Flight 3108 Page 11

  Rocky nodded vaguely. “Or an asteroid, throwing up a layer of debris that shaded the planet.”

  “I think I heard it could be the Earth wobbling, too. You know, changing its rotation. Or a deviation in the ocean current.”

  “Whatever the reason,” Mason interrupted. “We can’t put down here.” He glanced at Mitch. “And we only have so much fuel.”

  “That’s right, boys,” Mitch responded. “It’s do or die time.”

  Deb, in the wake of their failure, pulled herself out of her grief and fell back on her training by breaking out a cart and filling it with cups of coffee and slices of the cake Dustin had taken from the airport.

  Moving slowly up the center of the aircraft, she stopped at each passenger and inquired politely, as if it were just an ordinary flight, if they would care for some coffee and cake, never losing that professional, polite manner that probably did more to set people at ease with its normalcy than anything else.

  Mason wondered if her fiancé knew just how lucky he was.

  Tyler, he noticed, took a slice for Gwen and Kimi, passing them down—as well as one for himself. As Mason watched, Tyler broke off a chunk of the rum-soaked confection and shoved it into his mouth. His obsessive dietary restrictions had apparently fallen to the wayside in the face of their situation. Shock, fear, and hunger had a way of doing that to a person. The body did what it had to in order to survive.

  Just as they had when they’d flown back through. Exactly as they were about to do again. He hoped the third time was the charm, because who knew how long the corridor would stay open—and because one last attempt was all they had the fuel, or the strength for.

  “We will not be flying into that!” Mitch shouted, jabbing an angry finger at the churning vortex in front of them.

  “You have to,” Mason yelled in return. Now that the matter was at hand, and the rotating mass of greenish black was dead ahead, Mitch seemed in danger of veering away.

  “We don’t even know if the storm really has anything to do with it!”

  “It must! When have you ever seen anything like that?”

  “Never! Not even the last time.” Mitch grabbed at the controls as the plane seemed to drop and then bounce.

  Was the phenomenon larger now?

  It didn’t matter. If they didn’t do something, they’d be stuck crash landing on a frozen world, if they were lucky.

  So Mason screamed out the first thing that came to mind: “Dammit, Mitch, WINTER IS COMING!” As soon as it came out of his mouth, he felt ridiculous, but oddly the reference seemed to work, and Mitch immediately dove down with a snarl at the swirling tunnel of sick black clouds and crackling bolts of electricity.

  And then they were in it.

  Ohhhh shiiitt. Reality seemed to warp around Mason and he swooned at the wave of nausea and vertigo that came over him as the plane seemed to simultaneously roll and shoot forward at the same time. Eyes slitted, he felt bile rise into his throat as they spun back and forth, and then they were leveling out only to be slammed back into their seats.

  The force was so strong, he could barely lift his head to look over at Mitch. “Mitch!” he cried, seeing the man was nodding out. “Mitch! Set the aauutopiiilot.”

  Mason’s strength gave out and he let his head fall back. Straining to breathe, his vision began to grow dim as he watched Mitch out of the corner of his eye ever so slowly stretching his hand out for the switch.

  Then everything went black and Mason was out.

  He opened his eyes, instantly knowing what had awakened him. Unless he had been dreaming, he had just heard the sound of laughter. And not just from one person, but several, along with excited, happy chatter.

  Deb appeared above him. “It’s about time. I was starting to wonder if you were ever going to wake up. You’ve been mumbling and moving around for a while now.”

  Mason wiped the drool from his chin. “I have?” He was in the back of the plane, he realized, not the cockpit.

  “You’ve been out since we went through the last time. A couple of the others took a while to wake up too… Ed and Gwen, but—”

  Mason grabbed her arm. “Are they okay? Is Gwen okay?”

  She nodded reassuringly. “They’re fine.”

  “And Tyler?”

  She patted his hand. “He’s fine too. In fact, he’s walked back to check on you twice already. But what I want to know is, how are you feeling?”

