Stephen King - The Langoliers

“Youuuuuuuuuuu”

Craig arose from his hiding place, eyes blazing, butcher knife upraised, suddenly understanding that it was her, she was one of them, behind those dark glasses she was one of them, she was not only a langolier but the head langolier, the one who was calling the others, calling them with her dead blind eyes.

“Youuuuuuuuuuu”

He rushed at her, shrieking. Don Gaffney shoved Laurel out of his way, almost knocking her to the floor, and leaped forward. He was fast, but not fast enough. Craig Toomy was crazy, and he moved with the speed of a langolier himself. He approached Dinah at a dead-out run. No scampering for him.

Dinah made no effort to draw away. She looked up from her darkness and into his, and now she held her arms out, as if to enfold him and comfort him.

“Yoooouuuuuuuu”

“It’s all right, Mr Toomy,” she said. “Don’t be afr—” And then Craig buried the butcher knife in her chest and ran past Laurel into the terminal, still shrieking.

Dinah stood where she was for a moment. Her hands found the wooden handle jutting out of the front of her dress and her fingers fluttered over it, exploring it. Then she sank slowly, gracefully, to the floor, becoming just another shadow in the growing darkness.

Dinah in the Valley of the Shadow. The Fastest Toaster East of the Mississippi. Racing Against Time. Nick Makes a Decision.

Albert, Brian, Bob, and Nick passed the peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich around. They each got two bites and then it was gone... but while it lasted, Albert thought he had never sunk his teeth into such wonderful chow in his life. His belly awakened and immediately began clamoring for more.

“I think our bald friend Mr Warwick is going to like this part best,” Nick said, swallowing. He looked at Albert. “You’re a genius, Ace. You know that, don’t you? Nothing but a pure genius.”

Albert flushed happily. “It wasn’t much,” he said. “Just a little of what Mr Jenkins calls the deductive method. If two streams flowing in different directions come together, they mix and make a whirlpool. I saw what was happening with Bethany’s matches and thought something like that might be happening here. And there was Mr Gaffney’s bright-red shirt. It started to lose its color. So I thought, well, if stuff starts to fade when it’s not on the plane anymore, maybe if you brought faded stuff onto the plane, it would—”

“I hate to interrupt,” Bob said softly, “but I think that if we intend to try and get back, we should start the process as soon as possible. The sounds we are hearing worry me, but there’s something else that worries me more. This airplane is not a closed system. I think there’s a good chance that before long it will begin to lose its... its...”

“Its temporal integrity?” Albert suggested.

“Yes. Well put. Any fuel we load into its tanks now may burn... but a few hours from now, it may not.”

An unpleasant idea occurred to Brian: that the fuel might stop burning halfway across the country, with the 767 at 36,000 feet. He opened his mouth to tell them this... and then closed it again. What good would it do to put the idea in their minds, when they could do nothing about it?

“How do we start, Brian?” Nick asked in clipped, businesslike tones.

Brian ran the process over in his mind. It would be a little awkward, especially working with men whose only experience with aircraft probably began and ended with model planes, but he thought it could be done.

“We start by turning on the engines and taxiing as close to that Delta 727 as we can get,” he said. “When we get there, I’ll kill the starboard engine and leave the portside engine turning over. We’re lucky. This 767 is equipped with wet-wing fuel tanks and an APU system that—”

A shrill, panicked scream drifted up to them, cutting across the low rattling background noise like a fork drawn across a slate blackboard. It was followed by running footfalls on the ladder. Nick turned in that direction and his hands came up in a gesture Albert recognized at once; he had seen some of the martial-arts freaks at school back home practicing the move. It was the classic Tae Kwan Do defensive position. A moment later Bethany’s pallid, terrified face appeared in the doorway and Nick let his hands relax.

“Come!” Bethany screamed. “You’ve got to come!” She was panting, out of breath, and she reeled backward on the platform of the ladder. For a moment Albert and Brian were sure she was going to tumble back down the steep steps, breaking her neck on the way. Then Nick leaped forward, cupped a hand on the nape of her neck, and pulled her into the plane. Bethany did not even seem to realize she had had a close call. Her dark eyes blazed at them from the white circle of her face. “Please come! He’s stabbed her! I think she’s dying!”

Nick put his hands on her shoulders and lowered his face toward hers as if he intended to kiss her. “Who has stabbed whom?” he asked very quietly. “Who is dying?”

“I... she... Mr T-T-Toomy…”

“Bethany, say teacup.”

She looked at him, eyes shocked and uncomprehending. Brian was looking at Nick as though he had gone insane.

Nick gave the girl’s shoulders a little shake.

“Say teacup. Right now.”

“T-T-Teacup.”

“Teacup and saucer. Say it, Bethany.”

“Teacup and saucer.”

“All right. Better?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Good. If you feel yourself losing control again, say teacup at once and you’ll come back. Now — who’s been stabbed?”

“The blind girl. Dinah.”

“Bloody shit. All right, Bethany. Just—” Nick raised his voice sharply as he saw Brian move behind Bethany, headed for the ladder, with Albert right behind him. “No!” he shouted in a bright, hard tone that stopped both of them. “Stay fucking put!”

Brian, who had served two tours in Vietnam and knew the sound of unquestionable command when he heard it, stopped so suddenly that Albert ran face-first into the middle of his back. I knew it, he thought. I knew he’d take over. It was just a matter of time and circumstance.

“Do you know how this happened or where our wretched travelling companion is now?” Nick asked Bethany.

“The guy... the guy in the red shirt said”

“All right. Never mind.” He glanced briefly up at Brian. His eyes were red with anger. “The bloody fools left him alone. I’d wager my pension on it. Well, it won’t happen again. Our Mr Toomy has cut his last caper.”

He looked back at the girl. Her head drooped; her hair hung dejectedly in her face; she was breathing in great, watery swoops of breath.

“Is she alive, Bethany?” he asked gently.

“I... I... I... I…”

“Teacup, Bethany.”

“Teacup!” Bethany shouted, and looked up at him from teary, red-rimmed eyes. “I don’t know. She was alive when I... you know, came for you. She might be dead now. He really got her. Jesus, why did we have to get stuck with a fucking psycho? Weren’t things bad enough without that?”

“And none of you who were supposed to be minding this fellow have the slightest idea where he went following the attack, is that right?”

Bethany put her hands over her face and began to sob. It was all the answer any of them needed.

“Don’t be so hard on her,” Albert said quietly, and slipped an arm around Bethany’s waist. She put her head on his shoulder and began to sob more strenuously.

Nick moved the two of them gently aside. “If I was inclined to be hard on someone, it would be myself, Ace. I should have stayed behind.”

He turned to Brian.

“I’m going back into the terminal. You’re not. Mr Jenkins here is almost certainly right; our time here is short. I don’t like to think just how short. Start the engines but don’t move the aircraft yet. If the girl is alive, we’ll need the stairs to bring her up. Bob, bottom of the stairs. Keep an eye out for that bugger Toomy. Albert, you come with me.”