jeans.

“Promise?” Sarah asks, looking up from a bucket of sand she just upended.

“Yeah, I promise,” Kyle replies.

They still have a couple of days left to their vacation before it’s back to the grind of Monday through Friday deadlines. But for now, it’s just them enjoying their time together. Gathering the buckets and shovels, they toss them into one of the large plastic bags and make their way back to their spot. Kyle shakes as much sand out of the blanket as he can and grabs a few of their other bags. Walking back through the deep, dry sand, they make their way to the hotel fronting the beach.

After dinner, Carol has Sarah taking a bath to clean off the last remnants of sand. Kyle and Carol lay on the bed, relaxing for a few moments until their bundle of energy finishes bathing and begs to watch one of the many movies they brought, with Kyle hoping he doesn’t have to watch Toy Story for the thousandth time. It’s not that he doesn’t like the movie, but after seeing it every other day for the past few months, he’s ready for something else…anything else.

Splashes come from the bathroom, along with Sarah’s voice as she narrates some storyline that she’s currently playing. From somewhere beyond the curtained window, a faint shriek sounds.

“What was that?” Carol asks, lying next to him.

“Probably someone enjoying a beverage or two,” Kyle answers, not moving.

“Did you bring up the bottle of wine?” Carol asks.

“Yeah. Maybe we can open it after sunshine goes to sleep.”

“That will be nice,” Carol says with a tired sigh.

More sounds come from outside, this time sounding like a chorus of screams, muted by the closed window and the fact that they’re on the third floor.

“Really, Kyle, what is that?”

“I don’t know, but I suppose you’re going to ask that until I actually get up and look,” Kyle answers with a smile.

Carol gives him a playful push.

“Okay, fine,” Kyle says, rising with a grunt. “But if it’s a bunch of party-goers, I’m going to join them and leave you with the princess.”

Kyle moseys to the windows overlooking the parking lot and the tourist shops. Finding the separation of the heavy curtains, he pulls them aside and steps to the window, letting the drapes fall behind him.

Outside, most of the surroundings are cast in shadow. In some areas, tendrils of fog have crept in from the sea, dimming his view of the area even more. Spots of light from lamp poles along the streets and from those within the parking lot itself cast circles of light on the sidewalks and adjacent roads. Where the fog has settled, the lights glow. Movement near one corner catches Kyle’s attention. He watches as a group of people emerge from around the corner and run across one of the nearby streets.

“Well?” Carol asks from the other side of the curtains.

“It’s like I thought. There’s a bunch of intoxicated people running through the streets,” Kyle replies.

Watching the scene, partially out of boredom and being too tired to move, he sees a smaller group materialize from the same corner, apparently chasing the first ones, or at least following the same path. The second group is gaining quickly on the larger one. The ones in front of the second one are on the heels of those lagging behind. Observing the weird commotion, he sees a couple of the ones from the pursuing group leap and tackle the stragglers. They go down and the second group becomes frenzied, pouncing on them and attacking them relentlessly.

“Whoa,” Kyle comments.

“What?” Carol asks.

“There’s a big fight going on in front of the hotel.”

“Are we going to be okay?”

“Yeah, probably just a bunch of local kids ganging up on others,” Kyle says, continuing to watch.

Screams of pain drift to the room from the fallen.

“Should we call the cops?” Carol asks.

“I’m sure someone already has. They’ll more than likely be showing up soon.”

Some of the second group bypasses the ones fighting on the ground, continuing to chase the others. Below, in the parking lot, Kyle observes another large group streaking among the parked cars. They are running in and out of the shadows created by the light posts, screaming loudly and heading for the hotel entrance. As they pass through the circles of illumination, Kyle sees that they are pale, almost glowing in the light. A tendril of fear grips his stomach.

More screams erupt in the night, some from seemingly far away, others closer. Kyle watches as other groups come into sight, pursued in the same manner as the first ones he witnessed. In seeming moments, chaos explodes in the streets below.

Still standing behind the curtains, transfixed by the sight of so many running people, Kyle says, “Um, hon. Get Sarah out of the tub and dressed.”

“Why? What’s going on, Kyle?”

“Just get her dressed,” Kyle states.

He hears Carol scramble off the bed and make her way quickly to the bathroom. She knows when Kyle’s serious and, if he’s spooked, then there’s a good reason.

“Awwww, Mom. Just a little longer. I’m in the middle of a game,” Kyle hears Sarah from the bathroom.

“Now, Sarah,” Carol says.

Transfixed by what is going on outside, it’s hard for Kyle to push himself away from the window. He parts the curtains just as a towel-wrapped Sarah emerges from the bathroom. Screams now seem to be coming from within the building.

Probably from those I saw heading this way
, Kyle thinks, beginning to throw some of their clothing in a suitcase.

“I don’t want to wear that one. It’s all sandy,” Sarah says, eyeing the summer dress Carol is holding out to her.