Stein looked more closely at the scene in the lounge. “Oh, no! My God…”
“Okay, Mr. Stein. Forget that. Let’s talk about survival.”
“Survival.” Stein nodded. He was taking in about ten percent of what was happening. He’d known they were in very serious trouble, but he thought the pilots were still in control. He looked at the cockpit again and saw the captain’s wheel move. “Who’s…?”
“Autopilot.”
“What happened?”
Berry shrugged. “Bomb, I guess.” But the two holes didn’t look like bomb damage to him, and he’d heard no explosion before the other noises. “Did you see or hear anything?”
Stein shook his head.
The two men stood awkwardly in the middle of the lounge, unsure of what to do next. The overwhelming scope and speed of the disaster had kept them off balance, and they needed the situation to remain static for a few minutes until they got their bearings. Finally, Stein spoke. “Just us two?”
Berry turned toward the cockpit. “Linda, come on out!”
The girl ran out of the cockpit and placed herself beside Berry, and under his encircling arm, as though she were being displayed at a family reunion.
Berry felt her body trembling. He looked down and spoke to her. “This is Mr. Stein. He’s going to help us.”
Stein forced a distracted smile. His eyes were still darting around the lounge.
“I’m John Berry.” He extended his hand.
Stein took it.
Berry looked down at the girl. “This is Linda Farley.”
It was surreal, yet comforting, to go through the amenities. That was all they had left. Behave normally, in a civilized manner, and rational thought and action would follow. Berry said, “Let’s sit down.” He’d developed a proprietary attitude about the lounge and cockpit. He indicated an empty horseshoe-shaped sofa with a cocktail table opposite the cockpit door. “Do you need a drink, Mr. Stein?”
“Harold. Yes, please,”
Berry went to the bar and found two Canadian Clubs and another cola. He carried them to the table and sat. He broke open the seal on his bottle and drank. Around him was a scene that had badly shaken him only ten minutes earlier, but like any survivor of a disaster, his mind was blocking out the destruction, the dead, and the dying, which was now irrelevant, and he was focusing on the problems he had inherited.
Harold Stein drank the liquor and let his eyes wander around the lounge. The two men in uniform lay beside the piano in the far corner to the left of the stairwell. One moved, the other didn’t. A third uniformed man lay against the rear wall of the lounge, his face and torso covered with a blanket. The bar in the opposite corner was in a shambles. Directly in front of him was another horseshoe-shaped couch. Three men and two women sat strapped into it. Their bodies moved spasmodically from time to time; every change of position presented Stein with a new tableau, each more grotesque than the last.
Stein turned away and focused on a grouping of the club chairs along the left wall. A man wearing dark glasses sat in a frozen position, his hands apparently reaching for a hanging oxygen mask. An old man opposite him lay across the cocktail table, apparently dead also. An old woman, the most animated of anyone, was hiding behind the old man’s chair, occasionally peeking out and whimpering. A young flight attendant, also conscious, was weeping by herself, curled up on the floor near the cocktail table. Clothes and sundry lounge paraphernalia were strewn over the plush blue carpet. “This is monstrous.”
“Let’s stay calm. This,” Berry waved his arm, “doesn’t concern us
… unless they become… unmanageable.”
“Yes, all right.” He seemed to be considering. “Maybe we ought to
… help these people… get below.”
Berry nodded. “Yes. They’re an unsettling influence, but I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do with them. I… Anyway, it wouldn’t be an easy job. Let it lie for now.”
“All right.”
Berry leaned forward. “Where were you when the… air let go?” Berry had begun to look for answers. If he could figure out what happened, he might be able to figure out what to do next.
“I told you. I was in the lavatory.”
The girl put down her cola. “Me, too, Mr. Berry.”
“Okay,” said Berry. “That’s it. I was in the lavatory, too. The lavatories held more of their pressure. Did either of you black out?”
They both nodded.
“Okay. But we’re all right now. The people who didn’t put their masks on are dead. Those who did are either dead or brain damaged.”
Stein leaned forward and spoke softly. “Brain damaged?”
“Yes. Of course. That’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?”
“Well… yes. I… my wife… two kids…” Stein put his hands to his face.
Somehow Berry hadn’t thought of the possibility that Stein was not traveling alone. Berry had traveled alone for so many years that it had accustomed him to think only of himself. Even at home, he seemed to think mostly in ones. Everything had happened so quickly that his thoughts had never gotten to the obvious, even concerning Linda Farley. She most of all would certainly have been with someone. “I’m sorry, Harold. I didn’t realize…” He could see that he was losing Stein, and the girl was going with him. “Listen, I’m a pilot and I have experience with these things, and the effects of… of oxygen deprivation are temporary. I didn’t mean brain damage-that was the wrong word. I think I can land this thing, and when everyone gets the proper medical attention, well, they’ll be all right. Now, you’ve got to help me so I can bring us all home. Okay?” He turned to the girl, who was crying again. “Were you with anyone, Linda? Come on. Take a deep breath and speak to me.”
Linda Farley wiped her tears. “Yes, my mother. We were… I tried to find her before. Then everything happened so fast…”
“Yes, I’m sure she’s all right. Where was she sitting?” As soon as he asked the question he regretted it. But something made him want to know.
“In the middle. I think near where the hole is.” Her eyes filled with tears again. She understood what that meant.
John Berry turned away from them and focused on a picture hanging on the far wall near the piano. Dali’s celebrated The Persistence of Memory. A bizarre grouping of melted watches, lying across a surreal landscape. If ever a painting fit a room, it was that painting in this room. He turned away and stared down at the white plastic table in front of him. He had been spared any concern beyond his own survival. He was thankful at least for that. If they ever got back, he would be the only one who would not carry any scars of this. In fact, he thought with some guilt, he could come out of it better than he’d gone in. But there were close to three hundred and fifty souls onboard. Souls, he remembered, was the official term. How odd. And most of those souls were dead or dying. It was a hell of a high price to pay for Berry’s personal resurrection. If he survived.
Berry glanced at Stein. The man wore a numbed expression. He was obviously haunted by the presence of his brain-damaged family, who sat no more than a hundred feet from him. Berry wondered how he, himself, would stand up under a similar strain. For an instant he conjured up the image of Jennifer and his two children.
He tried to examine his feelings. The thought had crossed his mind to give up and simply wait for the fuel to run out, but he had also thought about trying to fly the airliner, fly it to a landing. He glanced at Stein and the girl. He thought of the others in the cabin of the 797, and the word euthanasia came into his mind.
Berry knew that the pulse of the engines was lulling him into a false security, a lethargy that made it difficult for him to act as long as there appeared to be no immediate danger. But every minute that passed was a minute less flying time. He wondered if there was actually enough fuel left, considering the high fuel consumption at low altitudes, to get him to a body of land. He supposed he could ditch the plane in the ocean. Did the Straton have an emergency signal transmitter in the tail like his Skymaster did? If so, was it working? If it was there and if it worked, a ship might eventually come. But he didn’t know if the three of them could clear the aircraft before it sank. And how about the others? And if some of them did clear the aircraft, how long would they have to float with their life vests in the ocean? He thought of sunstroke, dehydration, storms, and sharks. Clearly they were all as good as
