Nelson DeMille - Mayday

Berry considered the idea. “No,” he finally said. “That would be a little… melodramatic. Don’t you think so? A little too terminal. We have some time yet. I’ll send one for everyone later. Who do you want to…?”

She ignored his question. “Your wife must be frantic.”

Berry considered several answers. My insurance is paid up. That should take the edge off any franticness. Or, Jennifer hasn’t been frantic since she lost her Bloomingdale’s charge card. He said, “I’m sure the airline is keeping everyone informed.”

“That’s true.” She changed the subject abruptly.

“You’ve got good control of the airplane,” she said with some authority. “The flight controls are working okay. And we’ve still got nearly half our fuel.” She nodded toward the fuel gauges.

“Yes,” Berry answered, recalling that he had pointed that out to her only ten minutes before. “That’s true. It should be enough fuel.” But he knew that headwinds or bad weather could change that. As far as the flight controls were concerned, all he knew for certain was that he could make a right-hand turn and level out. He had no information about turning left or going up or down.

“I remember,” Crandall added, “how Captain Stuart once told me that as long as the flight controls worked and the engines had a steady supply of fuel, then the situation wasn’t hopeless.”

“That’s true,” said Berry. The mention of Stuart’s name made him look back over his shoulder. At the far end of the lounge, the two pilots still lay motionless on the thick blue rug, near the piano. Berry turned and scanned the Straton’s flight instruments and autopilot. Everything was steady. He stood. “I’m going back to the lounge to see what’s going on.”

“Okay.”

“Scan the instruments. If anything seems wrong, yell.”

“You bet.”

“If the data-link bell-”

“I’ll call you.”

“Okay. And watch the autopilot closely.” He leaned over her seat and put his right hand casually on her shoulder. He pointed with his left hand. “See this light?”

“Yes.”

“It’s the autopilot disconnect light. If it shows amber, call me-fast.”

“Roger.” She turned her head toward him and smiled.

Berry straightened up. “Okay. Be right back.” He turned and walked into the lounge.

The flight attendant in the upper lounge, Terri O’Neil, was walking around now. Berry didn’t like that. The attractive woman on the horseshoe-shaped couch had unfastened her seat belt and was staring out the porthole. The remaining three men and one woman continued to sit on the couch, making spastic, senseless movements with their arms. One of the men had unfastened his seat belt and tried repeatedly to stand, but couldn’t seem to manage it.

Berry could see that, as Barbara Yoshiro said, they were all getting better-physically. Mentally, they were more inquisitive. They were beginning to think, but to think things that were not good. Dark things. Dangerous things.

The Straton, reflected Berry, was a protected environment, like an egg. Puncture the shell of a fertilized egg with a pin and the embryo would not survive. And if it did, it would be changed in some terrible way. He formed a mental picture of the Straton sitting serenely on the airport ramp, two small holes on the sides the only outward indication of anything being amiss. The stairs were wheeled up. The crowd cheered. The doors opened. The first passengers appeared… He shook his head and looked up.

Terri O’Neil wandered toward the cockpit door. Berry stepped up to her. He took her shoulder and turned her around. Terri pushed his hand away roughly and spoke to him as though she were berating him for touching her, but the words were gibberish. Berry was reminded of his daughter at fourteen months old. He waited until the flight attendant ambled off, away from the cockpit door, then began walking to the far side of the lounge toward Stein, who was leaning against the rail of the staircase. Stein seemed unaware of Berry’s presence and continued to stare down the open stairway. “How is it going?” Berry asked.

Stein pointed down the stairs.

Berry leaned over. A group of men and women were staring up at him, mouths drooling and faces covered with the now familiar, repugnant pattern of blood and vomit. A few of the people pointed up to him. Someone called out; a woman laughed. Berry could hear what he thought were children crying. One man pushed his way to the base of the stairs and spoke directly to Berry, trying hard to be understood. The man became frustrated, and shouted. The woman laughed again.

Berry stepped back from the stairwell, turned, and looked at Linda Farley. She slid off the piano bench and took a few steps toward him. Berry said, “Stay there, Linda.”

Stein said to Berry, “I told her to stay away from the stairs. Although this,” he motioned around the big lounge, “this is not much better.”

Berry asked the girl, “What is it, Linda?”

She hesitated. “I’m hungry, Mr. Berry. Can I get something to eat soon?”

Berry smiled at her. “Well… how about a Coke?”

“I looked.” She motioned toward the bar. “There’s nothing left.”

“Well, I don’t think there’s any food up here. Can you wait awhile?”

She looked disappointed. “I guess.”

“How are the two pilots?”

“The same.”

“Take good care of them.”

Linda Farley was getting all of life’s adversities in one big dose. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, fear, death. “Just a little while longer, sweetheart. We’ll be home soon.” He turned. It occurred to him that he was hungry and thirsty, too. And if he and Linda Farley were hungry and thirsty, then so were many of the people below. He wondered if that would stimulate them to acts of aggression.

“Down!” Stein yelled. “Go down!” Berry moved quickly to the stairs. A man was halfway up.

Stein took a coin from his pocket and threw it, striking the man in the face. “Down! Go down!”

The man retreated a step.

Stein turned to Berry. “Do you have anything I can throw?”

Berry reached into his pocket and handed Stein some change. “I don’t like the looks of this, Harold.”

Stein nodded. “Neither do I.”

Berry looked around the lounge. “How are these people behaving?”

“Erratic. They make me nervous. Too close.”

Berry watched Terri O’Neil walking awkwardly toward the cockpit again. He wished he could close and lock the damaged door. The flight attendant stood a few feet from the door and stared into the cockpit, her eyes fixed on Sharon Crandall, who didn’t seem aware of the other flight attendant’s presence. Berry glanced back at Stein. “I think, as a precaution, we might want to help these people get downstairs.”

Stein nodded. “Yes. But I’d like to bring my family up.”

Berry turned and faced him. “That’s not possible, Harold. I don’t think it’s really fair.” Berry wished that Stein would just accept things as they were, but he doubted that Stein would.

“Fair? Who the hell cares about fair? That’s my family I’m talking about. Who put you in charge here?”

“Mr. Stein, it’s entirely too risky to bring your family up here.”

“Why?”

“Well… anything could happen. It might start a procession up the stairs. We really can’t have people in the lounge any longer. They may go into the cockpit. Bump against something… they’d be disturbing-”

“I’ll watch my family,” Stein interrupted. His voice was firm. “My wife and two little girls… Debbie and Susan… they wouldn’t be in anyone’s way…” He lowered his head and covered his face with his hands.

Berry waited, then put his hand on Stein’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But there’s nothing you can do for them now.”