Flight To Pandemonium Page 4

  “Yea, well ya pro’bly smell better’n half the folks ‘round here.”

  “Can I get a wakeup call at six?”

  Reluctantly, the clerk replied, “Okay, but if yer goin’ to the airport, ya better check yer flight. ’Cause if yer plans go bust, there’s nothin’ tomorrow night, neither. But if you want a little insurance, I can arrange that,” he said, rubbing his forefingers and thumb together in the classic gesture.

  When a boorish reply immediately came to mind, Mac thought he shouldn’t be part of ‘another round’ of hard words, so replied, “C-note do it again?”

  The clerk just nodded and handed him a key while Mac fished out the note.

  Mac called Alaska Airlines from his room. They confirmed his reservation for the morning flight, told him to be at the terminal by seven for screening, and assured him that any delay would be reasonable. What more was there to ask? Had anyone ever received a realistic answer from airline reservations?

  Remembering the clerk’s suggestion, he turned on the television. Try as he might, he got only a solid blue screen. He pictured the clerk with his hand out again… but the problem was probably just the cable service.

  Mac turned to the surprise gift from Abel tied with yellow ribbon. Underneath the stiff tanned leather wrapping were more layers of coarse yellowing paper interspersed with leafy vegetable matter. Someone had troubled to wrap the gift securely.

  The gift was a copper headed hatchet, cast with markings which looked to Mac like Russian Cyrillic lettering. Elaborately tooled leather wrapped the hardwood handle depicting game animals in wilderness scenes. The leather was edged intricately with sewn beads alternating with tiny brilliantly colored feathers forming a regal decoration.

  What a remarkable personal gift, Mac thought. He’d guard the hatchet with his life and find a proper expert in Seattle to evaluate its authenticity. He carefully rewrapped and placed the gift in his backpack together with the smoked salmon. He used Abel’s yellow gift ribbon to flag his pack for quick recognition later.

  Now all he wanted was a long night’s rest in a soft bed with real sheets. Thinking of Heather, he dialed her but got nothing beyond restoring the dial tone. Thinking fondly of her, he hoped that after three weeks, her employer had better control of that flu.

  His wake up call did not come in the morning. Fortunately, Mac awoke early but found the front desk unmanned. Without a shuttle, Mac walked two miles to the terminal building, late for check-in, but his tardiness didn’t matter.

  Crowded, grim faced travelers occasionally glanced at the unchanging flight information screen. Three flights for the morning all read ‘delayed.’ While checking his backpack on the counter scale, he learned that his scheduled flight hadn’t left Anchorage. The harried agent explained that the aircraft was taken out of service ‘briefly’ while the cabin was cleaned.

  Suffocating by the press of people, Mac wandered outdoors to have a casual smoke and keep an eye on flight arrivals. After three hours, none of the scheduled morning flights had arrived so no one was processed through security. Assembled morning passengers overwhelmed the small check-in lobby and spilled outdoors.

  A breathless woman dressed in an airline uniform pushed into the packed lobby explaining with her bullhorn: “Due to canceled flights originating in Anchorage, and delays beyond our control in Seattle, all flights departing from Nome today are canceled. We are unable to provide overnight accommodation. If you must travel tomorrow, call reservations.”

  Angry voices shouted shrill questions at the woman. “What’s the number? Are we on a waiting list? Are you taking questions?” She shook her head silently. Clearly she had no authority to arrange anything. Mac thought hanging around the lounge any longer was pointless.

  His backpack had disappeared through fabric flaps in the wall behind the check-in counter. Aside from his cell phone his pack contained all of his possessions including his cold weather clothes. He would wait until he learned where to find his backpack.

  The only restaurant at the terminal was out of business. Missing breakfast left only a vending machine with packages of cheese and crackers. He turned on his cell phone to dial Heather. The prerecorded message announced, ‘You have reached a number which has been disconnected or is no longer in service…’ Mac shut it off feeling instant anxiety. ‘Now, what the hell?’ he wondered. He carefully dialed again and received the same message. He swiped his cell phone app for news and was startled by the bold headline:

  Worldwide Panic!

