John O'Brien - Chaos

“They’re persistent, I’ll give ‘em that,” I say watching them close.

I push the throttles up holding onto the brakes, the nose bows downward compressing the nose gear strut, waiting to be released. “Won’t this damage the props?” Robert asks as we all look at the well-lit group hurtling towards us.

“Should be okay. Those are thirteen foot props turning at over 1,000 rpm. Rocks and such will put nicks in them but I doubt they’ll even notice flesh and bones.”

“Dad, do we have to do this?” Bri asks.

“Hon, we don’t have the fuel to fly our next leg nor do we have enough to just fly around all night. Plus, they’re just pissing me off. Sorry, sweetheart.”

Here we sit, stopped on the taxiway, the deep, steady, strong drone of the engines, the propellers turning at high speed, lights blazing out into the darkness, and the approaching horde steadily closing the distance, drawn by whatever it is in their heads that leads them to this chase.

When the mass is about 75 yards ahead, I release the brakes, the nose launching upward as the aircraft is finally released from its blocks. We start down the taxiway, picking up speed as we near the horde, our closure rate increasing as we add our speed to it. We close to within a few yards and the ones in front of us start separating from our path to the sides. And then, just like that, they sweep behind us, the outboard engines catching a couple of them as we pass them by.

I taxi to the end of the ramp and taxiway, turning around once again, “Okay, let’s try that a little differently,” I say bringing us to a stop.

Once again, the horde has turned around and is pursuing us. This time, I wait until they are only 50 yards ahead before releasing the brakes. We surge ahead and draw closer to them. They separate in the same manner and I turn to the right with them, maneuvering to bring the nearest edge of them close down our right side. Our lights ahead show the ramp clear of obstacles other than the running horde. Our engines plow through them, raw, meaty slaps against the fuselage barely heard over the roar of the turning props. Slap…. Slap, slap… slap, slap, slap, slap… slap… slap… slap, slap.

“Oh my god,” Nic whispers sickly and with horror through the headset as the lights shining ahead on the right turns a pale pink.

My anger at them turns to a sickness deep inside that rests in the pit of my stomach. I gain a little distance and turn the aircraft around. “You’re kidding,” Robert says as we stop for the third time and see the mass, although diminished, has turned around and are after us yet again.

“Dad, can we just get out of here?” Bri asks.

“I wish we could, babe,” I answer back. “I am really sorry, hon.”

I hear a heavyish sigh over the helmet speakers; I think from Michelle.

“If this is too much for anyone, just head into the back. You can stuff bits of clothing in your helmet to drown out the sounds and you don’t have to watch. Hell, I might even join you,” I say watching the diminished horde draw closer, most of them directly in front of us but a few scattered groups and single ones off to the side, looking almost like a flanking maneuver.

“I’m okay,” Bri says behind me.

“Me too,” says Nic.

“I’m doing alright,” Robert answers.

“I’m fine,” Michelle speaks out.

“Well hell, I’m not. This is disgusting as hell,” I say.

There is a simultaneous “yeah” from everyone.

When they are again about 50 yards away, I release the brakes and the aircraft leaps toward them. I stay to the right side of the taxi way with the ramp to my left as the horde and we begin another joust. They separate as before and I head toward the left group trying to take them down the left side this time. Rather than angle outward, they then turn a direct 90 degrees away from us attempting to get far away from our path, the ones off to the sides turn towards us, attempting to run around behind us. We catch fewer of them. Slap…slap,slap..slap….slap,slap,slap..slap.

We draw to the end once more turning around. Our lights illuminate the ramp and taxiway showing the asphalt littered with scraps and chunks of clothing, body parts, and pieces of flesh and bone. An absolutely disgusting sight that makes me want to flick the lights off but I need them. The things hovering at a distance, milling about, and some lean towards us with their mouths open, obviously emitting those loud shrieks. The only sound coming to us is the continuous droning of engines and heavy breathing in our helmet speakers.

“What the hell is that!?” I say into the microphone.

“What?” Michelle asks.

“Listen,” I say and then hear another faint thump; more felt than heard. “There, that.”

“It sounds like it’s coming from behind us,” Robert says turning around.

There must have been a group of them that waited while the rest of them ran towards us knowing we would turn around and stop here.

“Well, they’re apparently not overly dumb,” I say as we feel and hear more thumps from the rear of the 130. They are apparently coming in directly behind us avoiding the wind from the propellers. Luckily, we are in a secure aircraft but I note their quick change in tactics each time and do not like the ramifications.

I release the brakes and head toward the crowd a ways down the tarmac, taxiing over the mass of body parts and clothing. The milling about of the horde ceases as they become completely still, all focused towards us and our ever closing lights. They then, almost as one, turn and run, most of them heading towards the buildings sitting on the edge of the ramp, the others directly away from us. I head across the ramp in an attempt to cut off the ones running towards the buildings.

“Daaad, they’re running away,” Bri says over the intercom. “Please don’t.”

“Honey, we can’t feel sorry for them. Ever!” I say but turn the aircraft away nonetheless slowing our taxi speed.

I head on the taxiway to the end and close to the edge of the runway, just as we parked before except at the other end of the runway. I will want to inspect the aircraft in the morning but have no intention of doing that in the mess we created at the other end. I shut down the aircraft and we settle in once again for the night. It takes us a while to get to sleep after the events of the evening with vivid images still floating through our minds but we eventually drift off one by one and are not bothered for the rest of the night.

I awaken to the sound of soft snores echoing throughout the cargo interior. Teens, they can sleep the whole day away. Of course, I can as well and remember the days when noon was a normal wake up time for me in the summer months. I lay quietly thinking, nestled in my bag on the deck of the pitch black cargo bay with my head resting on the small, white pillow, not knowing how in the world we are going to be able to stay alive with these things absolutely everywhere. There is no reasoning with them or calling a time out. There can be little to no mistakes on my part. I can’t let my emotions overcome common sense.

Those little snores remind me that I have to be more responsible and adept at analyzing situations; the choices I make mean more and have greater ramifications. I have been fairly proficient at making good spot choices in various situations in the past and so I can’t be second guessing, but on the same hand, those choices have to be the right ones. We would most likely have been just fine last night, if not a little more tired, if I had just left things alone. However, we are all still alive and, like a landing, any one you can walk away from is a good one.

My quandary is like that of any parent; how to keep your children protected yet still let them learn to make good choices. We are in a new world order and some of the lessons they learned growing up to this point may not apply. Normally there is a gradual integration of ideas and lessons but this is not the case now. There are different lessons to be learned; survival skills of a different order. I have a lot I can teach them and hopefully I can do so in a somewhat controlled environment. I am not going to be able to do everything for them forever. Ugh! This is making my brain hurt. Enough early morning philosophizing. One day at a time , I think, unzipping my bag and crawling out.