Flight To Pandemonium Page 10

  Mac scribbled furiously in his spiral pocketbook to record what was important.

  “Today CDC is releasing updated statistics on tragic fatalities from the influenza around the world. Since the pandemic began in central Asia approximately 30 days ago, more than one hundred million people have perished. Each day from the beginning, the death toll has nearly doubled. The figures do not include statistics from China. The World Health Organization reports that Asian data is no longer available.

  “Since discovery of the virus a week later within the population of the United States, the toll within our borders is likely 20 million inhabitants but that figure cannot be confirmed. The CDC reports the disease remains in the acceleration stage of a pandemic wave, meaning that the number of cases is steadily increasing with no end in sight.

  “The reason for such a pessimistic assessment is that the biological configuration and epidemiology of the virus have yet to be understood. The emergence of a mutated bat-flu strain of the disease was unknown to science and complicates the study. Once the manner of human transmission is understood, then a laboratory vaccine can be developed. Following that, weeks are required to mass produce the vaccine in sufficient quantity for mass immunization. Given the extraordinary virulence of the disease, all research must be conducted within the world’s most design hardened and exceptional pathology laboratories. Far too many deaths have already occurred among volunteer pathologists and biochemists first organized to fight the influenza in unsafe conditions.

  “We now bring the controversial topic of quarantine back to the forefront.

  “For weeks, debate raged over the efficacy of using rigid quarantines to curtail human-to-human transmission and amplification of the disease. Rather than reaching national consensus, compromise boundaries were established by negotiation with regional authorities especially in food growing regions. This is midseason harvest for most root products such as potatoes and sugar beets, and for most tree products such as apples and pears. Farmers and distributers insisted on remaining exempt from restrictions to bring desperately needed food to urban markets. The resulting quarantine boundaries proved to be arbitrary, misunderstood, and rather like urban detention centers without compassion. Most families feared the constraining boundaries and conspired to defeat them. Consequently the plague raged around arbitrary boundaries.

  “With the new presidential order, quarantine boundaries are rigid indeed. The existing jurisdictional boundary for every town, city, county, and state in the country and for every federal national park, or monument is now the designated perimeter of each quarantine. No one is permitted to cross any boundary except active duty soldiers. The Army National Guard will enforce quarantine peripheries. Local authorities will provide fire and police protection within their jurisdictions as always.

  “The new quarantine order renews humanitarian objections. Residents seeking food or medical assistance will be trapped within boundaries lacking those necessities. The world’s best system of food distribution will collapse. Soon, the most sought after commodities will be scarce or unavailable. Police officials will be unwilling to suppress looters or disturbances over fear of acquiring the disease. Banks will close and cash will cease to be available for exchange. Electricity will eventually fail. Chaos will be inevitable.

  “I’m sure you’ve heard all this before. But think about what’s happened. What choice do we have? The experts tell us this disease will otherwise rage on with no letup in sight. Drastic measures must be taken. Without hardnosed quarantines, that flu will squeeze through every crack in the dike. We’ve got to provide a safe haven for our care givers to work up a solution and apply a remedy for those who remain alive.

  “The grounding of all commercial flights went into effect at midnight, eastern time, around… twenty minutes ago. About now, I’m sure people are finding themselves stuck all over the country without a way home… and thinking of their forsaken families. And forsaken has got me thinking as well…

  “By now, I’m sure you realize I’ve abandoned my script. I have a few things to say myself. If there ever was a moment in broadcasting to put newspeak aside and talk plainly, it’s now!

  “Just before this program began, I noticed several people in this studio coughing with congestion. By tomorrow, all of us here will be too sick to come to work. By the next night, all of us will be dead! If you can hear my voice trembling, so is my whole body. I didn’t really grasp the ending until a few minutes ago. I was so busy doing my job.

  “The inescapable reality of the plague is this… if you get the flu, you die! None of the previous flu remedies work. Hospital care might extend your life a few days but who wants that? So far nothing will cure that demon… nothing.”

  A commotion of voices could be heard faintly in the studio background. Gwen paused long, apparently listening, and then continued…

  “Some people in this studio consider themselves pragmatists so have a few real life suggestions. They say… get together with your sick family, bring water and few blankets, find a nice comfortable place to sit or lie down, and help one another die with love and compassion.

  “Another alternative they think is more humane. Get comfortable in a nice airtight room, lock the door, and die by asphyxiation. It’s supposed to be painless.

  “I think I’ll go home and cry,” Gwen concluded. “What’s to become of my darling little Molly?”

  A long uninterrupted silence followed without a studio sign-off. The broadcast switched awkwardly to the recorded voice of the Vice President of the United States. He explained that the President and members of his cabinet had been safely sequestered so they could carry on the federal campaign against the disease.

  The President promised to deliver help, hope and the full commitment of every resource at his disposal to defeat the pandemic. They were fully sympathetic to the dreadful consequences of the quarantine on families.’

  The Vice President quickly closed, ‘I am grieved to tell you how this tragedy has reached us personally. A short while ago, I was informed that my entire family and I have been diagnosed with the disease. Pray, Almighty God, help us. Good bye to you, my friends, one and all.’

