Chapter 1 of "Passenger 14C"
I just completed the first draft of my new book titled "Passenger 14C" and it's now in the hands of the first beta reader. It will probably take several more months to go through the revising and editing processes. (I normally go through six complete revisions before it's finalized.) Here's the first chapter...
I awoke with a start when the plane made a hard landing, throwing everything that wasn’t securely fastened spiraling throughout the cabin.
Who was flying this thing? A plane as sophisticated as a Boeing 777 wasn’t supposed to bounce when it landed. The pilot doubled down by applying the brakes as hard as he could, making my already throbbing headache even worse.
I looked out the window and tried to focus my eyes on the surrounding landscape. Something was wrong. This was definitely not Pearson International Airport in Toronto.
The pilot turned the plane and taxied toward the terminal, but stopped on the tarmac out in the middle of nowhere. I could see numerous firetrucks, ambulances and police cars racing toward the plane.
I scanned the inside of the cabin, but it was hard to see because the interior lights were dimmed. There were no other passengers in my row, but I could faintly see a few people in the rows ahead of me calmly sitting in their seats as if this was a normal landing procedure. It obviously wasn’t. Some passengers were wearing oxygen masks that had dropped from the overhead control panels, but most weren’t.
That’s when I realized my oxygen mask had slipped off of my face when we’d landed and was now uselessly spewing oxygen into my left ear. I didn’t remember even putting it on.
Peering out the window again, I saw the grounds crew frantically maneuvering a stairwell up to the front doors of the plane. Another group of men were raising a platform up to the second set of doors. Why wasn’t someone making an announcement telling us what the hell was going on?
I looked around the cabin, but none of the other passengers seemed to be doing anything. Screw that, I thought. It was time to take action. I got out of my seat and carefully navigated toward the front of the plane. I had just made my way around the boundary to the Premium Economy section when someone wearing a full Hazmat suit shone a flashlight in my eyes. He seemed as surprised to see me as I did him.
“I’ve got one!” he yelled.
Another guy in a Hazmat suit suddenly appeared and put a full-scale gas mask over my face and the two of them quick-marched me to the front of the plane and strapped me down onto a stretcher.
“What’s happening?” I screamed, but they didn’t answer.
The stretcher was rolled out onto a platform outside the doors of the plane and I felt myself being lowered to the ground. I was looking everywhere trying to figure out what was going on when I saw a huge sign on a building in the distance. Gander. We’d landed in Gander, Newfoundland, not Toronto. I thought back to 9/11 when numerous trans-Atlantic flights had been diverted to Gander.
As the platform my stretcher was on descended, I could see the pilots, also wearing gas masks, being led toward waiting ambulances. When I reached the ground, my stretcher was loaded into an ambulance and I heard the driver say over the radio, “Ambulance zero-six on way to hospital with one patient – male – from airport. Expected arrival, seven minutes. Isolation room required. Medical status to come.”
The paramedic in the back of the ambulance with me was wearing full PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) and hadn’t said a word to me, but was busy connecting me to all kinds of medical devices. Numerous scopes, tracking every vital medical measurement flashed on the screens. I had no idea what any of them meant, but he seemed surprised by the numbers.
Finally, he spoke to me. “What’s your name?”
“Andrew McKenzie.”
“Age?”
“Forty-eight.”
He shone a bright light into each of my eyes like he was trying to peer inside my brain.
“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.
He quickly looked at all of the numbers on the scopes and then looked back at me.
“Nothing, as far as I can tell right now. You’re lucky.”
“Why am I so lucky?”
He hesitated before answering. “Because, as far as I know, you’re the only passenger on that plane that’s still alive.”
I awoke with a start when the plane made a hard landing, throwing everything that wasn’t securely fastened spiraling throughout the cabin.
Who was flying this thing? A plane as sophisticated as a Boeing 777 wasn’t supposed to bounce when it landed. The pilot doubled down by applying the brakes as hard as he could, making my already throbbing headache even worse.
I looked out the window and tried to focus my eyes on the surrounding landscape. Something was wrong. This was definitely not Pearson International Airport in Toronto.
The pilot turned the plane and taxied toward the terminal, but stopped on the tarmac out in the middle of nowhere. I could see numerous firetrucks, ambulances and police cars racing toward the plane.
I scanned the inside of the cabin, but it was hard to see because the interior lights were dimmed. There were no other passengers in my row, but I could faintly see a few people in the rows ahead of me calmly sitting in their seats as if this was a normal landing procedure. It obviously wasn’t. Some passengers were wearing oxygen masks that had dropped from the overhead control panels, but most weren’t.
That’s when I realized my oxygen mask had slipped off of my face when we’d landed and was now uselessly spewing oxygen into my left ear. I didn’t remember even putting it on.
Peering out the window again, I saw the grounds crew frantically maneuvering a stairwell up to the front doors of the plane. Another group of men were raising a platform up to the second set of doors. Why wasn’t someone making an announcement telling us what the hell was going on?
I looked around the cabin, but none of the other passengers seemed to be doing anything. Screw that, I thought. It was time to take action. I got out of my seat and carefully navigated toward the front of the plane. I had just made my way around the boundary to the Premium Economy section when someone wearing a full Hazmat suit shone a flashlight in my eyes. He seemed as surprised to see me as I did him.
“I’ve got one!” he yelled.
Another guy in a Hazmat suit suddenly appeared and put a full-scale gas mask over my face and the two of them quick-marched me to the front of the plane and strapped me down onto a stretcher.
“What’s happening?” I screamed, but they didn’t answer.
The stretcher was rolled out onto a platform outside the doors of the plane and I felt myself being lowered to the ground. I was looking everywhere trying to figure out what was going on when I saw a huge sign on a building in the distance. Gander. We’d landed in Gander, Newfoundland, not Toronto. I thought back to 9/11 when numerous trans-Atlantic flights had been diverted to Gander.
As the platform my stretcher was on descended, I could see the pilots, also wearing gas masks, being led toward waiting ambulances. When I reached the ground, my stretcher was loaded into an ambulance and I heard the driver say over the radio, “Ambulance zero-six on way to hospital with one patient – male – from airport. Expected arrival, seven minutes. Isolation room required. Medical status to come.”
The paramedic in the back of the ambulance with me was wearing full PPE (Personal Protective Equipment) and hadn’t said a word to me, but was busy connecting me to all kinds of medical devices. Numerous scopes, tracking every vital medical measurement flashed on the screens. I had no idea what any of them meant, but he seemed surprised by the numbers.
Finally, he spoke to me. “What’s your name?”
“Andrew McKenzie.”
“Age?”
“Forty-eight.”
He shone a bright light into each of my eyes like he was trying to peer inside my brain.
“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.
He quickly looked at all of the numbers on the scopes and then looked back at me.
“Nothing, as far as I can tell right now. You’re lucky.”
“Why am I so lucky?”
He hesitated before answering. “Because, as far as I know, you’re the only passenger on that plane that’s still alive.”
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