What Tomorrow Brings Page 3

  Fryers were down, but still warm, he would have everything ready to go again in ten minutes.

  He asked the agents, secretary and president what they wanted and they simply replied, that since they already were putting him out, make what he wanted.

  Terrence filled with nerves, ignored the menu items and made what he knew he cooked best. After all, the president was seated in his establishment.

  It was a bistro and his stockpile was limited. He started them off with his personal specialty of Buffalo Ranch wings, while he made them main entrees.

  Everything went off without a hitch. Food was praised and appreciated. Terrence was on cloud nine. He got to not only meet the president, he fed him as well.

  Weeks went by, Terrence didn’t think much about it until he was called into the owner’s office. Apparently the Secretary of Defense came by for some of those wings that weren’t on the menu. At the owner’s request, Terrance made them a staple item for the Secretary of Defense only. He came in twice a week for a takeout order of wings.

  One day he asked to speak to Terrence. The secretary took interest, asking him about his life. Two weeks later a letter came from the best culinary school not only in D.C., but the top ten in the country. He had a full scholarship, courtesy of the Secretary of Defense.

  His dream became a reality. There was no way he could repay him, or thank him enough.

  “Keep making those wings,” the secretary told him. “Follow that dream. My son followed his, others dismissed him because he didn’t go to college, but he’s doing what he wanted.”

  Making a promise he would make those wings for the secretary wherever he worked, Terrence went to school. With his experience and now education, he was writing his own job ticket as Chef.

  For the final year of school he worked at the best hotel in the city, securing the chef job there upon graduation. He had been there for two years when he put in his notice.

  He was going to the White House thanks to a recommendation from the Secretary of Defense.

  When the morning of war came, he had four days remaining at the hotel. His apartment was a mess, they were moving into a house and boxes were everywhere. After all, he was going to be making the type of money that afforded them the American dream, two kids, a spouse and a mortgage.

  It was an early day, Terrence didn’t mind. He would be getting to the White House early when he started there so he had to get used to it.

  It wasn’t a typical ‘chef’ duty, going in and getting the breakfast buffet ready, but his main cook was out all week.

  Terrance would go to the hotel, unload the deliveries, start the buffet and leave once staff arrived since he had to be back later in the day for meetings.

  He kissed his kids and wife goodbye and headed out.

  He was a thirty minute ride from work when traffic was good, which was a rarity in D.C. On this particular morning, there was very little traffic.

  Usually he didn’t put on the radio, but on this day he did.

  He was glad he made that decision.

  At first he thought it was a joke.

  After all, it was only four in the morning in Washington D.C.. Yet, the news came on talking about potential attacks, war, and all those things when it should have been music.

  ‘Right now, they are confirming that Yokota Air Force base in Japan has been hit. There is speculation that it was a nuclear weapon that was detonated…’

  “What?” Terrence spoke out loud. “This is insane, that can’t be right.” He switched the station.

  ‘Confirming that the president has been evacuated to a secure location …’

  Switch.

  ‘Two nuclear warheads on the Canadian Montana Border …’

  Switch.

  ‘There has been no confirmation on whether or not these attacks are a declaration of an all out war …’

  ‘While there is no indication whether these are anything but strategic hits or isolated hits, probability is high that civilian areas could be next…’

  ‘Water, dry goods, anything you can, people should prepare and not leave unless they are in the heart of the city. Then again, how many people are listening at four in the morning, it’s even worse on the West Coast.’

  The news caused Terrence to pull over. He leaned close to the windshield and peered to the sky almost as if expecting the bomb to just come. His insides shook and he had to think.

  He wanted to turn back, go home, but to do what? Stay in the apartment with no supplies? He was only ten minutes from the hotel and while working was out of the question, going there wasn’t. Everything he would need for his family was delivered the day before.

  It was in the room right by the delivery entrance.

  He would go there, get what he needed and then go get his family and leave D.C. It was early, most people weren’t awake and listening to the news. Most people didn’t know. Hopefully, Terrence would be able to get his supplies and his family to safety without getting stuck in evacuation traffic and before the bombs, if they were on their way.

  SIX – DIVE

  Kit hated those healthy snack chips they handed out on the plane, but it was all she had to snack on. She was glad she asked for two airline size bottles of vodka because it seemed as if the flight attendants didn’t want to be bothered on a red eye. Always assuming everyone slept.

  Kit never did.

  People around her were out. Including the country guy wearing the green neck pillow. His head was tilted to the right, his mouth slightly open as he exuded a quiet snore. She still had her book open, but had barely read a page. She probably would have played with the flight real time tracker app. Something Kit enjoyed doing, checking to see where the plane was mid flight, but that and everything else went out soon after they left Washington air space.

  Her mind kept drifting. She thought of her father and how proud she was of her parents and the way they raised her. It could have gotten ugly, she could have hated her father. However, her mother never let it get there. The only snag was when her mom wanted to move west. Eventually it came to be. Sure they saw their father less, but they loved him and respected him.