  A brief report described a pandemic of acute respiratory influenza overwhelming medical facilities around the world. The toll of confirmed deaths stood at more than a million people. The disease continued to bypass quarantines. Shuttered urban hospitals and overburdened Red Cross facilities guaranteed acute suffering and death on every continent. Most countries had closed their borders. New York, Atlanta, Los Angeles, and other U.S. cities had established quarantine boundaries by their own authority. More were sure to follow, and the President had yet to take necessary action, the article opined.

  An AP newswire grabbed his attention.

  “Today in Atlanta, the Center for Disease Control has urgently recommended that the President declare a state of national emergency and impose a nationwide quarantine to halt interstate commerce, intercity travel, and all public gatherings, especially indoor church congregations.

  “Such a sweeping declaration is bitterly contentious among state governors and religious groups. The imposition would be unnecessarily broad, an unreasonable hardship on urban residents, and pragmatically unenforceable. Such a measure, they say, would only increase national suffering by denying food, humanitarian aid, and comfort to those most in need.

  “At the very least, the CDC has long urged that all air traffic be suspended until the pandemic could be brought under control. Together with restricting ground transportation, the compromise measure has near unanimous endorsement. Widely regarded by health experts as the only realistic policy to arrest spread of the influenza, deliveries of food and medical supplies would be allowed to continue. Presidential action is expected to include a national declaration of emergency, nationwide activation of the National Guard, and an order grounding all air traffic except military flights. Speculation by White House insiders considers a comprehensive announcement likely within the next forty eight hours.”

  Mac was stunned and read the newswire from the beginning. No wonder the hotel clerk suggested turning on the television. Alaska Airlines had canceled all flights leaving Nome! This far flung corner of the globe wouldn’t likely garner much priority. But traveling home on three long flights through four crowded terminal buildings didn’t seem like good odds to avoid that bug anyway.

  Urgently, he needed to calm down and decide on a plan. His options seemed simple…stay or leave, but which? Call on Abel’s help again or somehow catch a flight out. Nothing else made any sense.

  5

  Bellingham, Washington, September 26th. “No way am I going back there,” said Barbara who taught third grade. “Two third grade children got sick yesterday and were sent home. I’ve called in sick myself and for the girls. This bat flu thing is getting way scary so close to home.”

  “Then the time has come to drive to Mount Olympia,” said Lazlo Fodor. “Why don’t you and Papa take the girls to the cabin and stay there while I’m on rotation. I’ll help you pack.”

  “Then you aren’t coming with us, Laz? We really need you.”

  “We can’t both lose our jobs over this flu bug. If I don’t show up for my rotation, that will be that. No excuses. They called me just this morning to verify I’m coming. Too many of us have cancelled already. I’ll be back in ten days. You’ll be safe with my father; he’s a police officer. He’s always happy helping you with the kids.”

  “Well you’re my husband, not him. But, I suppose we should go to the cabi
n.”

  “Definitely; you’ll all be better off isolated way up there instead of here.”

  By morning Lazlo and his father had carefully sorted and roped a pickup load of fresh food, clean bedding, and every refuge necessity their suburban home could provide. His father had even armed himself.

  “Laz, won’t you change your mind? Even Papa thinks you should come.”

  “Barb, I’ve worked for British Petroleum for more than twenty years. I can’t throw away my pension by quitting now. Prudhoe Bay has got to be one of the most remote places on the planet and far from trouble. I should be fine and besides… I told them I’d be there.”

  “But you won’t be far from trouble. Everyone who works up there comes from cities.”

  “No matter where you come from, if you’re sick, you don’t fly. I’ve never missed my rotation. Maybe I’m a fool, but I just can’t back out after I gave them my word.”

  “Well, I love this fool anyway,” she said. Standing on tiptoes, she kissed her blond, stubborn, work-hardened husband goodbye.