  He’d been better. His headache had returned and his neck, as usual, felt stiff. “I’ll be all right.” Abruptly he remembered the joyful sounds he’d woken up to. “Where are we? Are we—”

  “We’re back,” she said, and on into the plane, the people that heard her sang out, “Hurray!”

  “Wait, how do you know—”

  “You slept a long time, mister. The captain has already talked to air control and one of the gentlemen escorting us in. We’re coming around to the airport now.”

  He shot up, sending a sharp stab of pain through his head, and had to lay back over for a second. More slowly, he straightened up again and slid over to the window. Could it be? Were they back?

  They were lining up over the runway. And they weren’t alone he saw with a thrill that was part surprise and part relief. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it hadn’t been to be accompanied by Air Force fighter jets. But of course he should have anticipated that. They had been gone, off the radar and out of communication, for all this time, and now out of the blue they were showing back up where they’d started from. For all anyone knew, they had been hijacked and were coming in for a repeat of 9/11.

  In the cockpit, Rocky was in the co-pilot seat beside Mitch, so Mason folded down the jumpseat behind them and sat there. “What have you told them?”

  Mitch was busy, so Rocky turned to answer him. “Not much. And they’re not happy about it. We’ve declared a state of emergency, verified the situation is under control other than being low on fuel, and requested assistance upon landing.”

  “Shit. They probably don’t know what to make of that.”

  “I know.” Rocky’s face broke into a smile. “But we’re home.”

  Mason nodded. It did appear to be so. Come what may, they were back. It finally sank in, and he returned Rocky’s smile with a grin of his own.

  Mitch finally shifted around to acknowledge Mason. “Glad to see you’re awake. But you might want to head on back and get strapped in. Everyone’s already been told to stay calm and do whatever they’re told. Things might get a little dicey after we touch down.”

  “Roger.” Mason got up and left the cockpit. Outside, Dustin was waiting for him.

  “I’ve got everyone sitting down with seatbelts on,” he told Mason. “I just hope no one freaks out. I wouldn’t be surprised if a team storms the plane.”

  12

  WITH A WELL-MAINTAINED runway and not a cracked and buckled one, Mitch had no trouble landing, only to be met by dozens of police vehicles and firefighters. In seconds the aircraft was surrounded by heavily armed men with black helmets and bulletproof vests.

  They boarded the plane, filling the aisles, guns raised, yelling at them to put their hands on their heads. All the passengers complied without a squeak of protest or dismay, which must have disconcerted the SWAT team, who had no doubt been expecting chaos and confusion, and more than a little fright at their appearance. But the survivors of Flight 3108 were now a hardy bunch and too damn relieved to be home to mind these security measures.

  But we’ll still be lucky if they don’t arrest us all, Mason thought as the men, along with one dog from a K-9 unit stopping periodically to sniff at the passengers, moved around, thoroughly searching the plane. He and the others had all agreed to divulge nothing at this point. Even now Mitch would only be saying something to the effect of: There’s no danger now. But we have experienced a traumatic event and some of these people may need medical and possibly psychological attention. And if pressed on the spot to give some explanation about where exactl
y they’d been, and more importantly, where the rest of the passengers were, he would be assuring them that they would be glad to answer all their questions, just as soon as everyone had been seen to.

  Dustin, who incidentally had been in the military, specifically the Army, had told Mason he was pretty sure in an unusual situation, especially a dangerous one—such as an attempted takeover (as one flight engineer had tried when he’d wanted to crash a jet so his wife would collect the insurance money) or an accidental triggering of the “Plane Hijacked” alarm—the aircraft could be held on the tarmac for hours until it was cleared. Or in the case of a bomb threat, the plane would ordinarily be diverted to an out-of-the way place if possible and the passengers ordered to disembark so the aircraft and all the baggage could be searched.

