Flight Plan: Deconstruction Book Three (A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller) Read online

  FLIGHT PLAN

  DECONSTRUCTION

  BOOK THREE

  By Rashad Freeman

  Copyright © 2017 by Rashad Freeman

  www.rashadfreeman.com

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without the expressed written consent of the author.

  Writing the World End

  In the event that the world ends brutally one day, I hope to have captured it in a book. If not, then my greatest failure was in the limit of my imagination.

  Why we as humans, or at least myself as a writer am so captivated by the eventual demise of our species is a mystery. If I had to venture a guess, I think what compels us all to read these stories is the examination of how we all deal with our own mortality. It’s not just the fear of death, but the fear of the end of life as we know it. How do we go on after the internet and TV and air conditioning and refrigeration are distant memories? Perhaps we are forced to become human again…for better or worse. What rules, what moral compass guides us in a land where you do, what you can do? How do you live when your life is completely in your own hands with no training wheels?

  We’ve all become too comfortable. The skills and knowledge that thrust us from the dark ages have become our Achilles heel. We’ve forgotten how to live, we’ve forgotten how to survive and if grocery stores and fast food restaurants vanished, I think the majority of humans would follow closely behind.

  So why write the world end? These stories challenge us, force us to think and some to act. It’s an exercise in self-examination, pushing the limits of what we consider comfortable or even acceptable. We must continually question ourselves and our choices, for who knows what tomorrow brings. We must cast our moth-like shells into the fire until we are molded by the flames into dragons. We must learn to find the beauty that lies on the other side of adversity.

  ~”Per aspera ad astra”~

  “The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy. What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the Master calls the butterfly.” – Richard Bach

  CHAPTER 1

  DEPARTING FLIGHTS

  "I know, I know…Grayson hates it, but he’s only gonna be my little boy for so long," I groaned into my cell phone. “Tell him I’ll stay for just a few minutes and if I don’t get to I’m gonna be sad. Help me out here Toby.”

  “He’s twelve MJ, I don’t think guilt tripping him is gonna work,” Toby replied. “Maybe you should try bartering with the kid. Sour skittles go at a premium these days.”

  I cut my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. Toby had a point, he always had a point, but Grayson was turning twelve and what kind of mom would I be if I didn’t bring cupcakes and embarrass him on his last day of school before Christmas break?

  Toby had been trying to talk me out of it, but it was a tradition, a tradition that wouldn’t be broken by the social laws of middle school. So, Grayson was just gonna have to deal with it.

  “He wants to talk to you,” Toby demanded like I was negotiating for a hostage release.

  “Hello mom?” Grayson’s voice lulled in my ear.

  “Really? I can’t come see you? I’ve been gone for a week, Grayson.”

  “I know mom, but I’m not a little kid anymore. Nobody else’s parents come to their class. Cupcakes are so played out.”

  “Played out,” I repeated. “What’s that about?”

  “That’s an elementary thing mom. It…it’s just not cool for your parents to come to your class anymore.”

  “If you really don’t want me to come, I won’t come,” I let the words hang in the air.

  Grayson didn’t immediately respond. I heard him grunt and groan and I could imagine the range of grimaces he was twisting his face into. He got that from his father, Toby always could communicate better without words.

  “You pouting?” I asked.

  He huffed like an agitated bear and I could picture his stringy brown hair blowing out of his face. I imagined him standing in front of me, breaking me down with his watery, blue eyes, trying to make me feel bad for wanting to see him.

  “I don’t’ know why this is such a big deal,” I continued. “Your dad says I should offer you sour skittles.”

  “Fine,” Grayson laughed. “But five minutes mom, that’s it and I want the one-pound bag.”

  “Deal,” I said with a smile. “I love you.”

  “I love you too mom.”

  “Okay see you soon. Put your dad back on.”

  “You like that?” someone crooned in a sultry voice that reminded me of a sex worker.

