Runway Zero-Eight

FOUR 0220—0245

NEARLY FOUR MILES above the earth, the aircraft held her course.

In every direction, as far as the eye could see, stretched the undulating carpet of cloud, passing beneath the great machine so slowly as to make it appear almost stationary. It was a cold, empty, utterly lonely world, a world in which the heart-beating throb of the aircraft’s engines came rumbling back from the silver-tinted wastes.

Far below, that same powerful pulse of engines, in normal weather, would have reverberated through the desolate valleys of the Rocky Mountains. Tonight, muffled by the ground fog, the sound of her passing was not enough to disturb the scattered communities as they slept in their remote farmsteads. Had someone there chanced to hear the aircraft, he may have disregarded it as an event too commonplace to be worthy of thought. Or he may have wished himself up there, flying to some faraway place and enjoying the solicitous attentions of a crew whose primary concern was his safety and comfort. He could not have dreamed that practically everyone in the aircraft would have gladly and gratefully changed places with him.

Like a monstrous weed, fear was taking root in the minds of most of the passengers. There were some who probably still failed to realize exactly what was going on. But most of them, especially those who could hear the groans and retching of the ones who were ill, felt the presence of a terrible crisis. The doctor’s words over the public address system, once they had sunk in, had provided plenty to think about. The hubbub of dismay and conjecture following them had soon died away, to be replaced by whispers and uneasy snatches of conversation.

Baird had given Janet two pills. “Take them to the captain,” he told her in a low voice. “Tell him to drink as much water as he can. If the poison is in his system the water will help dilute it. Then he’s to take the pills. They’ll make him sick — that’s what they’re for.”

When Janet entered the flight deck Dun was completing a radio transmission. He signed off and gave her a strained grin. Neither of them was deluded by it.

“Hullo, Jan,” he said. His hand was shaking slightly. “This is becoming quite a trip. Vancouver has just been asking for more details. I thought this lot would shake them up a bit. How are things back there?”

“So far, so good,” said Janet as lightly as she could. She held out the pills. “Doctor says you’re to drink as much as you can, then take these. They’ll make you feel a bit green.”

“What a prospect.” He reached down into the deep seat pocket at his side and took out a water bottle. “Well, down the hatch.” After a long draught, he swallowed the pills, pulling a wry face. “Never could take those things — and they tasted awful.”

Janet looked anxiously down at him as he sat before the nickering panel of gauges and dials, the two control columns moving spasmodically backwards and forwards in the eerie grip of the automatic pilot. She touched his shoulder.

“How do you feel?” she asked. His pallor, the beads of perspiration on his forehead, did not escape her. She prayed to herself that it was just the strain he was undergoing.

“Me?” His tone was unnaturally hearty. “I’m fine. What about you? Had your pills yet?”

“I don’t need any. I had chops for dinner.”

“You were wise. From now on I think I’ll be a vegetarian — it’s safer that way.” He turned in his seat and looked over at the first officer, now prone on the floor, his head on a pillow. “Poor old Pete,” he murmured. “I sure hope he’s going to be all right.”

“That’s up to you, isn’t it. Captain?” said Janet urgently. “The faster you can push this thing into Vancouver, the quicker we’ll get him and the others into hospital.” She stepped over to Pete and bent down to adjust a blanket round him, hiding the sudden tremble of tears that threatened to break through her reserve. Dun was troubled as he regarded her.

“You think a lot of him, Jan, don’t you?” he said.

Her golden head moved a little. “I — I suppose so,” she replied. “I’ve got to like him during the past few months since he joined the crew and this — this horrible business has made me…” She checked herself and jumped up. “I’ve a lot to do. Have to hold a few noses while the doctor pours water down their gullets. Not very popular, I imagine, with some of those hard-drinking types.”

She smiled quickly at him and opened the door to the passenger deck. Baird was halfway along the starboard side, talking to a middle-aged couple who stared at him nervously.

“Doctor,” the woman was saying intently, “that young girl, the stewardess — I’ve seen her keep going up to the pilots’ cabin. Are they well? I mean, supposing they’re taken ill too — what will happen to us?” She clutched at her husband. “Hector, I’m frightened. I wish we hadn’t come—”

“Now, now, dear, take it easy,” said her husband with an assurance he obviously didn’t feel. “There’s no danger, I’m sure, and nothing has happened so far.” He turned baggy, horn-rimmed eyes on the doctor. “Did the pilots have fish?”

“Not all the fish was necessarily infected,” answered Baird evasively. “Anyway, we don’t know for certain that the fish was to blame. You’ve nothing to worry about — we’ll take great care of the crew. Now, sir, did you have fish or meat?”

The man’s bulbous eyes seemed about to depart from their sockets. “Fish,” he exclaimed. “We both ate fish.” Indignation welled up in him. “I think it’s disgraceful that such a thing can happen. There ought to be an inquiry.”

“I can assure you there will be, whatever the cause.” Baird handed them each a pill, which they accepted as gingerly as if it were high explosive. “Now, you’ll be brought a jug of water. Drink three glasses each — four, if you can manage them. Then take the pill. It’ll make you sick, but that’s what it’s for. Don’t worry about it. There are paper bags in the seat pockets.”

He left the couple staring hypnotically at their pills and in a few minutes, progressing along the rows, had reached his own empty seat with Spencer sitting alongside it.

“Meat,” said Spencer promptly, before Baird could put the question.

“Good for you,” said the doctor. “That’s one less to worry about.”

“You’re having a heavy time of it, Doc, aren’t you?” Spencer commented. “Can you do with any help?”

“I can do with all the help in the world,” growled Baird. “But there’s not much you can do, unless you’d like to give Miss Benson and the other fellow a hand with the water.”

“Sure I will.” Spencer lowered his voice. “Someone back there sounds in a bad way.”

“They are in a bad way. The devil of it is,” said Baird bitterly, “I’ve got nothing I can give them that’s of any real use. You make a trip to a ball game — you don’t think to pack your bag in case a dozen people get taken sick with food poisoning on the way. I’ve a hypodermic and morphia — never travel without those — but here they may do more harm than good. God knows why I threw in a bottle of emetic pills, but it’s a good thing I did. Some dramamine would be mighty useful now.”

“What does that do?”

“In these cases the serious thing is the loss of body fluids. An injection of dramamine would help to preserve them.”

“You mean all this sickness gradually dehydrates a person?”

“Exactly.”

Spencer rubbed his chin as he digested this information. “Well,” he said, “thank God for lamb chops. I just don’t feel ready for dehydration yet.”

Baird frowned at him. “Perhaps you see some humor in this situation,” he said sourly. “I don’t. All I can see is complete helplessness while people suffer and steadily get worse.”

“Don’t ride me, Doc,” Spencer protested. “I meant nothing. I’m only too glad we didn’t get sick on the fish like the other poor devils.”

“Yes, yes, maybe you’re right.” Baird passed a hand over his eyes. “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing,” he muttered, half to himself.

“What do you mean?”