The Fall of Society Page 2

  Nick smiled. “I know; that’s why my golf clubs are on the plane.”

  “Same here, so what time are we teeing off tomorrow?”

  “No, no, not tomorrow, the day after tomorrow,” Nick corrected.

  “Oh yeah.” the friend remembered.

  “Right. You, me, Gary, Randy, and Brad. We’ll be teeing off at—”

  “—Randy? That guy’s an asshole.”

  “Well, I like Randy. We’ll be teeing off at 7:30, and if you’re not there because of Randy, well, come on, ya know. I gotta go.” Nick ended his call.

  He grabbed his briefcase and headed to the restroom, and on his way; he passed a flat screen TV on the wall that he didn’t give a glance.

  The local news was on and a reporter was live at the scene of a freeway accident. A family van was overturned on the shoulder, smoldering from a fire that had gutted it. The firefighters were still putting out what was left of the flames. What looked like a body could be seen hanging from the van’s back window. The reporter stood on an overpass about 200 feet from the accident. The weather was a little windy, and some slight rain sprayed across his face. “Traffic is at a standstill here at the 210 and 15 freeway interchange and the California Highway Patrol said it may be several hours before they clear the scene and reopen the freeway. The Highway Patrol isn’t speculating on the cause of the accident, but witnesses reported that they saw gunshots coming from inside the van just before it crashed. One witness told me that the person with the gun wasn’t firing at other cars on the freeway, but was shooting at another person in the van. This is Steven Roy, reporting from Fontana, back to you, in the studio.”

  The accident scene was replaced with the studio newscast set and an attractive blonde-haired woman was ready with her piece.

  “Thank you, Steven,” she said. “Police are posting a warning to Fontana residents after a series of vicious attacks that have left several people hospitalized with bite wounds. The attackers are suspected of being a group of homeless men roaming the streets at night. Police are urging residents to stay in after sunset and to lock their doors and all their windows. Also…”

  In the restroom, Nick zipped up after using the urinal, went over to the bank of sinks, and turned on the hot water. After washing his hands, he splashed water on his face. He looked at his reflection in the scratched mirror and smirked. “Randy is an asshole,” he said to himself and laughed. He thought he was alone, until he heard a noise from the back of the restroom, maybe a person’s feet hitting the tile in a stall. He ignored it and dried off his face and hands; he was about to leave when the door of the last stall banged open and a person fell out to the floor. Nick jumped out of his skin. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me! You alright, man?” he said.

  Lying on his side in the fetal position, this person had his back to Nick.

  “Hey, you okay?” Nick asked but got no reply.

  The person rolled over and got up on his knees and it was a woman.

  “Seriously? Am I in the wrong place here, sweetie; don’t you think you should be next door?” Nick said with a smile.

  Then he noticed that she was ill—more than that, she was very sick. She shook uncontrollably and sweat dripped down her pale, blotchy skin; some sweat drops trailed down her arms next to her dark veins that resembled serpents. Nick saw the bloody bandage that was around her right forearm as it soaked up the sweat trails, but he didn’t see that her eyes were a little milky. “My God. What’s wrong with you?” Nick asked in shock.

  She struggled to speak. “Please…help…sick.”

  Nick approached her. “You need to sit down, let me help you up.” He reached out to her, and she suddenly became angry and struck at him in a wild burst, scratching his neck. Nick stepped back, touched his neck and looked at the blood on his fingers. His neck was bleeding, not very much, but it bled. “Damn it! What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?” he shouted.

  Another man happened to enter the restroom and came upon the scene.

  She fought to get out words. “Sorry…I’m sick…get help.”

  Nick saw the man behind him. “Get security,” he told him and the man left.

  “Help is on the way, okay, lady. Just relax.”

  The sick woman stayed in place on her knees, but she was still shaking badly and then it turned violent. She began to convulse and excess amounts of saliva poured from her mouth.

  “Attention, this is the last boarding call for British Airways Flight 282 to London at gate 25,” a voice announced over the airport PA system.

  Nick looked at his wristwatch and then looked at the sick woman, she was getting worse and he was getting nervous. He started to back up to leave and then two airport police officers arrived behind him, along with the man that Nick sent to get them. “What’s the problem here?” the first officer asked.

  “She’s sick,” Nick answered.

  “Does she have a medical condition?” the second officer asked.

  “I don’t know her, Officer, this is how I found her,” Nick said.

  The woman cried out in agony and fell back on the floor; the two officers turned their attention to her and moved closer.

  “Miss, can you tell us what’s wrong? Are you taking any medication?” the second officer said to her but got no response and then she went into convulsions as her eyes rolled back into their sockets.

  “Control, this is 517, we’re gonna need EMTs in the British Airways bathroom of terminal four in Tom Bradley, we have a woman that appears to be having an epileptic seizure.” the first officer reported into his radio.

  The woman’s seizure became more violent as she tossed around crazily and the two officers tried to restrain her by grabbing her arms and legs. The woman’s crotch turned dark as she pissed and the following smell was unmistakable—she shat herself.

  “Christ,” one officer said.