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked up. There were only two other people in the sky lounge with me. An awkward couple, throwing back mimosas before our one-hour flight. The man’s leathery, hand kept inching further and further up the woman’s skirt as she whispered and nibbled on his ear. They had the look of a couple that wasn’t married, even though they both wore wedding bands.

  For starters, there was at least a twenty-year gap between the two of them and that type of careless, public groping was only done by people about to head back to boring lives. The money she kept slipping out of his wallet, that was just the icing on the cake.

  “Mary Jane Buchannan,” a raspy, deep voice called.

  At the door, glancing between me and the overzealous couple, was a slightly overweight man in dark blue slacks and a light-blue button-up. “Sean Vodder,” his name tag read.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “You have a call at the desk,” he replied, shaking his head as he held open the door.

  “Okay, give me one moment.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Buchannan, he said it was urgent.”

  I rolled my eyes and growled. “Toby, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you soon and don’t forget to pack Grayson’s cookies.”

  “I know, I know,” he replied. “Have a safe flight, I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I hit the end button on my cell phone and slipped it into my purse. Smiling, I stood up and followed Sean into a small, secluded room outside of the sky lounge. It smelled like whiskey and cigars, the calling card for the smug, elite that had access to the luxuries that remained unknown to most.

  “That one,” Sean said and pointed at a black Avaya phone with an LCD screen and a flashing red light.

  I picked up the receiver and brought it to my ear. “This is MJ,” I said softly.

  “How did it go?” a deep, baritone voice asked.

  “Everyone is on board. Schedule is tight, but they’ll make it. The Mayflower is by far the most advanced of them all.”

  “That’s good to hear. Sounds like sticking with Neilman was a promising idea.”

  “He definitely understands the arena we are working in.”

  “You did excellent work up there MJ, get home safe.”

  I hung up the phone and smiled. The idea of heading home always brought me joy. I’d been zipping across the country for the last two months
with intermittent stops at home. Grayson seemed to be growing up without me and for the first time in a while I’d get to spend more than a few days with him.

  The Christmas break was coming and I couldn’t wait. I was eager to put the stress and worry from my job on the back burner for a while. I just wanted to be a mom again.

  Daydreaming, I stepped back into the lobby. The two lovebirds were still carrying on, but now they had an audience. Two older businessmen had joined us and were glaring at the couple in disgust. I laughed to myself then looked out of the window at the darkening sky.

  “Getting ugly out there,” Sean said from behind me.

  “Yeah…it is.”

  “Don’t worry, it’ll take more than that to rattle us, we fly through worse. First class is boarding by the way,” he said with a smile

  “Thank you, I’ll be along in a second.”

  I walked into the lady’s room and set my purse onto the counter. Leaning over the sink, I stared into mirror and sighed.

  Forty-five had grown on me. My stringy, brown hair was flat, but beyond that I looked good, I was in relatively decent shape and could still finish a mile before the clock hit double digits. That was saying a lot, but the last few years seemed to pile on me like dry cement.

  A life in the intelligence community kept me on my toes. All my days looking over my shoulder had made me more tool than human. The strain it put on any real relationships was indescribable, but as I stared into the mirror I thought, I’ll be damned if I’m not a milf.

  I’d dressed down for the flight home, exchanging my skirt-suit for a t-shirt and jeans. Being comfortable was truly underrated. And even in that get up, I was impressed with myself.

  I turned on the faucet and let the water run for a moment before splashing some on my face. It’d been a late night and an early morning and what I wanted more than anything was the comfort of my own bed, but not yet.

  “Few more hours MJ,” I grumbled.

  As I made my way toward the runway a loud crackle echoed and shook the windows. The sky outside grew even darker and the dull gray was slowly fading to black. Flashes of electric blue danced in the distance and the windsocks near the runway, flapped around like a man on fire.

  “Crazy idea for man to put a tin can in the air to begin with,” one of the businessmen said as he stopped beside me.

