Ray Gorham - 77 Days in September

“I’m Ed Davis,” the man said, extending his hand. “I guess we’re neighbors for the next couple of hours.”

“I guess so,” Kyle said as he shook Ed’s hand. “You headed home?”

“No, I’m heading out. I’ve got business meetings next week in Denver. Heading up early to visit my daughter and her family. You?

“Heading back home to Montana”

“Montana? You’re a long way from home. What brought you to Houston?”

“Hurricane Elliot.”

“You came for the hurricane?”

“No,” laughed Kyle, shaking his head. “I came because of it. I work for Western Montana Power. It’s a slow time of year, so they farm a few of us out to help in other areas.”

“Hmm. Well thanks for helping. How’d things go?”

“Overall, pretty smoothly. As you’ve probably heard, the damage didn’t end up being quite as bad as they’d anticipated, but the utility companies like to keep us around so the local folks can take care of their families. I helped in Louisiana after Katrina; it was my first time working out of town. Now that was an experience!”

“I’ll bet. We were affected by Katrina here too, but more by the refugees than the weather. Can’t imagine what it must have been like over there.”

“It sure made me appreciate Montana more. The occasional blizzard doesn’t seem so bad anymore.”

“I don’t know about that, I’m not one for the cold. I think I’ll stick with the annual hurricane.”

“Oh, the cold’s not so bad. You get used to it after awhile.”

“Have you lived in Montana long?”

Kyle nodded. “My whole life, except for a couple of years in Oregon when I was little. I love it there.”

“I’ve heard it’s nice, but I think I’d miss the city. Doesn’t Houston have about five times the population of your entire state? I don’t know if I could adjust.”

“Oh, you would. We lived in Missoula for a few years, but even that started to get too big for us. You begin to appreciate your space when you have it. This last spring we moved about fifteen miles out of town to a newer community with lots of space. We still have neighbors, but you don’t hear them, and the kids have plenty of room. As long as you’ve got a four wheel drive for the snow, it’s great.”

Ed gave an exaggerated shiver. “I think I’m too old for a drastic change like that.” He turned his attention back to his magazine and the conversation lagged. Kyle checked his watch, wondering why the plane still hadn’t moved from the gate. All of the passengers appeared to be on board, and the attendants were busy preparing themselves for the flight, but the jet hadn’t moved.

Kyle pulled his novel out of his carry-on just as the pilot’s voice came over the PA, offering apologies for the late departure and a promise that they would be underway as soon as possible. Kyle wanted to hear an estimate of when they would actually be getting underway, but the captain didn’t offer any specifics.

Digging his cell phone out of his carry-on Kyle pressed the speed dial for home. After four rings he heard Jennifer’s voice. “Hi. You’ve reached the Tait family. We can’t get to the phone but leave a message, and we’ll call back.”

Kyle waited for the tone. “Hi, Jenn. It’s me. Just wanted to let you know that I’m late getting out. It’s about quarter to three Houston time, and we’re still waiting to take off. I’ll call you from Denver and let you know if there are any problems with the connection. Talk to you soon.”

Kyle turned off his phone and dropped it back into his carry-on then opened his book and began to read.

Atlantic Ocean, 175 miles east of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina 15:42 EST

Clouds hung low over the water, and the flags on the mast snapped out a slow, steady rhythm in the light wind as Carmen’s Serenade rolled ever so slightly in the swells of the North Atlantic. Captain Jibril Musef, Jim to the crew, stood on the bridge of his container ship and stared down at the body of his first officer. Blood had stopped pumping from the deep gash in his neck and the body was already beginning to take on a waxy, artificial look.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Jibril muttered as he knelt down and wiped the blood from his knife onto the carpet. “Your life won’t have been taken in vain, I promise you.” He stood, slid the blade into the sheath that was strapped to his side, and stepped towards the forward window of the bridge. In the center of the main deck below him four members of his crew worked feverishly to open the oversized container that had been carefully located in the center of the ship.

Jibril heard the door to the bridge open and he turned in the direction of the sound. Amman, his chief mechanic stood at the door. His eyes moved from Jibril, to the body on the floor, and then back again to Jibril.

“Is it done?” Jibril asked, noting the streaks and splatters of red on the man's arms and hands.

Amman nodded. “They are all dead. We can proceed without interruption.”

Jibril nodded but showed no emotion. “That is good. Help the others on the deck. I’ll be there shortly.”

Amman turned obediently and left the bridge, the door clicking behind him as it closed. Jibril walked over to the computer terminal and quickly began to type. The container will be delivered today as scheduled. He clicked on the transmit button and watched as the computer indicated the status of the message. When the message had been sent Jibril exited the bridge for the last time and began a rapid descent of the stairs.

Taking the steps two at a time he reflected on the past decade. Two long years as the engineer’s assistant had finally been followed by a rapid rise through the relatively few positions that exist on the large container ships. After two years as a first officer Jibril’s handlers had been comfortable with his progress and promoted him to captain of a ship they had purchased the same month he made his first voyage as the engineers assistant. Patience marked their efforts in every way, and after 31 long months as captain a courier finally informed Jibril that the mission for which he had trained and waited for twelve years, four months, and twenty-two days was ready.

Since taking the command of this ship Jibril had slowly transitioned his crew, gradually bringing on the experts he knew were essential to the mission’s success. From the stairs he could see his brothers, working at the container that would change the world. He paused for a minute to admire the sight, said a prayer of thanks, and rapidly descended the final flight of steps and hurried to where his men were working.

“Any problems?” he asked.

Amman was working at a control panel and didn’t look up as he replied. “No. It is all proceeding as planned. We will be ready early.”

Jibril stroked the smooth, cold skin of the missile. “Today is a good day, my friends. Allah is watching. Be faithful.” A motor whirred and gears engaged with a thud. Jibril stepped away as the nose of the rocket began to lift into launch position.

Pacific Ocean, 40 miles west of Newport, Oregon 16:00 EST

Dae Hyun checked his watch. Five seconds, he thought to himself, then silently counted the time down. At exactly 4:00 PM EST, Dae’s fishing boat began to shake, and a deafening roar pounded his ears. At the far end of the boat, orange flames erupted from the opening in the deck as the rocket it had previously concealed leapt skyward. His crew watched with pride, but no one on the boat cheered. They all knew the world was about to change.

George Bush International Airport, Houston, Texas 16:00 EST

Kyle tipped his seat back and closed his eyes. He hadn’t taken a day off the entire two weeks he’d been in Houston, and between work and the uncomfortable motel bed, he was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. The airplane still hadn’t moved and with his watch showing 3:00 P.M., Kyle could picture himself missing his connecting flight and spending the night sleeping on the floor of the airport in Denver.