  The man that brought the police stood there transfixed by the spectacle, and then Nick slowly stepped back to leave. She began to yell from pain and thrashed around even more, the two officers, who were strong men, were having trouble holding her down. Nick picked up his briefcase and walked away as quietly as he could, but just before he turned the corner—he looked at the woman one last time and she locked stares with him—Nick couldn’t believe it when he saw her eyes change color, especially her pupils that became deep red.

  He walked out panic stricken. Nick made hurried steps for the British Airways gate; halfway there, he could still hear the woman yelling in pain and then it stopped. No more cries, but what he heard next made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

  She howled in a twisted screech, and then one of the officers in the bathroom with her screamed.

  Nick walked faster and got to the gate; luckily, the airline personnel hadn’t heard the commotion that he came from and they took his ticket with smiling faces.

  He went down the boarding ramp and didn’t look back.

  Two female flight attendants and the copilot greeted passengers at the plane’s entrance. An elderly gentleman ahead of Nick asked the copilot. “Are you the captain of this fine vessel, sir?”

  “No, sir, I’m the copilot.” he answered.

  “Ah, I see. I was a pilot in the RAF during World War II: too bad we didn’t have aircraft such as this back then, we would have won the war much more quickly.” the old man said.

  “Yes, sir. It’s an honor to have you aboard, sir.”

  “Thank you, lad.”

  The flight attendant took Nick’s ticket. “Right this way, sir,” she said in a soft British accent and led him up a staircase to the first class section, which only a dozen people sat. Nick walked by two other flight attendants that were talking and caught some flight detail in his ear as he passed—“So how many are we feeding on this trip?” one flight attendant asked.

  “Not that many, only 537,” the other answered.

  She directed him to his ample seat and reached for his briefcase. “Allow me to take that for you, sir.” She place
d his briefcase in a private locker and came back to him.

  “Can I offer you anything to drink, sir?” she asked with a row of white teeth.

  “Uh, yeah, get me a seven and seven,” Nick said.

  “Very good.”

  “Make it a double.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Nick walked back to the staircase and looked down at the plane’s door hatch that he entered to see if it was still open, and it was.

  He heard that woman’s terrible howl in the echo of his mind, and he wanted that hatch shut. He would be safe once it was closed, but they didn’t close it.

  He looked away from it and rubbed his eyes—he saw her eyes in his dark eyelids and then they turned blood red.

  He quickly walked back to his seat, “Stewardess, where’s my drink?” he said loudly.

  “Here you are, sir.”

  He downed it in one gulp before she could walk away. “Bring me another.”

  She took his glass and then noticed something. “Sir, you’re bleeding.”

  “What?”

  She pointed. “On your neck, you’re bleeding.”

  Nick touched his neck and looked at his blood stained fingers.

  “Shit,” he said under his breath.

  “I’ll bring you a bandage,” she said and left.

  Nick heard a distinctive sound coming from the first deck; he rushed over to the staircase again and saw them closing the plane’s hatch. It locked into place. He went back to his seat, sat down and reclined back, let out a long breath of relief. A couple minutes later, the flight attendant returned with his second drink and a bandage.

  “Another seven and seven, sir, and a bandage.”

  “Thank you.”

  He got up with his drink and the bandage, and went to the restroom.

  Once inside, he locked the door and looked at himself in the mirror. The wound on his neck wasn’t a scratch so much as it was a gash in his skin, and it bled with a slow but constant pace. The RETURN TO YOUR SEAT sign lit up and chimed, but he ignored it. He used tissue to stop the bleeding, but it was only temporary as it continued to bleed a few seconds later. He tore a small tissue piece and stuck it to his cut, and then he opened the bandage packet. He removed the tissue on his neck and placed the bandage over the cut. Done.

  He washed his hands and left the restroom.

  Nick fastened his seatbelt, and then he heard a flight attendant finish her greeting to the passengers: “—We hope you enjoy your non-stop flight with us and our flight time to London Heathrow is approximately ten hours and thirty minutes. Thank you for choosing British Airways.”

  Nick sat there thinking about the woman in the bathroom…

  He took a drink.

  The echo of her howl penetrated his soul…

  The bandage on his neck had a red spot in the center that was slowly expanding.

  He took another drink.

  He saw her eyes change…

  The plane’s engines powered up.

  He closed his eyes and shook it off.

  He finished his drink.

  The bandage on his neck was completely red and began to leak as blood pooled at the bottom.

  He raised his empty glass and shook it.

  “Stewardess!”

  The plane began to move.

  Blood trickled down his neck and the small veins around the wound became visible as they darkened.

  They were the roots of an evil growth that couldn’t be stopped…

  OVER THE NORTH ATLANTIC

  The British Airways Airbus a380 was alone in the sky and passing the southern tip of Greenland and heading out into the North Atlantic, approaching the Irish Sea for England with nothing but endless water beneath her. The setting sun behind the plane shimmered off its metal skin and split light into rainbows that twinkled the remainder of the day. The mood lighting came on inside the aircraft, supposedly to combat jetlag.

