The Creeping Dead: Book 2 Read online

  Mason read off the 3 digit number, and the officers conferred. Apparently, the news was good. They had him read off a few more numbers and check that certain switches were set properly, and all the while the captain spoke into her microphone to someone on the ground. The voice came only through the pilots' headphones so Mason couldn't hear what was being said at the other end, but there were relieved smiles all around.

  "Thank you, Mr Tenby," Katherine said warmly, "Now, if you'd care to strap yourself into the jump-seat behind you, there's nothing for any of us to do now but wait for this big, beautiful girl to land herself."

  "What, that's it?"

  Her smile widened. "As I said, this aircraft is state-of-the-art. Sit back and watch the show."

  Sure enough, the plane started to descend all on its own. It was a disturbing feeling being at the mercy of a computer, but it was endlessly fascinating as well. With little for anyone to do but go along for the ride, Mason reflected back on something the co-pilot had mentioned.

  "You said something about lights?" he said, trying his best to sound casual.

  "The lightning, yes," the copilot said, "Didn't you see it?"

  Mason shrugged and shook his head, then gave himself a mental cuff on the back of the head and spoke aloud.

  "No, I must have been pas…..uhh……asleep by then."

  The captain smiled knowingly, but said nothing. Aaron, however, grew quite animated.

  "We were in the clouds. It came out of nowhere at 40,000 feet! Most clouds stay well below that altitude, so it was strange to begin with. But here we were, just latching onto the polar jet stream, and suddenly we're lost in an altocumulus billow!"

  "Sounds like fun," Mason said sourly.

  "Well, for a modern aircraft, storms aren't really an issue. But that lightning was incredible! Great flashes of blues and violets. We could actually smell the ozone!"

  "Inside the plane? What did you do, roll down a window?"

  Now the captain laughed out loud. With the stress of everything going on, it was a wonderful sound.

  "In spite of what you may have heard about modern aircraft recirculating air ad infinitum, Mr Tenby, we do actually draw fresh air in from outside. The compressors in the engines divert a continuous stream of fresh air through the packs… ..uh, sorry…. the air conditioners. Typically, the air you breathe in the cabin is a 50/50 mix of fresh and recirculated air. However, it is odd for that fresh air to have an odor, I must admit. At 40,000 feet, especially."

  "It smelled like ozone….. and something else," the copilot reflected back, looking skyward and rubbing his fingertips together, "It had an almost, I don't know….I guess a sort of chemical flavor to it."

  The captain laughed again. "You sound like one of those pretentious wine connoisseurs, Aaron," she affected a horribly clichéed British accent, "Woody and smoky, with just a hint of caramel…."

  All three of them laughed, and the topic was dropped. Katherine drew Mason's attention back to the control panels, and he called out numbers as they descended; altitude, airspeed, flaps, throttle settings. By the time they were lined up for their final approach, he was even beginning to understand what some of them meant. And all the while, neither officer touched a single control. The captain spoke into her radio almost constantly, and Mason continued to read off numbers aloud, but both officers sat as complacently as if they'd been on a cross-town bus. He expected a flurry of activity as they dropped below a thousand feet and the runway lights lined up in the center of the windshield, but there was none. Katherine and Aaron simply sat calmly and listened as he called off every ten foot drop in altitude. Only when the wheels came into contact with the tarmac did the captain make a move. She applied her brakes carefully, and eased the throttles back under Mason's careful scrutiny.

  And they were down. Just that easily. No muss, no fuss. No burst of flame or fuselage cartwheeling down the runway. The plane stopped in the middle of a runway, and the flashing lights of a dozen emergency vehicles appeared like magic from either side.

  "I suppose I'll let someone else park this big, beautiful girl," the captain said, adding jokingly, "I'd hate to scratch the paint."

  Both men laughed, and the copilot pulled a silver cross from beneath his collar and kissed it . At last, Mason released his five-point straps and stood up.

  "Well, if there's nothing else you need…." he started to say, but Katherine interrupted. She stood awkwardly and maneuvered herself over her seat to face him. She gazed at his chest and stuck out her hand.

  "Mr Tenby," she said, "We can't thank you enough."

  He took her hand and shook it. The copilot remained seated, but he reached around his seat to extend his hand.

  "Indeed, Mr Tenby. Thank you so very much."

  Mason shook the man's hand and admitted awkwardly, "The name's Mason, actually."

