Flight To Pandemonium Page 8

  Cold and wet, he cut short his trek in the midst of a drenching squall after finding conditions looked rather good. Along the way, he joyfully closed the diversion gates installed a decade earlier to ensure regulatory in-stream flows.

  Hurrying back in time for crank up, Pug felt sick. Once generating, he sent a favorable report to Charlie Wright and then carefully monitored the flow until the appointed hour for shut down. By late evening, too congested to make the call to central, he went to bed.

  In the middle of the night, awakened with a racking cough, the cold quickly settled into his chest. His symptoms were ominously similar to those of that flu. Good God… but no! He hadn’t seen anyone for months. Perhaps a cold was coming on from getting drenched.

  By morning, he was alarmed by the onset of rasping asthma. By afternoon, he was so congested he barely finished the fifteen routine steps required for start up. Shutting down seven hours later, he was burdened by the worst labored breathing of his life. He collapsed into bed.

  Awakened early in the morning by the beeping of a pending message, he called his boss. Pug was so congested that he could barely speak.

  “Pug! Are you sick?” Alarm was evident in Charlie’s voice. “We worried when you didn’t return our call. Not like you.”

  “Yea… I’m sick bad,” answered Pug.

  “Were you exposed to anyone who might have been sick?”

  “I’ve seen nobody at all. What are the symptoms of that flu thing?”

  Charlie responded by reading… “Wheezing, lethargy, chronic coughing, thick bloody phlegm, body and joint pain, severe lung congestion, then shallow labored breathing, then fainting spells.”

  “Well, I got most of ‘em.”

  “When did they start?”

  “Day before yesterday.”

  There was a long pause while Charlie conferred with someone out of Pug’s hearing. “Pug, I’m going to tell you this the way you like… straight up. If it’s been that long, you won’t last the morning. But… we think you might not have that flu. If your symptoms started two days ago, most people would already be delirious or dead by now. You still ambulatory… walking around?”

  “Yea, but dragging my ass.”

  “How about a bad cold?”

  “Yea… got caught in a freezin’ rain checkin’ your weirs. Thought I was getting’ a cold, but Jesus, never like this.”

  Charlie conferred again. “Pug, the good news is… we think that’s all you have… an ordinary respiratory infection.”

  “Well, if I don’t come on line this afternoon, you’ll know why.”

  “We’ll keep good thoughts for you, Pug.”

  “Yea, well…why’d you call me, anyway?”

  “Under the circumstances, it doesn’t matter. Please call me later when you have the energy… I mean feel better.”

  In the morning Pug called his boss who seemed genuinely glad to hear from him. The man avoided any unnecessary instructions, but did warn him again about intruders. Fairbanks was experiencing food riots after the imposition of its quarantine. Frightened people were panicking just as Pug predicted. His boss signed off saying, “Lots of guns being brandished around Alaska if you’ve been listening to the news. Be real careful with strangers.”

  Pug was not listening to the news. With his wheezing lethargy, he had forgotten about the warning. He had intended to patrol his fenced compound for evidence of trouble. Pug worried about his disadvantage without a firearm or any other credible method of self defense. A plausible bluff, he decided, would be his only deterrent.

  Within his warm machine shop, Pug worked on a warning sign to get the attention of any unwelcome visitor. It must look official and he painstakingly hand lettered a message beneath a police logo. It read: ‘KEEP OUT! The use of deadly force is authorized to repel trespassers.’ He mounted the sign directly on the gate.

  Feeling somewhat better, Pug crafted the upper torso of two armed guards complete with camouflage painted hard hats and fake rifles. They wouldn’t stand close inspection, but he thought they would look intimidating secured on the high parapet of the powerhouse.

  He never heard the intruders over the noise of the generators, but happened outside in time to see two jeeps arriving. As Pug watched, the lead jeep nosed against the fence and pushed. The security gate warped, but held. His new sign did not deter them for a moment.