  This jet was more of a palace than it was a passenger plane, and its amenities were a testament to that. It was a double-decker aircraft. The upper deck was the first class and business class sections, and passengers up there were treated to luxury seating with flight attendants that served their every whim. The lower deck was the economy class section; it held the bulk of the passengers on this flight, which were more than 400 people.

  In the middle of the plane, seated just in front of the starboard wing—the right wing—was Paul Hubber. Average looking guy in his early thirties, short blonde hair and blue eyes, average build, he wasn’t overweight, but he wasn’t “Mr. Gym,” either. He wore black khaki pants with thigh pockets and a flannel shirt. He looked out the window with wondering eyes and a heavy heart; this wasn’t a good time in his life.

  “Excuse me, sir, what would you like for dinner?” a flight attendant asked him.

  Paul didn’t hear her because he wasn’t in the plane; in his mind, he already landed and was trying to fix a personal situation.

  “Sir?” the stewardess said.

  “I’m sorry, what is it?” Paul said with a British accent as his eyes focused back on reality.

  “We have chicken, fish, or meatloaf for dinner, which would you like?”

  “Oh, uh, I’ll take the chicken, please.”

  She grabbed a plate from her cart and Paul lowered his tray for her.

  “Thank you.”

  “Would you like anything to drink?” she asked.

  “No, thanks, I’m fine.”

  “Very well, enjoy,” she said and moved on.

  He sat in a three-seat bank and the seat in the middle was vacant; seated at the edge was an older man in a suit that looked like a worn out businessman. He didn’t seem like the flight conversation-type.

  Paul had some of his dinner; it was adequate, but really just a glorified TV dinner. He glanced up toward first class. “I’ll bet the food up there is much better,” he said to himself.

  “You have no idea,” the man at the end of the row said, he was American.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I use to fly first class all the time until my company did some cutbacks. Now it’s economy all the way, baby,” the man said with a grin.

  “At least you have a job.”

  “Yeah, there’s that.” He extended his hand. “I’m George.”

  Paul shook his hand, “I’m Paul, pleasure to meet you, George.”

  “Likewise.”

  Up toward the front of the plane, seated by the staircase that led to the first and business class sections, were a couple of guys in their twenties, brash Brits full of attitude. By their muscular bodies, the way they were dressed, and their haircuts, it was all too obvious that they were both in the British Army. They had already finished their dinners. “So, let me get this straight, you think that you can beat my time in that obstacle course, is that what you’re saying?” Jeffrey said to his friend.

  Richard seemed to be the dumb one of the pair. “Well, yeah, I just need some more practice and I can beat you.”

  “How much more practice do you want, mate, fifty years?”

  “I don’t think I need that much time—“

  “—Richard. I was kidding.”

  “Oh. I knew that.”

  “Yeah, sure ya did,” Jeffrey said and punched him in the arm.

  Richard returned the punch, then Jeffrey did again, then Richard did again, back and forth with more severity each time and then a pretty stewardess came by and they stopped. “Wait, wait, wait, look at this,” Jeffrey said under his breath.

  “Hello, gentlemen, can I take your plates for you then?” she asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Richard said.

  Jeffrey wanted something else. “That’s not all you can take, lovely, I’d like to give you my heart, what do you say to that then?”

  She showed him the wedding ring on her finger. “Sorry, I already have one.”

  “Ouch. Well, but he’s not here now, is he?” Jeffrey said with a big smile.

  “Actually, he is. He’s t
he copilot,” she said and pointed to the cockpit that was a few feet away.

  “Copilot? I see. But he’s not the captain, is he? I’m a captain in the Army.”

  Richard corrected him. “No, you’re not.”

  And Jeffrey elbowed him in the ribs. “Shut it, you fuckwitt, I’m talking to the lady.” He returned his attention to her. “This is my best mate, Richard, and I’m Jeffrey. What’s your name then?”

  “Suzanne.”

  “What a lovely name,” Richard said.

  She smiled. “Thank you.” She took their dinner plates. “Can I offer you gentlemen anything to drink?”

  “Yes, please, can I have Guinness, thank you,” Richard said.

  “Me, too, love, because I. Am. Very. Thirsty.” Jeffrey said with long words and a wink.

  “Oh my,” she said and left.

  “Why do you embarrass me like that?” Richard asked.

  “I embarrass you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shut up.”

  Richard gave him a serious look and then they busted out laughing. “You do know that she wants me, right?” Richard said.

  “I’m sure she does.”

  “You didn’t see her looking at my willie?”

  Jeffrey almost choked. “What?”

  Up the staircase to first class, Nick was lying back in his seat that extended into a bed; he was asleep, but it wasn’t sound. He occasionally tossed and turned; other passengers glanced at his restlessness, but they didn’t concern themselves too much. They would be concerned if they got a good look at his face. The blanket hid what festered in Nick’s skin. His face had blotches of gray tinge; he sweated more than normal and shivered badly. He opened his eyes and they rolled around while he tried to focus on his surroundings. His eyes looked pale.

  “Stewardess!” he called out.

  The same flight attendant came and she looked slightly annoyed with him, but kept up her professionalism. “Yes, sir?”

  “Get me another drink, would you?” Nick said with a tired voice.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea, sir? Perhaps you should have some dinner or would you care for some water?”