Jacqueline Druga: Under the Gray Skies

I lowered my small suitcase and backpack from the plane door, then the metal rod that I would use as my walking stick. Afterwards I climbed down standing on the crushed cars.

The rain had added even more water to the ground, only it caused some sort of cleansing and the water didn’t run clear, it was murky and thick.

I didn’t want my things to get wet, so I was careful with them as I finally reached the ground.

The water wasn’t deep, but it was slushy, and the ground hidden below it was uneven. I had to move slowly.

I attributed all the water to the humid and muggy feeling. Even though it wasn’t hot the air was thick and heavy.

The compass led me east and I followed that direction. I would head for the mountains, they had to be safe. Although, I couldn’t see them in the distance, I knew they were there.

I moved through a disaster zone obstacle course. That was what it was like. The pavements lifted, some twisted upward like giant walls. Railway tracks embedded into the ground and cars were everywhere, crushed and piled on top of each other.

I kept looking back to the plane, trying to gauge how far I walked. After about a hundred feet, the watery mud stopped. About the same distance, the area dotted with monuments of debris turned into small hillsides of rubble and dirt. Ones I couldn’t go around, I had to climb over. I could tell by the remains that it was a highway, the slabs of concrete, the occasional yellow paint and the cars.

The mounds caused me to reflect back to ninth grade science and the videos of how the Grand Canyon was formed. Watching the videos, seeing how the earth was pushed by a force of nature. The mounds of rubble and dirt that were on the outskirts of the airport looked shoved. As if the hand of God just pushed everything back like a plow.

Something, some tremendous force happened west of where I was.

On the third, last and largest mound, a huge metal pole protruded like a flagpole, part of it held the sign for the international airport.

I hadn’t made it far, but it took me a while with the climbing and I decided to take a break. My legs were sore, my back hurt and my hand was blistered from gripping my metal pole walking stick.

At that moment, looking out, I felt relief.

Behind me the airport was reduced to sticks, pieces of rocks, smashed and moved. Before me, I saw recognizable building shapes and even a few palm trees survived. While some buildings were smashed to piles of rubble, some remained.

While the overcast and gray fog blocked a clear vision, I felt since some buildings survived, people must have too. My journey ahead wouldn’t be as hard.

After a break, I made my way down that mound, sliding occasionally as I lugged my small suitcase and backpack. When I stepped to the ground at the bottom, I noticed a thin amount of ash. It reminded me of dark and dirty snow. A thin layer of ash covered every single thing that along with the gray sky everything seemed to blend in.

The air was still muggy, and even though my mouth and nose were still covered by a cloth, I could smell the familiar odor of death. Actually it was pretty strong.

I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Soon, I believed, the fog would thin enough for me to see people. At that moment, all I saw was the Hilton sign laying on the ground. The hotel was still intact and so was the oil change shop across the street. The oil change place was closer so I made my way there.

There were no windows, every bit of glass was shattered and I walked inside. Chairs were tossed about and the counter had collapsed and lay sideways.

I didn’t hear anyone. I didn’t see anyone, but I saw a phone.

It dangled from the broken counter and the receiver was on the floor.

A landline.

My cell was dead, but I knew landlines didn’t need power. I grabbed the base and followed the line to make sure it was still plugged into the wall.

After a few times of hitting the handset, I got a dial tone and I whimpered out in relief. My friends made fun of me for still having a landline at home, but at that second I was grateful for it. I dialed my home number.

It made a weird clicking sound then a whistle like tone. I pulled the phone from my ear.

No. My home was three thousand miles away. Nothing could have happened there. It hit me, I actually didn’t have a real landline, it was one connected to my cable service. Even there, was the cable out?

The only other person I knew that had a landline and a real old fashioned one was my mother in Ohio. I knew her number and dialed it.

It rang.

Hearing that ring told me not all was dead in the world. That it was a fluke I couldn’t reach my home.

Two rings.

Three.

“Hello.”

My mother answered the phone. She didn’t sound good. She sounded weak and worried.

I could barely speak. It had been days since I spoke a word and coupled with my emotions, I choked as I said her name. “Mom.”

She didn’t say anything at first, she made a sound, a cry out, a scream maybe.

“Mom.”

“Oh my God, Lacey,” she said. “Oh my God.”

She was surprised, grateful even, to hear from me. That had to be it.

“Mom. I’m alive. I’m scared and stuck. No one’s around. I need help.”

“Lace, everyone…”

Nothing.

“Mom?”

I couldn’t hear her. Everyone what?

Her voice returned. But the connection was bad. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. It sounded like random syllables.

“Mom, listen. I can’t hear you. Listen, I am alive. Tell the kids and Davis I love them and I am gonna find help. I’ll be home. Mom… Mom if you heard me, press any button on the phone.”

After a beat, I heard a tone.

I sighed out. “I love you. I’ll be home. I’ll find help. If you can get a hold of someone, anyone, I’m outside the airport.”

Another tone, this one pressed repeatedly.

She heard me. That’s all I needed.

“I love you.”

I swore I heard her say, “love.” After, she hit another tone.

I stayed there, holding that phone until I knew we were no longer connected.

Everything was fine back home. I just had to get there. It was going to be easier now, my mother would call for help. I just had to wait it out.

Stepping out of that shop, I was pelted with the rotten egg meets ammonia smell. I had a bottle of Amber’s cologne in the front pocket of the suitcase, I grabbed it, held my breath, took off my face cloth and gave a pump of cologne to the cloth. I had done so before I left the plane, but it had worn off some.

I moved forward, examining the ground for tread tracks that maybe people had left. There were no tracks. Cars were scattered about, some wrecked, some had doors open, all were covered in a smeared muddy looking substance as if when it rained whatever covered the cars tried to wash off, but instead turned into mud.

The covering was either really thick, or it didn’t rain hard in that area. It was possible, I had walked at least a good mile. In Ohio and West Virginia it wasn’t uncommon to get rain or snow, while the neighborhood down the road got nothing.

Walking across the street, I set my sights on the Hilton, maybe people were hiding out in there. As I passed a car, I bumped into its open door.

I didn’t mean to look inside, I wished I hadn’t.

Immediately, the smell of decay cut through my perfume tainted facecloth and made my eyes water. The smell would have made me throw up had the contents of the car not done it first.

The bodies of a man and woman were in the front seats. Unlike the flight attendants, they didn’t show signs of injury. Their bodies were black from decomposing, both of their heads tilted back with their eyes and mouths wide open. A vile black substance leaked from the man’s bloated body and down the side of the driver’s seat.