  As Pug walked down to confront them, the second jeep joined the first and both nosed into the gate together. The gate held but leaned severely under the strain. Pug stopped directly in front of the gate. He was unarmed, dressed only in denim coveralls, and was nearly breathless from the exertion.

  While catching his breath, he looked them over. Four men in the jeeps looked quite similar. All were brawny men in their twenties with clean shaven heads. They sported black, aggressive tattoos on bare muscled arms. Several moved with careless animation as if intoxicated. All were armed with military style rifles. The jeeps carried more weapons, mounds of camping gear, and red jerry cans.

  Pug yelled with all the bravado he could muster, “Turn around and beat it! Can’t you read?” He hoped that his voice wouldn’t betray his fear.

  A driver responded, “Fuck off old man or I’ll splatter your ass!”

  “Then you should know that those youngsters on the roof should have their cross hairs centered on your face ‘bout now,” replied Pug, gesturing toward the powerhouse. A skin head raised binoculars and surveyed the roof. Pug stood nervously silent. He hadn’t anticipated binoculars and doubted his crude mannequins would pass close scrutiny… but perhaps with these drunks…

  “Bullshit!” said the man with the binoculars. “Look like dummies to me. Not movin’ a twitch.”

  Damn! Caught in his own transparent scheme, thought Pug. But then inspiration struck. “Yea, well… they ain’t too sick to twitch the trigger and splatter your face.” He forced a deep, racking, chest-heaving coughing spell of his own.

  The reaction was instantaneous. “Shit, they’re sick!” screamed one of the men.

  Both jeeps lurched in reverse, sped backward careening off one another, then turned around and hurtled back down the rough road.

  As they did so, a rifle tumbled unnoticed from one of the jeeps. Pug unlocked the gate. The gun was a classic bolt action Winchester .308 hunting rifle. The clip held only three rounds. He had never owned or fired such a gun, but now he was armed for real! What a scam he had pulled off... and it prompted yet another idea.

  Pug climbed back to his shop, retrieved a can of bright red paint, and returned to his carefully lettered sign on the gate. He crudely scrawled across it, defacing his own work:

  SICK - QUARENTINE

  That should send anyone away, he thought smiling!

  10

  Nome Airport Tarmac, September 30th, late afternoon. Richard stood anxiously checking his clipboard and observing preparations while Ted finished his walk around checking the aircraft. He glanced again at the airside fence where the hotel clerk continued to harangue the crowd. Tlingit closed the baggage compartment and Richard waved both employees aboard.

  The air marshal marched from the terminal building to confront Richard. “Hold it! Neither of those men is on the manifest. I told you, I won’t tolerate surprises.”

  “What I gave you was a work up. This is the final and I’ve added them both. Look for yourself,” he said, handing him the clipboard. “They’re both airline employees. I have every right to send them on any flight where they’re needed.”

  Looking at the manifest, the marshal said, “I see you have room left anyway, so save me a seat.”

  “So…” Richard looked the marshal in the eye, enjoying his moment of hypocrisy unmasked. “The truth comes out. You were going to forsake your duty all along. But you’re crazy. Anchorage is far worse than here.”

/>   “Don’t gimme that shit. You boys ain’t goin’ to Anchorage. I knew it the instant Tlingit got aboard.”

  “What the hell’s Tlingit got to do with it?”

  “He told me he was leavin’ today for Valdez to stay with relatives. Valdez is just fine by me.”

  “Well, we’re not going to Valdez. It’s way beyond our range. Eight o’clock is our deadline to be down. You told me yourself.”

  “You boys have been bullshittin’ me all afternoon. I’m getting on that flight.”

  “Well, like it or not, you’re the marshal. Your job begins here when they close the border.” Richard considered relenting until… “Look! Crazy people are climbing the fence. This flight is doomed unless you stop them now, dammit!”

  Watching from the Otter’s cockpit, Pappy started the port engine the moment he saw the hotel clerk lead three men over the fence while the crowd cheered. Richard dashed to the cabin door yelling, “Go, go, go!” He pushed the accommodation stair hard away and clambered aboard. The marshal hesitated first watching the crowd, then staring back at the Otter without its accommodation stair.