  As Lazlo watched his family climb into the pickup, doubt prompted him to reconsider… maybe we shouldn’t be separating at a time like this. But on reflection, twenty-two years of reliable duty called louder.

  Lazlo packed his carry-on backpack with his best winter clothes, a few Snickers bars, and changed to his yellow striped coveralls and heavy work boots. Knowing it might be confiscated, he pocketed a Swiss army knife. He drove the family Honda to Bellingham airport, entered the departure lounge, and got in the short screening line.

  No passenger was screened and presently, his flight was called early for boarding a Horizon charter flight to Prudhoe Bay. Boarding the Boeing 737 nearly last brought a surprise. The aircraft, normally fully booked, was obviously less than half occupied. A fellow British Petroleum oilfield rigger waived to him as he walked down the aisle. Lazlo halted facing his friend.

  Without a greeting, Lazlo asked, “Did you get a call asking if you were coming to work?”

  “Yea, I did,” he replied. “But watching so few faces I know get on this flight, I’m thinkin’ I made a big mistake.”

  “Same thought I’m having,” replied Lazlo and took his seat in an empty row.

  The flight to Prudhoe Bay departed immediately and Lazlo stretched out his long legs to sleep as best he could. He catnapped nearly the entire way to the scheduled stopover in Anchorage. Fully awake, he felt altitude congested and lethargic. Consequently, he remained in his seat while several more BP employees boarded the flight. This time the flight was long delayed in departing. Refreshments of iced sodas and orange juice were served while the aircraft slowly advanced behind others on the taxiway to its takeoff clearance position.

  Lazlo began coughing and felt worse. An hour into the flight, he coughed continuously. An airline steward asked if he would rather recline more comfortably at the rear of the aircraft. The request obviously wasn’t a request and Lazlo complied. His congestion grew worse. When he stood after the flight landed at Deadhorse, a spasm of hacking overtook him, and he sought the aircraft toilet. He was long recovering and realized that authorities were probably waiting for him. The plane was vacant.

  Descending the mobile boarding stairs with his carry-on, a blast of frigid wind washed over his face stimulating his sinuses to flood stage. A man in a security uniform called to him as he began walking across the tarmac to the terminal. Seeking only warmth, Lazlo walked on ignoring him. A baggage tug drew up and its driver blocked Lazlo’s path.

  Standing well clear, the security guard said, “I’ve been directed to conduct you to the airport infirmary. Kindly climb on that tug and you will be driven to a doctor who will examine you. You appear to be quite ill.”

  “I’m supposed to report for work,” Lazlo replied feebly.

  “Not today, my friend, and not sick. I have my orders.”

  The drive to the infirmary was fully exposed to the arctic wind and when Lazlo arrived, he was so congested he was barely able to walk. Someone opened a door, pitched his backpack inside and pointed to a bed. Removing his boots, he collapsed on the bed and blacked out.

  Slowly regaining his senses, Lazlo awoke in a space flooded with light without knowing where he was. Pushing himself to clear his head, he remembered leaving an airliner and being forced to ride in frigid wind to find this place. Slowly feeling his way, he realized that he was lying on a narrow bed covered with thick blankets. He felt warm, but weak and congested with the worst cold of his life. Squinting his eyes against the light and moving his head timidly for the first time, he looked about. He was in a silent, unadorned white room with an empty bed, a retracted partition drapery, and a spartan white metal chair.

  When he spotted his familiar carry-on backpack standing in a corner, his memory came flooding back… the airport infirmary… a woman talking to him through a window… a doctor would examine him. But he couldn’t remember being examined or much of anything else.

  He did remember being frightened while he was last awake. That bug, bat plague or whatever… they thought he might be sick with it. Better understanding came rapidly. A new person behind the window was talking to him. He understood her words as his mind cleared.