  "Well, Mason," the captain grinned broadly, "I think it's safe to say that you've earned yourself a few free air miles."

  He was about to say something about it being a cold day in hell the next time he got on a plane, but he was preempted when the copilot suddenly erupted in a coughing fit. It was violent, convulsive, and it left the man gasping for breath as he sunk back in his chair.

  "I don't feel well, Katherine," he managed through a deep rasp, "Maybe the chicken was off after all."

  "We'll have you sorted out in no time, Aaron," the captain assured him as the wail of sirens grew close, "It's probably just a delayed stress reaction. I wouldn't worry."

  When the copilot started to cough again, Mason saw it was time for him to go. He popped open the door, offered a concerned, "I'll see if I can direct one of the EMT's up front," then he stepped back into the main cabin and closed the door behind him.

  He hadn't given any thought to how the other passengers might react at knowing they were safely on the ground, but he could never have expected what he now saw. There was no cheering, no jubilation, no hip-hip-hoorahs for the gallant flight crew who'd fought through a fuck-ton of adversity to bring them back down to Mother Earth. Instead, there was bedlam.

  Some passengers were still in their seats, sobbing quietly, wailing at the tops of their lungs or clinging to loved ones, but most were on their feet, yelling, shoving, and throwing blind punches at anyone who stood in their way. It wasn't a mad rush for the exits; it was simply violence for violence's sake. He saw a big man shove another man to the floor and begin to kick him wildly. He called out for the big man to stop, but it was pointless. Another man grabbed a young woman by the scruff of her neck and lined up a vicious punch that knocked her to the ground. An older woman made a grab for the crying baby, and when the child's mother pulled her child desperately away, the old lady actually bit the screeching mother on the arm.

  Suddenly, a bit of coughing looked like a pretty damn reasonable after-effect of stress.

  He saw cute little Katie still strapped in her stewardess seat. He unclasped the belt, but before he could even begin hauling her to her feet, she clawed at his face without warning, hissing like a feral cat. He shoved her away and stepped back, cursing.

  "Yeah, you're welcome, honey," he spat as she fell back and collapsed to the floor.

  As he turned away, he noticed that the drink cart hadn't been stowed properly and had rolled to one side, wedging itself against the sink. He helped himself to a double-handful of bottles, filled his pockets, and shoved through the maddening crowd to the closest door. The sirens outside had stopped, and red and yellow lights were flashing through the tiny window in the door. Well, thank Christ! A few seconds later, a face appeared in the window and the door cracked open. A set of stairs had been wheeled up, and a gruff older man was standing on the platform.

  "They're all blind, and they're all batshit crazy," Mason told him plainly and shoved rudely past him.

  "Are you Mr Tenby?" the man huffed.

  Mason rolled his eyes. "The name's Mason. And by the way, the copilot's sick, and those two up front are the only people on this whole damn plan
e who deserve your help."

  "Alright, Mr Tenby, we'll take it from here. See one of the fellows in the white shirts down there, and he'll give you the once-over."

  Mason side-stepped several men rushing to the top of the stairs and avoided the EMT's eager to lend a hand down below. He found a quiet little corner of the chaos, reached into his pocket for a bottle of scotch, and unscrewed the cap with practiced efficiency. Turning away from the tumult, he downed the drink in a swallow. His head still ached, but now it wasn't all from the alcohol. Now it ached from a general disgust of his fellow man. The derisive words of Hamlet came suddenly to his mind, and he mentally recited them with a grimace on his face and antipathy in his heart.

  What a piece of work is man…..

  Here, he'd helped save a planeload of idiots from an ignoble death, and they thanked him by beating the hell out of each other.

  How noble in reason, how infinite in faculties…… In form and moving, how express and admirable…..

  Yeah, okay, the pilots seemed okay, but he'd bet money that if they ever met again, he'd be dismissed with a fake-polite handshake and a 'maybe see you around'. Hell, they didn't even bother to know his goddam name!

  In action, how like an angel….. In apprehension, how like a God! The paragon of animals!

  He thought of cute little Katie, all smiles and sweetness one minute, and a jungle cat with a burr up her butt the next. Just like Becks. He fished another bottle out of his pocket and snapped it open.

  And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me….. No, nor woman neither….

  With a raising of the bottle in silent toast to the creatures he'd spent a lifetime coming to loathe, he put the bottle to his lips and tossed it back with a shudder.

  Stage 3 is available from Amazon here