  Under the burden of dozens of people climbing the fence, it toppled over, opening the airfield to the entire crowd. People sprinted toward the open cabin door. Richard closed the door. The marshal moved to intercept the sprinters. Raising his gun, he shouted but wasn’t heard over the revving turboprop engines. The marshal was overrun and trampled underfoot.

  Pappy faced a crucial maneuver watching the mob closing on the Otter. He must make a pivoting turn to starboard. As the port engine respond to the throttle, its sweeping turn propelled the aircraft in an arc close to those leading the mob. The hotel clerk outdistanced everyone racing for the plane.

  Pappy realized with alarm that the port propeller was likely to intercept the clerk as the plane swept into the turn. Instantly, Pappy reacted to feather the prop and break its spooling momentum. The loudly buffeting blades finally alerted the clerk but he jumped aside too late. The propeller was still spinning fast enough to decapitate him instantly.

  Pappy stopped the airplane hearing cries of anguish from the cabin. He saw the crowd halt, stunned by the gruesome sight of blood spreading over the airplane. Pappy checked if any others were nearby. A few determined boarders resumed their dash toward the Otter. Pappy powered up with abandon. The plane surged forward, quickly moving away.

  As Pappy maneuvered onto the taxiway, the pilots saw the infamous Navy fighter with its cluster of under-wing missiles. The Captain nodded toward the aircraft, and said, “See that old Navy F-18. Know what they call that?”

  “I’d call it a coffin.”

  “Always the smart mouth, eh Pappy?”

  “Just my way of coming down. You outta know that by now.”

  The Captain ignored him and continued, “Hornet… that’s what they call it.”

  “So?”

  “That fighter could catch us in just minutes from a cold start and has a reputation for a wicked sting. After what’s just happened, I hope that’s the last we’ll see of it.”

  Pappy chose silence.

  The Captain studied his checklist as Pappy halted the aircraft short of the runway threshold while the Captain contacted the tower. Instead of expected clearance dialogue, the pilots heard: “What the hell just happened back there?” asked the dispatcher.

  “A riot,” answered the Captain.

  “I can see that, but why all the commotion?”

  “Perhaps you ought to ask security or anyone else who has a better view than we do down here…”

  “They don’t answer.”

  “Not surprising, considering…”

  “Have you listened to Anchorage traffic? I hear you’re headed there. Can you believe all the bizarre shit goin on?”

  “Worse than here.” With all the authority he could project into his voice, the Captain asked, “Am I cleared or not?”

  “Sorry for the lapse. I haven’t talked to anyone for an hour. Scope shows no other craft as far as can be seen. Spooky! One-fifty-two, you’re cleared for twenty seven. Switch to Anchorage A-R-T-C after twenty. Confirm you’re aware of the mandatory grounding at twenty hundred.”

  “Affirmative. Alaska one-fifty-two departing twenty-seven,” replied the Captain.

  After a smooth takeoff and the thud of retracting gear, the Twin Otter climbed steeply into empty skies headed east-southeast towards its official destination of Anchorage. Pappy mused aloud, “Ninth busiest airport in Alaska and no other traffic. Just as well, though… we sure burned a few bridges back there.”

  “Dammit!” said the Captain. “They won’t need any bridge to catch us. If not that Hornet, guess who we’re likely to see instead!”

  “Some Air Force jockey on his trusty steed… if we’re lucky enough to see him coming, I suppose.

  “You win the prize.”

  “Cap, it’ll take awhile to sort things out back there. I think we have a little time.”

  “I think we’d better turn off that transponder and change course.”

  “I’ll call Ted in here ‘cause I’ve got an idea.”

  “Your last idea was supposed to come off without a hitch, remember? I don’t know why I listen to you. I’m the Captain!”

  Ted stooped over the backs of the pilots to hear the Captain ask, “How are things back there?”

