“I don’t see anything. It’s too dark,” said the pilot, turning to her second in command. “No need for that, Jerry.”
Lyle saw the gun for the first time. It was holstered, sitting on the button-laden dash, beneath the copilot’s sweaty palm. Lyle knew a bit about guns from the protection he sometimes got overseas and figured rightly it was a nine millimeter, standard issue for a licensed flight officer.
Jerry drummed his fingers on the gun. Lyle felt like the presence of the weapon should be telling him something but he wasn’t sure what. It reminded him distantly of the meeting he had with the dean as things were spiraling downward. There was someone from the university’s human relations department in the meeting, like a gun, just in case the dean needed to defend herself. Lyle, your behavior belies the intellectual maturity of a . . .
“Maybe I imagined it.” Lyle sensed he didn’t. But there was nothing there. Shades of black; even the grays were black, no reflections or shadows. “Why aren’t the lights on out there?” Anywhere. He assured himself he saw something: a wisp, shape, vapor trail in an embodied form. Yet as he tried to see it again, he couldn’t even make out the hangar.
“Some attacks disable electrical systems.”
“So do some storms. Not unheard of.”
“I’m not sure I can be of much help. I’m sorry,” Lyle said. “Is there something specific you want from me?”
“We’re grasping at straws,” Eleanor said. Then, after a beat, she added, “I wanted to have something reasonable to say to them.” It wasn’t immediately clear who she was referring to but then, in the silence that followed, Lyle could hear the dull cacophony that swirled from outside the cabin. Voice stew starting to boil. “I wanted to make sure that we weren’t missing something.”
The pilot lifted the intercom. “I better say something.”
She sat, lifted the intercom, pressed a button on the side with a sweaty-damp thumb. “Folks, I’ve got an update for you.” Lyle almost laughed. She was using the same tone of voice they use when the gate’s not ready or they need to deice the wings. He imagined what he’d next hear: We’ve got a slight delay because everyone in the world is dead. Have some peanuts!
“As you know, we’ve arrived safely at our destination in Colorado. Just outside Steamboat Springs. We are still working to fix our communications glitch.” She stopped. Swiveled. Looked directly at Lyle for the first time. His first impression was that she was unwavering, and strikingly attractive but with slightly crooked front teeth, WASPy with a lemon twist, what his friends in college called light blue blood. He wanted to be on her team, could picture her painlessly climbing the company ladder, making only friends. “I’m going to come out and discuss all of this with you in person,” she told the intercom, then took her thumb from the button on its side.
Just as she reached for the door, a rap of knuckles came from the other side, then a scratching sound.
“Hold on, Stella,” Eleanor said through the door. “I’m coming.” She cleared her throat, muttered something that sounded to Lyle like “No manual for this one.”
To Jerry: “Only I get in here.” To Lyle: “Would you mind joining me? Follow my lead. We’re improvising, but with authority.” Paused. “Got it?”
No answer required. She slid by Lyle to the flight deck door, glanced at him. “In your considered opinion, we’re waiting to get some more information but there’s no reason at all to panic.”
“Yep. Been there, done that.”
“Not that I expect you’ll say anything.”
Eleanor thought about what she’d say: I’m Captain Eleanor Hall—the voice from the intercom. We’re taking a cautious approach. Waiting for a position at the terminal. No reason for alarm.
Another rap on the door and a woman’s voice said, “Please.”
“Okay, Stella.” Eleanor opened the door.
She wasn’t looking at Stella but a passenger.
“I’m coming out, I’d appreciate your—”
“They’re all dead,” the passenger said.
“What?”
The passenger, a short woman with short, bleach-blond hair beneath a gray-and-gold-colored knit hat, wobbled on her feet. She looked stunned and grabbed the side of the door. Eleanor glanced at Lyle, pursed her lips, and said to the passenger, “That’s not at all clear. I’ve got a doctor here and there is evidence that people in the terminal may be ill or have some syndrome. I’m coming out to address that, and it’s very important that we not spread rumors.”
“What? Outside the plane?” the woman said. “No, I’m talking about . . . I’m saying that—”
It dawned on Eleanor and Lyle at the same time. They jointly pushed open the cockpit door all the way. They saw what she meant.
Row after row of passengers just like the man on the tarmac. Collapsed, tilted, crumpled, absent any signs of life.
“No, no,” Eleanor said.
Lyle pulled on the arm of the passenger and yanked her inside the flight deck. He slammed shut the door.
“What the hell is going on?” Jerry said.
“It’s in here.”