  What they’d gone through fit none of those scenarios, and Mason wasn’t sure what to expect. He hadn’t been any help coming up with a plausible story for them to tell the authorities and investigators, either. But in the end, it had been decided they would simply tell the truth. For one, the chances of them all sticking to some convoluted explanation with no deviations were slim. And only the last two hours of the cockpit sounds had been recorded on the CVR, not lending them much credibility one way or the other in that regard. There was also the flight data recorder to consider. Their engine speed, course changes, position of flaps and landing gear, hydraulic pressure, altitude, everything, would be right there to be examined. So, they were going to tell it like it happened. Offer to take lie detectors tests. Maybe all of it together would have the ring of truth.

  Or maybe he and the other survivors would be carted off to jail or taken away by men in white coats.

  Just when Mason’s arms were beginning to tire, Marcia’s body was removed from the plane, and then he and the rest of the passengers were ordered off.

  Told to take their carry-ons and other personal items with them, they were directed down a mobile staircase and over to a grassy area beside the runway.

  Mason eyed the white bomb squad vehicle not too far from them. They weren’t taking any chances. The plane, along with Mitch, Deb, and Rocky, who had been on the flight deck and hadn’t disembarked as yet, was positively swarming with not only local police, airport officers, firefighters, bomb squad and SWAT team members, but FBI agents as well.

  The airport shuttles trundling their way pulled to a stop shortly, and they were loaded up and then driven over to the nearest building.

  Inside, they were led through a locked-down terminal, cleared of other travelers, to one of the checkpoints, where they were summarily put through the entire screening process—shoes taken off; packs, bags, purses, and other items X-rayed; all of them herded through the metal detector and then patted down as well—before, finally, being taken around to a space that had been hastily converted into a sort of temporary triage center.

  There they were assigned cots in curtained-off areas, given preliminary examinations and asked medical-related questions which they freely answered, and then served hot drinks and sandwiches.

  As the medical technicians moved around them, checking them out and seeing to their comfort, Mason wondered what was going on with Mitch. Was he already being interrogated somewhere? The authorities wouldn’t know exactly what they had yet—not until they talked to everyone and examined the black box from the plane.

  No one was going to believe them. But there didn’t seem to be any lying about it, either. None of them were eager to say they’d gone through the Bermuda Triangle and emerged on a different version of Earth, not once, but twice. But any story they might tell would be refuted by inconsistencies. And when it came right down to it, they didn’t want to lie about it. It happened. Someone needed to be told.

  Mason, who had just shut his eyes for a minute, not really expecting to sleep, found himself being awakened sometime later to medical personnel and federal officers urging them up to be transported elsewhere.

  They were placed on small buses and driven for about thirty minutes before stopping before a gate covered by a concrete roof that straddled the road.

  He nudged Dustin, who had been loaded onto the same bus. “Is this a military base?”

  “A Naval base, to be exact,” Dustin answered, pointing up at the concrete structure ahead of them.

  Mason leaned forward, straining his eyes in the pre-dawn light, and managed to make out NAVAL AIR STATION across the top.

  “I don’t think I like this,” Gwen abruptly cried. She, Kimi, and Tyler had also been put on the same bus with them.

  Tyler, dozing against Kimi in the seat ahead of her, sat up and looked around in alarm.

  “Where are we?” asked Becka, behind Mason.

  “It’s a Navy air station,” he told her. “But they probably just needed somewhere to put us for the time being while they check everything out.” And figure out what to do with them, and what to tell the media. There was no way they could release a statement that Flight 3108 had suddenly returned after—according to the remaining passengers who’d made it back alive—passing through the Bermuda Triangle, which had resulted in the deaths of the missing passengers who had then been left on some alternate Earth.

  “There’s no way they can sequester all of us for long,” he added.

  After speaking with one of the soldiers, they were allowed to pass through the gate. They continued on for a while down a tree-lined road, made a couple of more turns, and then pulled into the parking lot of a non-descript, three-story structure. The place was unadorned except for the words “Navy Lodge” and one large palm tree on each side of the entrance.

  “Looks like temporary accommodations,” Dustin said as they came to a stop. “For training assignments and stuff like that.”