  “Waaal… coupla young lovers and those nuns are traumatized. Martha’s trying to calm them down. That Nugget bloke saw it coming too late and tried to dive outta the way. His blood streamed over some of the windows.”

  “Damn… I tried my best,” said Pappy.

  “Hey… the dummy ran straight into the blades. What was he thinkin’, anyway? I’m sure glad you didn’t stop for that mob.”

  “When the marshal tells his story, they’ll be lookin’ for hijackers. Any way to be sure that transponder is off?”

  “You mean those jockeys of yours, right? Things have a way of comin’ around, don’t they Pappy.”

  “Yea, yea.”

  Ted reached down between the pilots and turned off a micro switch.

  “That does it. I didn’t know that switch was there.”

  “Wasn’t before our conversation this morning.”

  “More of your ‘one way or another,’ Ted?” asked Pappy.

  “Damn right! And trouble with that mob turned out exactly as I predicted. If you’d listened to me, we’d be long gone and no worries. So what’s next… if you’re doing any thinking at all?”

  “I’m thinking we should declare an emergency for Unalakleet, and descend over the water so that traffic control thinks we’re in trouble. We need to disappear in a way those boys will be looking for pieces of us in the waters of the Sound.”

  Ted replied, “That’s what I’d do. I doubt anyone will come looking for us out here. The real chaos is on shore. Nobody gives a damn about us anymore. My plan was to rely on the chaos, not your mindless paperwork.”

  The Captain replied sharply, “We should disappear off the scope and say nothing. And Pappy, keep the rest of those wild-hare schemes to yourself!”

  Mac believed he was saved by the panic of pink streaks on the windows. He was happy the pilots risked leaving the scene. When they leveled off at altitude, Mac began to relax and look out the portholes. They were flying over the Norton Sound, but he could see the distant coast of Alaska on the horizon.

  Abruptly, the airplane banked hard and began a steep dive. The dive continued beyond any minor adjustment in altitude. Voices of alarm swept the cabin as the plane plunged and plunged. They dove until Mac feared sudden death.

  The Captain spoke on the intercom with a gravelly voice, “Please, don’t be alarmed… absolutely nothing is wrong with this aircraft. The descent is deliberate; we will be crossing the co
astline in about fifteen minutes. Our flight will remain at low altitude. Stay calm. Mind those seatbelts.”

  With propellers thundering, the Otter leveled off just above threatening white caps. On and on they flew. The shore flashed by as colors morphed into a collage of green. Mac watched the blurry scene rolling by. He breathed a sigh of relief when the plane began gently climbing again. The drama settled down to smooth flying.

  From somewhere ahead, Mac heard a man shout, “Are the pilots crazy? What’s going on up there? What kind of stunt was that?”

  Martha rose from her seat and put her head into the cockpit to relate the protest.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. This is the Captain speaking. I’m told that I owe you an explanation. The President of the United States has declared a national emergency. By eight this evening, all flights across the nation are ordered grounded. That’s little more than two hours from now. Accordingly, I will be seeking a suitable landing site. I’ll inform you when I know more. Meanwhile, we will be flying rather low while we look. Just enjoy the view. Again, have confidence that nothing is wrong. Remain in your seats and keep that buckle tight.”

  In the cockpit, the Captain asked Pappy, “What were you starting to tell me when Martha interrupted?”

  “I was listening to ground control at Anchorage. Some asshole just lifted off from a taxiway! Sounds like they’ve lost all control. Good thing we’re avoiding that place.”

  “I wonder what people in the cabin are calling us,” replied the Captain.

  “Say what?”

  “We’ve just frightened everyone and we don’t know where we’re going. And I just told everyone to trust me… if they only knew!”

  “Alright, you want an alternative,” replied Pappy. “Here’s the best I can do. We talked about Talkeetna. Good airstrip and I can get my floatplane and disappear… you gotta better place, name where. But remember, we’re not going to be there by eight or before dusk.”