  Kit was ten when they divorced, Deana and Mark were four and five. They didn’t know the why of it all, they never saw their parents fight. Regis knew. He was going into his senior year when it all went down. Kit supposed her mother used Regis going to UCLA as another reason to be out west.

  It was years later, when Kit was in high school that she learned her father had been unfaithful to her mother.

  At that point her father had met Sandra and her mother didn’t carry a grudge.

  For that Kit was grateful. Her father’s infidelity was inexcusable, however, she never knew enough to be angry, or hate him.

  That was the way divorce was suppose to be.

  As a divorced mother, Kit learned what to do. She understood that immediate reactions could cause long term damage.

  What she didn’t understand was the book Alas, Babylon.

  Not that she didn’t get the subject matter, but she didn’t understand how it stayed in print. It was truly a novel of its time. From raw language to past standard remarks that would be considered racist in today’s world.

  She found it cute that the main character’s brother was named Mark. Maybe that was one of the reasons her father wanted her to read it. Kit probably wouldn’t have made it to page fourteen had she not saw underline words on page thirteen.

  She would have dismissed the underlined word of ‘Mark’ as a reference to her brother, but then in the same sentence, the word ‘Flying’ also underlined.

  That prompted Kit to turn pages to see if anything else had been marked.

  Next page … double underline … Alas, Babylon.

  The next … intelligence

  Then the word … warning.

  A thump in her stomach caused her to lift her eyes from her book. It was a physical feeling. A sinking twisting that she was used to and was only caused when the plane drop
ped altitude usually in preparation to land. Kit glanced out the window, then sat upright to look around. At that second one man, then another moved hurriedly up the aisle. They were followed by a woman.

  Surely it wasn’t a two a.m. rush to the bathroom.

  Something was wrong. Maybe a medical emergency in first class, or technically there really was a problem with the plane. She wanted to ask, but before she could flag down a flight attendant, a man who was dressed like the captain entered the main cabin. His shoulders and chest were broad which gave him a bigger appearance. He looked disgusted, as if he lost an unfair fight. He whispered something to the flight attendant, she nodded, then noticing that Kit was not only awake, but leaning forward and staring at him, he made eye contact. Locked eyes with her for a moment, then sat down in the first row empty seat, buckling his belt.

  “What the hell?” Kit spoke out loud.

  Country man sat up as if snapped out of a dream. “Are we landing? We feel like we’re going to land.”

  “Yeah, it feels that way,” Kit said. “If someone was flying the plane.”

  “What?” He sat up.

  Kit pointed. “That’s the pilot.”

  “Nah, can’t be. Maybe he’s a fancy first class flight attendant or co-pilot.”

  “He’s a pilot, I saw him in the cockpit.”

  “Then he has to be the co-pilot,” Country man argued. “I mean …”

  Ding.

  “Ladies and Gentleman if I can have your attention please,” the male said over the speaker.

  “See, that’s a different voice than earlier,” Kit said. “The other was husky.” She immediately looked over to the pilot. He just stared ahead.

  “We ask that you put your trays and seats in an upright position and secure your seatbelts. We are experiencing a technical difficulty and will be making a forced landing.”

  “What ... what does that mean? Forced landing?” Kit asked.

  “It means they have to put this plane down at any cost,” Country man said,

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah.”

  The announcer continued, “It will be a rough touchdown. At worst I promise it will be no more than a few bumps and bruises. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

  Voices of concern, and soft screams carried in the cabin as flight attendants rushed down the aisles to ensure safety. They checked overhead bins, told people to sit up, all while trying to encourage calm.

  “Land? Land where?” Kit asked. “Where are we?”

  Country man looked at his watch. “Three hours air time. My guess South Dakota.”

  Her stomach flipped and heart raced out of control. Kit needed a second to calm down then she was going to unbuckle her belt and go see her son then return to her seat.

  She closed her eyes, said a short prayer, turned her head and looked out the window hoping to see airport lights.

  Instead she saw something else.

  On her farthest point of sight, just on the horizon, she saw a flash of light. Then another and another. Pop. Pop. Pop. They danced across the ground. The lights of civilization below went dark with each spark.

  All began as a tiny flash, swelling into a bright bubble before transforming into an undeniable mushroom cloud.

  “Oh my God.” Kit gasped her words.

  “What is it?” Country Man asked.

  Kit’s eyes widened. “We’re not gonna make it.”

  “What?”

  “Look, take a look.”

  Just as he leaned forward to peer out her window, the plane jolted downward, the engines grew louder and the speed seemed to pick up.

  Before he got to see what Kit witnessed, the flight attendant called out, “Brace. Brace. Head down. Stay down. Grab your ankles. Brace.”

  The book toppled from Mark’s hand the second the pilot said they needed to make a forced landing. It wasn’t his own surprise that caused him to drop the book, it was Red Sweater woman’s panicked reaction.

  Mark didn’t have time to think about what was happening. What he wanted to do was stand up, shout for his family. The amount of noise on the plane and immediate chaos would have prohibited them from knowing he was even trying to reach out to them.