  As a conclusion, the station broadcast the celebrated song and prayer by Martin Luther King, We Shall Overcome, which seemed especially poignant for the moment.

  The last touch brought tears to Mac’s eyes and he could hear others aboard weeping as well. When he reflected on the conclusion, he realized that solutions hadn’t been discussed. So many promising remedies had failed. The intention of the broadcast seemed to be a closing benediction and was the reason the song seemed so appropriate… a desperate prayer for a positive turnabout some distant day… truly astonishing.

  Mac’s thoughts were troubled. What of Heather in Seattle? Or had she died in Washington DC? Would he ever know? He could think of nothing else to do but record his thoughts… and hoped that his Heather might do the same. Mac now had a personal reason for continuing his journal; he would convey his story and daily thoughts to Heather, however they might ultimately be heard.

  Mac gazed out the portholes watching the setting sun. The Otter was flying through rugged snow covered mountains whose peaks and ridges glowed amber while their slopes and valleys progressively deepened in shadow. Huge jagged ridges with overhanging cornices of snow passed by in dreamlike slow motion. Nearby peaks towered above the airplane displaying precipitous slopes with dark streaks of avalanche chutes. The sun illuminated the backside of a distant snow peak with edges of crystal beauty… a silver lining. Mac resolved to keep that picture in his mind.

  With a topography chart on his lap, Tony discussed passing features, trying to get oriented. After conferring with Ted, Tony and Jack seemed to settle the matter.

  Mac asked, “Have you three reckoned where we are?”

  “Yea, we’re over the Alaska Range south of Denali Park,”
said Tony.

  “I have a general idea where that is, but what’s the nearest town?”

  “Talkeetna.”

  “That where we’re headed?”

  “Only long enough to let anyone off who wants out. Then we’re moving on to a safer place we have in mind.”

  “Mind showing me where?”

  Tony pointed to a spot east of Talkeetna. The map showed nothing but rural topography displaying tightly spaced contours and streams. Mac looked up puzzled.

  “I know… doesn’t show a landing strip. That’s the point. Ted remembers an old airstrip on top of a ridge near an abandoned mine. Just the place we need.”

  “With this thing?”

  “Ted says landing will be dicey, but he thinks the Otter can take the punishment.”

  “So that’s where we ditch authorities and that bug at the same time.”

  “That’s the plan. The Captain says they haven’t got much fuel left.”

  “These people know any of this?”

  “No, and I doubt they’re thinkin’ about much ‘cept that broadcast.”

  As the Captain began his approach to Talkeetna, watching intently, he turned to Pappy. “I’m certain we’re on course, but I don’t see beacons. Power must be off.”

  “Try clicking the mike… six times.”

  The Captain clicked… “Nothing.”

  “I see that. Better let me have control. I know this approach even in the dark.”

  “You’ve got it. I see only a few lights along the highway.”

  Pappy settled the Otter lower. “No lights in Talkeetna either.”

  Lining up the aircraft without beacons on the dimly visible runway, Pappy suddenly recoiled, “Damn! There’s a wreck on the threshold. I’m goin’ long.” The Captain said, “There’s something dead center on the runway as well.”

  “Looks like a snowplow. That’s it, I’m goin’ around.”

  As he accelerated and climbed, Pappy said, “Some bastard deliberately parked that snowplow to block the runway.”

  “Take a quick look on either side. There must be a hundred aircraft here,” said the Captain. “There’s an MD80 off the runway in the trees, and a 90 over to the west with people standing beside it. No wonder they blocked it.”

  “Damn, we need to drop these nuns and nurses off. See anywhere to put down?”

  Pappy banked and approached the runway from the oblique to get a better view. After a long look, he said, “Can you believe this? Might make it, but then we couldn’t take off again. Nowhere else I can see except maybe the Parks Highway. Let’s bank west to the other side of the river and see what we find.”

  A few minutes later directly above the tree lined highway, Pappy exclaimed, “Damn, three lines of cars as far as I can see! Worse than the airport.”

  “Another great moment in your plan,” said the Captain acidly. “You guys had a backup, I presume?”

  “That was the backup!”

  “Oh brilliant! Land on the busiest highway in Alaska… at night! And such a fine disappearing act! I won’t even ask what’s next on your mind.”

  “Take ‘em with us, I guess,” replied Pappy. “We can’t go flying around at night looking for something better, and south ‘a here is bug country for sure. Besides, now we’ve got less than an hour’s fuel.”

  Ted overhearing the conversation at the door of the cockpit added, “Well, this is a bitch. I can see the problem. But we didn’t bring provisions for so many people.”

  “Well, Ted, have any brilliant ideas from this morning?” asked Pappy.

  “How about south; we were thinking Seward Peninsula. Still rural but warmer.”

  “Way beyond our range,” replied Pappy. “We need fuel. Landing anywhere near Anchorage puts us back in bug country.”

  The Captain said emphatically, “Then they’re our responsibility since you invited them along.”