  The place was set up like a hotel, and soon they were being led up to the third level. The married couples, along with Kimi and Tyler, were granted a room together, but Noah and Kayla (presumably because of their age) were not.

  Mason, sticking close to his crew, managed to secure a room between Dustin and Rocky. Juan ended up on the other end by Gwen near Kimi and Tyler’s room. He hadn’t seen Mitch or Deb. Apparently they were being kept on a different floor.

  They weren’t being held prisoner exactly, but it was pretty clear they were not really free to leave, either. A guard had been posted on both ends of the long hallway. Just soldiers at ease, standing or squatting, but nonetheless there to deter anyone from passing for the time being.

  The first thing Mason did was take a hot shower, which felt heavenly, and don a fresh set of clothes taken out of his bag from the cargo hold. Their larger bags had been brought up with them upon taking possession of the upper floor.

  Then, to test the waters, he opened his door and stepped out into the hallway. Both of the soldiers looked his way, but made no move to stop him as he walked to Dustin’s room and tapped three times.

  Dustin opened up and Mason stepped inside. “They didn’t try to stop you?” Dustin asked, closing the door behind him.

  “Nope.”

  “Probably got the place bugged.”

  “Yep.” Mason walked over and dropped down onto one of the chairs at an identical dinette to the one in his room. “Has anyone questioned you?”

  Dustin shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “That’ll be any minute.”

  “Not before we eat, I hope. Those sandwiches at the airport didn’t really do much for me.”

  “I hear you.” Mason sighed. “How much time do you think it will take?”

  Dustin knew Mason wasn’t referring to when they’d be fed. “To release us, or to inspect the black box?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  Dustin sat down on the end of the bed. “Not that long, I wouldn’t think, since hopefully it wasn’t affected.”

  The interrogations commenced in earnest the next morning after they were sent down to the lobby for a breakfast of cereal, milk, juice, coffee, and fresh waffles.

  It seemed they were focusing on the key p
layers first. Mason met Mitch, looking a little haggard, coming out as he was going into the conference room they were using, and then on his way out, Deb was being brought in.

  Later, in Dustin’s room again, Mason and the boys discussed their individual “interviews.”

  “What about you, Rocky?” Mason asked. “Did you detect any disbelief on their part?”

  He cocked his head, squinting his eyes. “Not really. If I didn’t know better, I’d think they believe us.”

  “But how could they?” Juan asked, parked at the little dinette, nursing a cup of the coffee he’d made with the small coffee maker below the equally small microwave. “They haven’t even given us lie detector tests yet.”

  “They will,” Mason assured him.

  Dustin cleared his throat. “We’re not the first, you know.”

  They looked at him, waiting.

  He leaned forward, bracing his arm against his leg. “We’re the first to live to tell the tale, or to come back to tell the tale anyway. But there have been many disappearances and other mysterious occurrences within the Bermuda Triangle. It’s not like this is something completely new to them.”

  Mason nodded. “It is the first time they’ve had first-hand eyewitness accounts, though.”

  “That we know of,” said Rocky.

  “Still,” Juan said, “even with the flight data, I don’t see how they could possibly believe us.”

  “Unless,” Mason murmured, thinking. “They do know a lot more than they’re saying.”

  Dustin sat back in his chair. “Exactly. This ain’t their first rodeo.”

  The polygraphs took place the very next day, one right after the other, starting early that morning.

  “Now maybe they’ll believe us for sure,” Tyler said, meeting Mason in the hallway between their rooms. “I’m ready to go home. I need to see my mom.”

  “I was told the families have been notified that we’re alive and soon to be on our way back to them.” Who would they have notified about him? He couldn’t come up with a single person that had known he was on that particular flight. Certainly not Jess. Even his sister hadn’t known the exact flight number. And he was pretty sure he had given his address when he booked it, but not an emergency contact. Still, Sienna was his next of kin, so she was sure to have been informed. He made a mental note to get in touch with her as soon as possible.