  “The fact that you’re awake brings us some apprehension. There’s no way to explain this gracefully. We didn’t think you would wake up so here’s what we’re going to do in fairness to you and to everyone else working here. We’re going to isolate you in an empty dormitory building. We have no medical isolation room at this camp or any means of testing you for the bat virus. So… you will remain in isolation without assistance. No one here will volunteer to help you because if you did acquire that disease, anyone exposed to you would die. We’ll give you five days of food and a five day z-pack with steroids which will treat a respiratory infection. You’ll either succumb to the flu or recover on your own if you weren’t infected after all.

  “If you feel we’re being unsympathetic to your plight, understand our dilemma. The honest truth is that this is probably a more humane option than if you’d been found sick in an airplane anywhere else in the world. We’re taking a personal risk doing this much. If someone happens by, you’d be well advised not to talk about your plight with anyone. When people are frightened they do frightening things.

  “Very soon a pickup driver will arrive and beep his horn. Take your carry-on with you and climb into the bed of his pickup. His doors will be locked. If you try to climb in the cab, the man will drive off. Then no one will trust you.

  “In the bed of the truck will be two boxes, one with food, one with your medication, a numbered room key, some clean blankets and towels. Be sure to take your first dose of medication as soon as you get to your room. Good luck.”

  Lazlo felt too miserable to question anything and he put on his boots. Dozing, he was awakened by the horn. Struggling onto the truck with frigid wind for encouragement, his sinuses erupted again.

  Instead of dropping him at the Main Construction Camp where he normally resided, the truck stopped at a vacant Deadhorse dormitory wing at the far edge of town. He felt like a man calling on his last ounce of reserve and hardly cared. Shivering uncontrollably, holding his gear and packages, he found his numbered room, took his medicine, undressed and surrendered to bed with a thundering headache.

  Fully awake without a headache or hacking cough, he was alive (he was fairly certain)! He felt rested after having long slept. Lazlo abruptly sat upright, threw off the covers, placed his bare feet on the floor and stood up stretching in the bright light. He wasn’t shivering or wheezing or faint. He saw recognizable oilfield gear just outside the dorm window. Prompted by a rather strange thought, he felt reassured seeing the gear which would be highly unlikely in heaven or hell or nearly anywhere else. He was standing right where he thought he ought to be.

  Another urge pressed for attention
but only a plain white sink was provided in his room. He padded into the chilly hallway in his underwear looking for a toilet room. The long corridor to the left was unlit and faded into darkness, but to the right, sunlight led him to a single bathroom. Light filtered dimly into the room but when Lazlo flipped the light switch, nothing happened. The experience inspired him to pursue a new priority… power and heat.

  Lazlo explored the floor of the north barracks looking for electric panels. Centered in the building were toilets, showers, and a utility furnace room where he found the panel breakers all untripped, still in the ‘on’ position. So the power problem wasn’t inside the building.

  A day room occupied the northern end of the building, offering a surprising panoramic view of the entrance to town. The Sag River and Dalton Highway lay to the east, several oilfield service buildings to the north, and the entire airfield to the west. Immediately in the foreground was a wide, unappealing swath of tundra and wetlands.

  The outside entrance to the day room passed through a windowed weather-foyer offering an excellent view of anyone approaching from the highway. While his keepers obviously intended to keep him isolated, they had unintentionally given him a broad perspective of nearby oilfield and airport activity. He moved his personal belongings, blankets, food and medicine to the day room to establish his domain.

  His morning wasn’t demanding, but brought on renewed congestion. He found his medication and a sandwich, sat back in the only recliner and comfortably surveyed his realm beyond the windowpanes. Maybe his detention wasn’t so alarming after all, thought Lazlo. Both he and his family were now isolated from that dreadful bug.

  6

  Jimmy Doolittle Terminal Building, Nome, September 30th. Captain Thomas Churchill and First-Officer Jerry ‘Pappy’ Coonan had spent three nights at the Nugget Inn. Normally they would have spent a single night of mandatory layover for rest in Nome before returning to duty. Flight cancellations interrupted their reinsertion. They stood by at Doolittle operations prepared to take any opportunity to leave far-flung Nome.