  “All right, then, we’re heading east for that mining strip,” said Pappy grimly.

  In the cabin, Tony, Jack, and Mac focused on the Talkeetna airport again as the Otter headed east. They were shocked by the chaos and the abandoned airliner on the tarmac.

  “Look there at the far end of the runway,” said Jack. “Something didn’t make it.”

  “Because they blocked the runway with that blade,” said Tony.

  “We’re outta luck, I think,” said Mac as the plane banked. “No way can they land here.” All doubt was answered as the aircraft turned and climbed away from Talkeetna.

  “Looks like we’re taking this whole bunch with us,” said Jack.

  “Then they’re about to get a shock. No one has told ‘em,” said Tony.

  “How are they going to find an old airstrip at night?” pondered Mac. “I can’t see anything on the ground anymore.”

  “Help me look for landmarks,” Pappy requested. “First will be a big lake. I want to line up on the river just north of the lake and follow the next ridge for that old strip.”

  The last rays of twilight illuminated only the horizon. While Pappy concentrated on the instruments to maintain his heading, the Captain scrutinizing the ground, barely able to see detail.

  “There’s your lake. You’re just north of it, but perfectly lined up for the next ridge, so stay the course. Ground’s rising fast. Soon you’ll see trees in the lights. Good God! Is that your airstrip? It looks like an overgrown jeep trail!”

  “And I’m going to need every foot… may even clip a few spruce trees comin’ in.”

  “Let’s walk away from this, shall we!” replied the Captain anxiously.

  “Take the throttles. I’ll have my hands full of treetops and we can’t go around. I see a mine structure on the horizon so one shot is all we’ll have.”

  The ground rose up under them even as the aircraft gently climbed. On they went, treetops flashing by just beneath the wings.

  Bang! The starboard propeller struck a tree. Bang! Another treetop, this time hitting a wing, shearing off the tree top. A cacophony of hammering and battering erupted as the wheels sprayed gravel against the metal fuselage in undulating waves while the landing gear bounced over the uneven airstrip.

  Propellers clattered as the pitch changed, slowing the aircraft. The turboprop engines shrieked while the Otter hurtled along the gravel strip. A shocking lurch raised the nose of the airplane, followed instantly by another shock caused by the tail violently striking ground. Gravel exploded against the fuselage as the port propeller struck the ground and abruptly stopped. The plane yawed up a slope, settled back and came to rest in a cloud of dust.

  The starboard engine quieted, spooling down, apparently unharmed. Stunned, no one spoke. Mac’s firmly planted feet pressed him into his seatback. Some warning device forward beeped continuously. Beneath bright landing lights, Mac could see the plane rested against a slope of loose gravel.

  Ted ran to the boarding hatch at the rear of the cabin, and pushed hard. The door didn’t budge.

  “Gimme some help,” he said anxiously.

  The miners put their weight against the door setting off another electronic alarm. The door remained shut. Ted examined the latch.

  “Sonofabitch! The latch is free. Whole damn hatch has gotta be tweaked.”

  “Stand back,” said Jack. “Let me try.”

  Jack backed against the opposite seat and launched himself toward the hatch delivering a titanic jolt with his boot. The door flung open and cold dusty air wafted inside the cabin.

  With the tail firmly planted on gravel, a single high step remained from the cabin threshold to the ground. Ted led the way carrying a fire extinguisher. Mac grabbed his seat blanket and jumped free. Ted, Mac and the miners gathered thirty feet away surveying the scene, tasting dust. Clouds of brown grit drifted beyond the light
s, but no smoke. Mac’s fright subsided.

  The landing lights illuminated a flight attendant helping the female nursing contingent step out of the cabin who gathered around two nuns dressed in full white habits. Tlingit, last to exit and ignoring everyone else, wandered alone into the night. Both pilots remained in the cockpit while Martha moved among the passengers checking to be sure no one was injured.

  Ted climbed the talus slope to make a quick survey of the aircraft for trouble. With fire extinguisher in hand, he examined the port engine where a wisp of vapor still vented from its cowling. There was no fire, just a lingering smell of something scorched and all five blades of the propeller having radically bent.

  Standing on the slope, Ted could see inside the cockpit. Ted hailed Pappy who opened a narrow window facing Ted to listen.

  Ted announced, “No fire, no leaks… no worries.”

  “We’re still holding the brakes. Are we stable?”

  Ted scrambled to check, “All looks clear, but let ‘em off slow while I watch.”

  The nose settled as the airplane eased back until movement stopped.

  Ted hailed from beneath, “Wheel is against a rock, but looks copasetic to me.”

  The landing lights extinguished. All went black, except for the glow of a three quarter moon low in the sky. Pale interior lights through the portholes faintly illuminated the standing passengers outside.

  Ten Kotzebue hospital workers huddled with grim faces. Two middle aged men among them stood head and shoulders above the others. One was dressed in casual denim clothes who wore pony tailed hair pulled behind and tied with dark ribbon. The other shivered wearing only a thin rumpled white lab coat. The two, scowling in whispered conversation, backed away as Mac drew near to offer his blanket as a wrap.