Zombie Flight

Zombie Flight - chapter 2 - Little Susie

Little Susie wore a polka-dot Hello Kitty surgical mask. She was eight and a half, and cute enough to eat. "The half's important," she'd said as the flight attendant tucked her into a reclined business-class seat.

Watching unaccompanied children was one of Nola's unofficial flight attendant duties, one that she used to like. She didn't know if having kids was even a possibility anymore.

"You know, I bet you've got a cute face under that mask. You'll have to show me it later," said Nola. "Even if the polka-dots are cute."

"My dad said I have to wear it." Susie smiled nervously under the mask, pointing at something barely visible in the glow of her TV screen, high up on Nola's gray Wedge Airlines blazer. "You've got some dots on your top too, Nola."

Nola's rehearsed flight-attendant smile strained for a moment. The scent of blood screamed out to her, but she held it together, covering the stain with her hand and smoothing out the airline blanket over Susie.

Little Susie has good eyes . . . but they look worried. Smart too. Nola held a finger up to her mouth. "Shhhh! It's our secret."

"Don't worry," Susie whispered. She glanced across the aisle at an older man cocooned in headphones. "They're all sleeping or watching movies."

"Speaking of," Nola said, pointing at the seat next to Susie. "Where is Sleeping Beauty? You know, the senator."

"He said I could call him Richie." Susie pointed to the curtains at the front of business class. "He's in the bathroom, I think. He's funny, but he smells like drinks."

Susie cupped her hand to the mask covering her mouth as she looked up at Nola's blazer. "I spill my food sometimes too, but I tell my parents that Charlie, our dog, jumped up and got me dirty. Well, I did when we had a dog. We had to leave Charlie with Gran when we moved to Japan. My mom doesn't like dogs anymore either."

Nola had flinched at the word dog, blinking, disoriented. She gripped Susie by the shoulder, squeezing her fingers deep into her flesh. Susie recoiled, holding her hand to her face mask.

"You just tell Richie not to leave you alone again! Okay, Susie?"

"Yes," Susie whimpered.

Nola turned and left, moving past rows of business-class seats fast and into the forward galley area of the Boeing 787-9 Dreamliner near the cockpit. She pulled the curtain across and looked around at the walls studded with built-in storage areas. They were packed with food, alcohol, and everything else needed on the long-haul flight from Tokyo to Los Angeles.

Nola stared down at the small bloodstain on her blazer. Then looked across to read "occupied" above the bathroom door handle. How long does that man need?

At least for the moment she was alone. The other attendants usually stuck to their own sections of the plane in the few hours before landing. She unlatched one of the compartments built into the wall and reached in. She pulled out a black leather bag, then searched in it until she found a compact mirror. She went over to the galley sink and wet a cloth, then took her seat. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead as she kept an eye on the aisle curtain separating the galley from business class.

The blood spot was hard to make out with the small compact mirror, but the scent screamed out to her. Blood, like a fine perfume, stood out among the thousands of other scents circulated by the Dreamliner's air-conditioning unit.

The stain sat underneath her name tag. It was too late to get it out, but she had to try. The day you stop caring about your appearance is the day you give up on life. That was what her momma used to say.

She dabbed at the stain but couldn't tell if the blood had come out. At least the damp patch of wet fabric now blended in with the color of the blazer. She lifted her shirt at the neck and looked down in alarm. Red welts were starting to show, coming up her chest toward her neck. It'll be okay. It has to be.

Her stomach grumbled as the thing inside her moved. The hunger was something she'd gotten used to, but this was different, more urgent this time. She didn't even register the moan as coming from her when a stabbing pain hit her in the gut. The doctors called it a parasitic infection. She couldn't see it, but she knew it was the worm. It was moving, pushing on her stomach, like a baby's fist, right where her shirt tucked into her skirt. There were rumors about what it was like to be infected, but no one really knew what it was like to have a worm living inside you except other Mustangs. If they did, things would have gotten ugly. Ugly and bloody.

Checking to make sure no one was coming, she took shallow breaths, trying to relax. Slowly the movement stopped and she could breathe again, but not before the tears came.

She glanced down at her watch. A thirteen-hour flight used to be a walk in the park. Damn doctors never said anything about how you felt without the drugs. The stories can't be true! It was too much to think about, too much. If it got too bad, they wouldn't let her fly, and she might become like one of those things.

Her hand shook as she took a last look at the wet patch on her blazer and wiped the tears away. The familiar electronic ding that signaled passengers to fasten seat belts sounded through the cabin, and a strong, deep voice came through the overhead speakers.

"This is your captain, Greg Henning, speaking. We are expecting a little turbulence coming up. Nothing to worry about, folks, but for your safety we ask that you remain seated and fasten your seat belts. Apart from that, it's a lovely day up here in the clouds, and we expect to be landing in a little over two hours."

Nola stared at the curtain separating her from business class. She'd go back in and settle the passengers soon. It was dark in there. Surely they won't notice a tiny stain. Well, some of them might, but those passengers were Mustangs, and they wouldn't mind.

The creamy-white internal coms telephone rang beside her, its red light flashing on and off. She brought the hand piece to her ear and listened with mmms and yeahs, in a voice her father would've described as Georgia sass.

"It's not my fault, Greg! I don't tell you how to fly, do I? He's either been drinking or sleeping the whole time. Well, that, or pretending behind his Elvis sunglasses. I went to ask him to come up front a few times, but as soon as I said anything, he started snoring really loudly to make the little girl next to him laugh."

She paused for a second and listened. "No! This is the first bathroom break where he's come up front. I'll do the regular message bit, half-hour tops. . . . Yeah, even if I have to wake him up, but I can hardly bring him up front if the seat belt sign is still on. We're on the same side, Greg!"

Her legs shook with another bump of turbulence as she rose and walked through the galley to the still occupied bathroom.

The scent of shaving cream with a touch of blood seeped from the small gap at the bottom of the bathroom door. It was faint, but fresh, hijacking Nola's senses. She twitched, smiling. She was stronger, better now. The doc told her it was the new normal. Before the infection she would never have been able to make out a scent that faint.

She went to knock, but pulled herself back, drinking in the scent.

Next Chapter - comes out every Tuesday morning.

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