Feeling awkward the way he often did when he got trapped in large groups of people, Simon sat against the side of the plane, taking a seat on the metal floor and dropping his backpack in front of him between his knees.
He leaned back, resting against the vibrating surface. He hadn’t slept much last night. Not knowing if he’d ever see Saundra again had made the last few hours they’d had together even more special—and desperate. A headache dawned between his eyes and he tried to relax. He hated flying with someone else at the wheel.
A moment later, he realized he was being stared at.
Opening his eyes, he caught a glimpse of a young woman seated on the other side of the cargo area as she looked away from him. She acted as though she’d only been glancing around, but Simon knew he’d felt the weight of her gaze on him.
He didn’t recognize her. She was tall and slender, athletic, not fragile, dressed in jeans and a simple blouse. She wore hiking shoes and had a backpack on the ground in front of her. Her brunette hair was so dark it was almost black, but it was cut close to her head. Her eyes, Simon remembered, were a deep violet. Striking, memorable eyes. He knew he would have remembered seeing her before if he had.
So why are you interested in me? Then Simon realized he was being paranoid, or maybe even egotistical. Everyone in the cargo area was staring at everyone else.
The man to Simon’s right spoke up. “Hello.” He offered a hand.
Simon took it, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t feel like conversation.
“Philip,” the man said. “Philip Torrance.” He looked like a salesman, dressed in a white shirt and slacks. He was in his thirties or forties, tanned and fit.
“Simon Cross.”
“How far are you going? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“London.”
The man frowned. “You do realize the plane doesn’t go that far?”
“Yes.”
“I’d heard there was a way to get to England from France, but I’m not interested in doing that. Too dangerous. I’m going to take up a support position. They’ve got a lot of people coming out of England. I want to do what I can to help.”
Simon nodded. As he looked around, he wondered how many people were interested in going to London. He was aware of the violet-eyed young woman watching him again.
The engines suddenly whined louder, filling the cargo area with noise. The loadmaster and his three assistants plopped down onto the floor against the wall. The crates and bags behind the cargo netting in the rear of the compartment shook and vibrated. A moment later, the plane lurched forward as the pilot released the brakes.
Laying his head back, Simon closed his eyes and wondered if he was doing the right thing. His father was doubtless dead, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. So what was there waiting for him in London?
A chill filled the cargo area as the plane closed on the last few miles of the final leg of its journey. When Simon breathed out now he could see his breath, pale gray in the barely moving air.
Wrapped in a blanket, he sat against the cold metal of the bulkhead and tried to sleep. Normally, no matter what was going on, he could at least count on sleep. And all he’d done for the last three days of the flight was stress and worry.
They’d gotten news secondhand for the most part. Radios didn’t pick up signals inside the cargo hold, and they were never at the fuel depots much longer than to pick up fuel and sandwiches. Both of which were way overpriced.
Stories continued to filter out of London, but they were tales of horror. The city remained wreathed in smoke, burning constantly.
A short time later, the cargo team passed out self-heating tins of beef stew.
Simon sat cross-legged and pulled the tab that activated the chemical reaction that heated the stew. He breathed the scent of the stew in as he waited for the contents to reach temperature. His stomach rumbled in anticipation.
The cargo team also passed out chunks of bread and bottles of water.
Gnawing on the bread, Simon chewed it thoroughly. If he didn’t, he’d found during an earlier meal, the bread would lie like a congealed lump in his stomach. He sipped the water.
The young woman watched him through the fringe of hair that hung down over her eyes. Even though Simon couldn’t see her eyes, he knew she was watching. He just didn’t know why.
He peeled the stubby spoon from around the mug-shaped can and snapped it out straight. When the stew had cooled sufficiently, he spooned it up, emptying the contents too quickly. He turned his attention back to the bread.
The young woman leaned forward, extending her tin toward Simon. “Are you still hungry?”
Simon didn’t say anything, but his stomach rumbled at the prospect of more food.
“I’m through with this.”
Reaching forward, Simon took the tin, then offered it to a young mother and baby to his left. He’d watched them during the trip, noting that the mother sometimes looked tired and still hungry after their meager allotment.
The woman hesitated, then nodded her thanks. Simon didn’t think she knew English, but he wasn’t sure what her native tongue might be. She took the tin from him, darting a quick, furtive glance at the young woman.
The young woman turned her violet eyes back to Simon. “My name’s Leah. Leah Creasey.”
Feeling a little awkward because he’d taken the woman’s offering, Simon gave her his name.
Leah brushed a lock of dark hair back behind her ear. “You’re going to London?”
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
Simon didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know anyone else who is,” Leah said.
As far as Simon knew, no one else intended to go to London. Or any part of England. They
