M. Banner - Stone Age

“No, I want a bathroom,” Danny protested.

“Sorry, but you know how far the bathrooms are. Unless you want to hold it, you’ll have to go there.

“Fine, but don’t look,” exiting his door on the opposite side of the car.

She did just that, watching Danny walk to the fence, unzip his pants, and urinate on it, trying best not to act conspicuous, and not hit his shoes. She smiled at this, trying not to think about her next decision.

They had missed their flight by almost an hour. When they arrived at the airport after one in the morning, all the flights going out were cancelled, and incoming flights were only accepted because they had nowhere else to go. A pilot told her this, figuring he would be a better source of info than the peons at each flight counter. She found out that all airports were having communication problems and they could do little more than wait. Until further notice, all flights were cancelled. There was no place to stay. Every place she called was booked, and then they were having problems making phone calls at all. It seemed like the whole cell network went dead.

Without the ability to call, she tried texting her father, then Sally, then her grandfather, and finally Steve. It didn’t appear that any texts went through. Finally, exhausted from the driving, the late hour, and trying to negotiate a flight, lodging, and everything else, Darla gave up. “We’re going back to the car,” she announced to Danny. That’s when everything just stopped.

They had just walked past the TSA security lines, which were still large, even though the flights had stopped for almost an hour. Before making it to the exits, all the lights went out. The vast expanse of the airport went black. What was truly odd was the lack of light from anything. There were no headlights from cars right outside, and no lights from others cell phones either.

At first, most of the crowds were subdued, sort of a stunned silence, waiting for the lights to come on automatically as they would all expect them to. Darla and Danny both stopped their progression out as well, probably more curious than concerned. Then there was a scream, followed by another. Then a rush of footfalls, running, some tumbling. Panic fueled the crowd’s motion towards the doors, and the eerie ambient green light outside.

Darla and Danny didn’t need much motivation to start moving forward. Someone bumped into Danny, after tripping over the roll-aboard he was dragging behind him, almost knocking him down. Darla held tight and together they ran for the doors, holding hands and dragging their bags. Among the sounds of pandemonium behind them, Darla could hear Danny’s labored breathing. He was having an attack.

“We’re almost there. Let’s get through the doors and you can use your inhaler.”

She directed him around an overturned luggage cart, a dozen or so bags spilled off to the side. Several people were flailing on the ground, having made poor judgment of these obstacles, even though the light from the outside was better here.

They were at the door, Darla grabbing Danny’s suitcase, and yelling over the din of commotion that caught up with them, “Danny, you go first. I’m right behind you.” They were ten or so people from the exit, a clogged funnel of people surrounded them, trying to get through their chosen exit. The funnel pressed up against them. Just five people to go now .

A loud crashing sound and then an explosion behind them caught every one’s attention and quieted most of those around them. Darla pressed forward, not looking where others were. Three people to go .

Danny’s breathing was raspy, his lungs trying desperately to get air. An opening was just ahead, as two people fell forward and to the right of them. Darla pushed Danny to the left. Fresh air !

Darla steered Danny now to the right about ten feet to an area away from the door. Tossing their suitcases aside, she thrust his inhaler into his mouth, his hands there to guide her, “Breath slowly, Danny. You’re going to be just fine. Take another spray.”

His head was covered in sweat, his eyes looked dilated, but he was starting to calm down and his breathing was starting to sound more normal. He was probably seconds from passing out. Whew.

She took a moment to check out their surroundings outside. Cars were parked where they had abruptly stopped. There were people streaming out the exits all around them, like water from a fire hydrant, their streams running in between the cars and any other open spaces. Another explosion to their right, and this time, it drew both Darla and Danny’s attention. It appeared to have happened around a runway, out of their view, but they both could see the top of the fireball.

“Can you breathe enough to move?” Darla felt like they had to get away from the airport, quickly. She led him again, this time towards where they parked their car, thankfully a long walk away.

After they had slept a few hours in the car, her mind felt clearer. It felt like mid-morning.

She was now faced with a decision. Their car didn’t run, but apparently nothing else did, for that matter. They had little food and water. Waiting for help wasn’t going to work as she was pretty sure there was no help coming for a very long time. No matter where they went, it would be by foot, not an enviable prospect with an asthmatic brother. At this moment, the decision was simple. They would walk the fifty miles between them and their home in Chicago.

She was about to announce their decision to Danny when she smelled smoke, lots of it. Turning to the airport terminal, she could see its source. All the structures in their path were on fire.

Wilber was carrying his Mac 90, a sort of AK-47 knock-off made in China, but tricked up with a silicone stock and short Kimber scope. He had this gun for years and felt very comfortable with it, having shot maybe ten thousand rounds through it. It was slung around his neck, his hand on the grip, barrel pointed down. He walked quietly, looking for the wreckage of the plane that crashed on his property a couple of hours ago. He was pretty sure that they were not on his property for nefarious reasons, but you could never be too sure.

His Lab, Trixie, was leading the way, stealthily sniffing and walking through the brush and trees, honing in on something. Of course, the old girl could be hot on the trail of one of the feral cats around here as well.

The creaking noise of grinding metal on metal caught both their attention. It was dead ahead less than a few yards from them.

In a clearing, Wilber could see two of the larger oak trees on his property. He stopped to take in the abnormal picture of a two airplane wings, one on each of the side of two large oaks trees. A small private plane had flown directly between the two, sheering off its wings. He continued, while Trixie trotted ahead further and out of sight, obviously catching the scent of someone.

Barking from his dog brought him to a run, until he found himself staring at the beat up rudder of a plane. What was left of the fuselage was wedged into a bramble of bushes and smaller trees. Trixie was on point and growling at the occupants. Wilber couldn’t see any movement. With riffle pointed at the cockpit, he carefully walked forward.

Peeking inside, he saw both occupants. The pilot looked bloody and unconscious, the other was moving, looking like he had just come to and playing with his open door. Wilber opened the cockpit door, its injured hinges alerting the waking co-pilot to the intruder.

“Let me see your hands,” Wilber announced his demand to the co-pilot, who had a small gash on his head, but otherwise looked unharmed. Again, he demanded, “Your hands.”