Jacqueline Druga - What Tomorrow Brings

She felt something touch her face then cover her nose and mouth. Instinctively she tried to fight it, waving her hand, pushing it, until she could feel the air flowing to her. Through her coughs she tried to inhale the oxygen.

“It’s okay. Breathe.”

Someone held her arm. Who was it? The fingers locked on tight to her.

Kit opened her eyes and they burned. There was a gritty feel to her eyes, every time she blinked it was abrasive. Not only that, she couldn’t focus. Even if she could there was no way to see. Everything was dark, except a few dots of light here and there.

As she shifted her eyes, she tried to make heads or tails of where she was. She couldn’t. It was impossible to see anything. Her hands felt free and she moved her fingers to feel.

Fabric.

A plane seat? Was she still in the wreckage?

“Over here!” the man that was near her, yelled.

“Is she injured badly?”

“Not that I can see.”

A bright light hit Kit across the eyes, a flashlight maybe and it blinded her even more.

“Okay, stay here with her. We have more seriously hurt to get out.”

“I can carry her.”

“Don’t move her,” the second man warned. “We’ll be right back.”

She wished she could see, but she couldn’t. She had to rely on her other senses. It didn’t take much to know a lot was happening around her.

She could hear so many voices and noises around her.

The sound of a truck wasn’t far from her. She listened as it sounded like it rolled away.

Voices shouted left and right. People cried, people screamed in pain. All of that told Kit there were more survivors than just her.

‘First group is out. Keep looking.’

‘I found one.’

‘How bad.’

‘Got a bleeder.’

‘This one’s dead.’

‘Move. Move. Get this one now.’

‘We don’t have much time. Twenty minutes people. Move them now!’

In the dark, there was one other sensation Kit felt… cold.

It was bitterly cold and her body began to shiver. She tried to asses if she felt any pain other then the heaviness in her chest.

She believed she felt all her limbs, but that could have been her imagination.

“You cold? I bet you are. It’s cold. Here.”

Kit didn’t know what he did, but he covered her with something.

“We’ll get you on the next truck,” he said. “I promise. They’re loading now.”

Kit nodded. Her left hand reached out and she felt his leg.

“I’m here. I won’t leave you. My name’s Abe,” he said. “Are you in pain?”

Other than a few aches, Kit didn’t feel anything excruciating. She shook her head.

“Good,” Abe said.

Suddenly it hit her. She came to her senses. Clarity.

Zeke.

“My… my son,” she tried to speak through the mask and she attempted to move.

“Hold on.” Abe kept the mask on her.

Another flashlight blinded her and as it moved from her way she saw the outline of two figures. In the dark she could see their faces because they were wearing biohazard gear and their masks were illuminated.

“Let’s get her out of here and on the truck,” the one bio man said. “I’m not seeing much blood.”

“A few scrapes and bruises. She wasn’t breathing when I found her,” Abe told them. “That’s the only thing I could see. I did CPR.”

“We got her now. Thank you. You should get in the truck.”

Kit felt them grab her legs and arms.

“I want to help look,” Abe said. “I need to help.”

“They can use people in the back.”

Abe grabbed Kit’s hand as they lifted her. “I’ll find you.”

Kit nodded. “My son… find… my son.”

It was when they started carrying her that she felt the pain in her back. They didn’t put her on a gurney or cart, they lugged her out. The farther they moved her, the more things came into view.

There were so many people in biohazard gear. Some carried people, some searched.

As they carried her down the aisle of the wreckage, Kit saw more than she wanted to.

Seats were toppled, the ceiling hung down and wires dangled about. People slumped lifeless still strapped to their seats, some missing body parts.

While there were survivors, the realization hit her that there were so many dead and Kit internally panicked.

“Stop!” she cried out. “Please stop.”

They didn’t.

“My son, I have to find my son. He’s here. He’s on this plane. My son.”

She begged, she pleaded and cried. They ignored her. Once outside and free of the wreckage, they quickly carried her to the back of a truck.

Her entire body filled with worry and anguish. Her trembling from the cold turned into trembling from shear fear.

Where was Zeke? What happened to Zeke?

As the open back truck rolled away, Kit stared up to nothing but black. There was no moon, no stars.

No amount of physical pain compared to the pain she felt over her child, the feeling of loss and not knowing what happened to him.

Defenseless and alone, all she could do was sob. “Oh my God, my son. Where is my son?”

He had been a commercial airline pilot for twenty-seven years. He wasn’t wet behind the years and had logged more flight hours than most pilots he knew. He was well aware of the ins and outs and believed he had seen it all, until that night when Captain Scott boarded the plane for a flight he routinely manned.

The Seattle to D.C. red eye. He had expected three solid days off but was called in to fly flight 2468 because the scheduled pilot had an emergency. Captain Scott was fine with that, he had taken that flight many times. He thought nothing of it when he entered the airport early, something he always did. Then he arrived at the gate. There seemed to be less people and they were already offering seat vouchers. Even stranger, Flight 2368 was already on the tarmac.

Typically it was never there, he usually spent time talking to the workers at the counter until the plane arrived and unloaded. He loved being the first one on board.

The counter people didn’t say anything, other than the previous flight was early. They resumed trying to buy seats.

“Are we that overbooked?” Captain Scott asked.

“Yes, and we can’t figure out how it happened, other than a glitch in the system,” the counter woman replied.

He thanked them and made his way to the plane. Seeing how it was early, he expected to see maintenance workers and a cleanup crew. Not the actual flight crew. To make matters even stranger, he didn’t know a single one of them.

They were preparing the cabin and doing preflight. They acknowledged his presence and that was it.

The reiteration that he hadn’t seen it all happened when he tried to squeeze his larger body into an already crowded cockpit.

Two men in suits stood in there.

“What’s going on?” Captain Scott asked.

“Abram James Scott?” the one man asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m special Agent Staab, Homeland Security. You’re Abram Scott and your brother is Senator John Scott, chairman of the Armed Services Committee.”

“Yes, what is this about?”

“Can I see your right hand, Abram?”

“Abe,” he corrected and extended his hand. “Again, what is this about?”

The other agent placed Abe’s hand on what looked like a tablet and scanned it. “It’s him,” the agent said.

“Abe, I’d like you to meet your co-pilot on the flight,” Agent Staab said,

“My co-pilot?” Abe asked. “I know my…”

The co-pilot turned around. He wore a military flight suit and like every other crew member, Abe didn’t know him.

“What the hell?” Abe barked.