“We are trying to get one of the tsunami stations, “Warren said. “They do sonic pings to measure wave swells.”
“It’s early, yes, things could change. I doubt that. We believe even by what we’re seeing now,” Armenov said, “It’s happening fast. It’s a mess out there. Cold and warm temps colliding.”
“Like our methane eruptions,” Susan said. “Wow, when Mother Nature decides to clean house, she goes full force and doesn’t waste time.”
“Bottom line, what’s safe now won’t be for long,” Armenov told her. “We both know what this all means. If this continues on its current path, it won’t be long before …”
Susan exhaled heavily, cutting him off and finishing his sentence. “We’ll be under water.”
THIRTEEN – IMAGES OF DOOM
Flight 3430
Tom imagined and hoped for the moment when Gabe was sober, he just wished it didn’t happen at the end of the world.
The flight attendants weren’t giving up any of the alcohol, not yet. After eight hours in the air, the snacks were running low.
But Tom needed and wanted a drink. His day started twelve hours earlier when he arrived at the airport and he didn’t get much sleep.
Saying he was stressed was an understatement.
Gabe was getting a crash course in flying a 737 and as horrible as it was, Tom wasn’t confident. He was nervous. Something about a stranger flying a plane made him feel more at ease than his own flesh and blood. Maybe because he knew how Gabe was.
That was one stress factor.
There was nothing they could do about what happened on the ground, but in the air it was another story.
It was real.
Seven people were dead on the plane and the co-pilot clung to his life.
Not to mention, the fuel situation.
They needed to land again to refuel and they hadn’t heard from Gene on where that could be.
Tom wondered how long they could keep going. Flying, landing, fueling, all in a rush, fearful that at any second while on the ground things could go south.
They cut it close, too close when they refueled.
What would happen the next time, or the time after that? One of those stops, time would catch up to them.
He stood in that tiny area, right between the cockpit and the main cabin. The small galley and lavatory to his right and left. His eyes kept casting down to his phone, as if staring at it would make Gene reply.
Again, not meaning to be a pest, Tom sent a text, ‘Anything?’
He exhaled thinking, come on Gene, answer.
“Dad?” Owen peeked around the corner. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I am … just tense.” He lowered his voice. “We have to land and soon.”
“How much time?”
“An hour, maybe. I don’t know.” Tom shrugged. “How are you holding up?”
“Good. Tired of being on this plane.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I keep convincing myself I’m just headed somewhere exotic.”
Tom chuckled. “Yeah, the apocalypse.” He glanced to his phone.
“Maybe he is texting Gabe and the pilot.”
“And blowing me off?”
“Yeah, Dad, he has better things to do.”
“True.” Tom sighed. “I need a drink. Unfortunately, they aren’t serving.”
“Well, Gabe’s stash is back at our seats.”
“You’re right. I think I’ll go snatch up a bottle.”
“I’ll go back to watching Lance.”
“Should I bring you up a mini bottle?” Tom asked.
“Nah, I’m good.”
After a pat to his son’s back, Tom walked down the aisle to his row. The plane was quiet. No one talked, and he could feel how tense things were.
He glanced at the faces of the passengers as he passed them, each person looked as if drowning in deep heavy thoughts. A place, Tom avoided going. He didn’t want to think about what was below, who remained or people he lost. He couldn’t let his mind go there. He had to focus on his sons and the fact they were alive.
For how long remained to be seen.
As he neared his row, he heard the sluggish sniffling. Someone was crying or was stuffed up. He saw the tip of the plastic bag with the mini bottles. It was perched on the aisle seat of his row.
Just as he reached for it, he saw Delaney.
She sat in the window seat, leaning towards the window. She stared at her phone, curled up in the seat with her legs close to her body.
“Hey,” Tom said softly, lifting the bag.
She looked at him.
It was her who was crying.
Tom sat down. “I came for one of these.” He undid the bag. “Did you want one?”
She shook her head.
Tom pulled out a bottle, it didn’t matter what it was. His son had a variety of different types, which was slightly disturbing to Tom. He resealed the bag and grasped the top to the tiny bottle. He couldn’t open it, his fingers seemed unable to get a grip on it. “Goddamn it. My fingers never …”
Delaney held out her hand and Tom gave it to her.
With ease she opened it and handed it back.
“Thanks.” He sipped it. “What’s going on? Why the … why the sudden change in demeanor? Not that it’s not okay, I mean things … things are …” He took another sip to stop any further stumbling over his words. He had his children with him, Delaney of course, was worried about hers. He forgot about it until that second, she had been so focused on helping Lance and the others.
“I heard someone talking about social media,” Delaney replied. “Looking for posts. Everyone you know is fighting for the few charging ports on this plane. So when mine was done, I remembered the app.”
“What app?”
“It’s a tracking app.”
“I don’t understand,” Tom said. “Keep