  He bent forward picking up the book, tucked it in the seat pocket in front of him, then tightened his belt as tight as it could go.

  “Could you help me?” Red Sweater woman asked, fumbling with her belt. “Please. It won’t tighten.”

  “Yes. Yes, I will.” Mark reached out.

  The plane jolted slightly, angled forward and felt as if it dropped.

  Red Sweater woman shrieked.

  “Hold still,” Mark said. “I got this.”

  He adjusted her belt, but paused when he heard the frightening command.

  “Brace. Brace. Head down. Stay down. Grab your ankles. Brace.”

  After finishing the woman’s belt, Mark undid his buckle and immediately stood up.

  Regis was transfixed on watching the nightmare outside his window. It was real. It was happening. How many were there? Three or four? It felt like a dream watching it unfold. He literally didn’t hear a sound around him. It was muffled by the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

  Nuclear weapons had been detonated on American soil. How were they still in the air? How did the plane still have power? Surely the EMP would have knocked them from the sky? His mind raced for logic and he thought of the Enola Gay. They dropped the bomb and flew away. Maybe the pulse of the bomb wouldn’t hit them. Regis doubted it. They’d lose power, it was just a matter of when.

  “Rege!”

  Suddenly, the noise of the plane changed and standing in the aisle by his row was Mark.

  “Head down. Stay down. Brace.” Steady and strong the flight attendant repeated the sentence like a skipping record.

  “Mark, what the hell?” Regis jumped to his feet. “What are you doing?”

  “I love you.” Mark breathed heavily. “I love you and I’m sorry.”

  Regis reached out and laid his hand on Mark’s face. “I love you, too. It’s gonna be fine. Go. Go back now.”

  Mark didn’t seem to want to listen, he moved forward.

  “Mark.” Rege stopped him. “Go. Now.”

  He had made it only a row and Regis saw Zeke standing.

  The teenager looked scared to death.

  “Zeke,” Mark yelled.

  “Go.” Regis ordered Mark. “Get back.” Then he locked eyes with Zeke, brought his fist to his own chest as a show of his love to his nephew, then pointed with command at Zeke and motioned for him to get down.

  Zeke did as instructed.

  Mark was still in the aisle.

  “Please get back,” Regis begged.

  “I need to see Kit.”

  “She’s fine.”

  Mark’s face tensed up, he took a few steps back and as he moved, he shouted over the cabin noise, “Kit. I love you.”

  Regis watched to make sure Mark made it back to his seat, then he himself sat down and buckled his belt.

  He hoped that Kit heard him.

  He closed his eyes debating for a second if he had time to search out his sister, she was only a couple rows ahead. The second he opened his eyes, he saw her standing.

  She was looking right at him. He made eye contact with her, even if it was only with his eyes. He tried his hardest to convey love and hope through a look and a nod.

  He felt at peace. He saw them all before the plane careened to the ground.

  A day earlier they were emotionally the farthest apart they ever had been. Now they were only a distance of a few feet from each other however, to Regis, they were worlds apart.

  Nothing could be done about it right now.

  They couldn’t huddle, or hold each other for strength at such a dire moment. They had to spiritually find that family connection with the rows of people between them.

  Regis believed they had with their limited eye contact before they sat back down.

  He lowered his h
ead and assumed a crash position.

  Then the inevitable happened … the plane lost all power.

  ‘Jesus, this isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.’

  Mark’s mind raced with frantic, panicked thoughts as he leaned forward hoping he had the brace position correctly. He didn’t know. There had been no preflight instructions. Was it head to the knees, hands behind head or grabbing ankles? Maybe it was head to the seat in front?

  Mark did a combination of both.

  He put his head as low as he could get to his legs as his hands gripped the seat in front of him.

  He couldn’t think clearly and didn’t even know where the idea to grab the life vest came from. The second he returned from his last ditch attempt to convey his love for his family, he thought to grab the life jacket from under his seat. He placed it over his head and inflated it. Not for fear of hitting water, but in hopes of extra cushion for impact.

  It was the longest moments of his life.

  The engines of the plane went quiet and the plane rode the wind at a high, steep speed angle toward the earth.

  He closed his eyes tightly, waiting.

  My son. My poor son. Why didn’t I stop and see him. My baby. I’m so sorry.

  There were no more screams on the plane. Was it Mark’s imagination or could he hear the sound of the air as the plane cut through it?

  It was oddly quiet with the exception of the few voices behind him that formed a unison chorus in the Our Father prayer.

  He listened, locked on to that, but didn’t join in. His only prayer was that he didn’t feel it when they made impact.

  There really was no more time to panic.

  It was a matter of waiting. When would they hit? How much longer would it be? How close were they to the ground?

  There was a certain amount of serenity in those final few hundred feet.

  Any second.

  Any second …

  Then they hit the ground.

  Mark flung some to the left and his fingers crushed against the seat he clung to, causing him to lift his head and pull back his hands.

  He watched luggage eject up from the floor and hit the roof, at the same time everything came tumbling around him.