  I peeled my eyes away from the window for a moment and gave the man a curious glance. More thunder rumbled lowly and I forced a smile onto my face. “I guess they’re gonna earn their money today,” I said grimly.

  “Timothy,” the man said and held out a web of elongated fingers.

  “MJ,” I replied and shook his hand, ignoring the clammy feeling of his grasp.

  “Ladies first.” He held out his arm and granted me passage.

  With a raised eyebrow, I walked past him toward the counter. He lurked behind me, his head still turned toward the windows with a hesitant grimace stretched across his aging face. As I stopped to hand over my boarding pass he nearly ran into me.

  “Sorry…sorry. Have you ever seen anything so crazy?” He pointed back at the window.

  I looked over my shoulder and the sun was breaking through the clouds, spreading rays of light across the airport. It was like something out of a movie. Every hint of the storm was gone and suddenly the weather had gone from ominous to downright beautiful.

  “Wow!” I whispered.

  It was the only word that could describe how I felt. I’d been terrified of flying moments earlier and now it was like the sky itself was calling to me. I breathed in relief and let my shoulder relax.

  “Your boarding pass,” the attendant at the counter snapped.

  I stared her down for a moment then held out my ticket. She took it from me and looked it over then made a strange face and smiled.

  “Mrs. Buchannan,” she said in a shaky voice, trying to sound polite. “Enjoy your flight and um, thank you for flying with us again.”

  I snatched my ticket back and started heading down the jet bridge toward the plane. Timothy trotted behind me with loud, clumsy steps. It was like being stalked by a drunk Panda.

  The tunnel smelled dank and stale and the dim lights gave me goosebumps. I imagined a bolt of lightning hitting the accordion tube and blowing it to shreds. But that was gone, the sound of thunder vanished and my fears of flying were as irrelevant as ever.

  “That lady was a doll, huh?” Timothy called as he closed the gap between us.

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “Well, I did. Freaking New York, right? Crazy people and crazy weather.”

  “That’s not a thing,” I replied and made my way onboard.

  I could see strips of clear blue sky between the cracks as I stepped into the plane. I’d never seen weather like that before, not here, not anywhere, at least nothing so drastic. Something wasn’t right, but I tried to brush off the feeling.

  The air inside of the plane wasn’t as foul as the tunnel. It was warm and the little vents tried hard to keep it circulating. I could tolerate the smell for an hour, it was a small price to pay to finally see my family.

  Standing just inside of the doorway was a thin, blonde flight attendant with her hand outstretched. She looked nervous, but tried her best to hide it.

  “They told me you had something that should remain with the captain,” she said sheepishly.

  “Oh, yes,” I replied then stepped to the side so Timothy could pass me.

  “Private bag service? Nice! I’ve gotta get into whatever club you’re a part of,” Timothy said with a grin then headed down the aisle.

  I watched Timothy go then handed the attendant a small brown satchel with a rusted lock over the flap. It didn’t look like much, but that was the point.

  “MJ,” the captain greeted me as he stepped out of the cockpit.

  “Nathan,” I replied warmly.

  “Is that for me?”

  “It certainly is.”

  He took the bag from the attendant like he’d been passed the nuclear arming codes. It was nothing that nefarious, but the real passenger list was something that remained guarded whenever my staff flew commercial. Certain people didn’t belong on planes or in the United States for that matter and while Delta may have owned the plane, Uncle Sam owned the pilot.

  “Well, I probably need to get this thing in the air sooner than later,” Nathan said as his eyes scanned the thin roof like he was looking for cracks. “I don’t think this perfect weather is gonna hold.”

  Nathan tipped his head and stepped back into the cockpit. I smiled and followed the attendant toward my seat. She led the way, her face strained and eyes jittering wildly as she twirled a finger in one of her blonde locks.

  She seemed frantic and my guess was she’d just committed a murder or snorted a line of cocaine. Whatever it was she needed to get it together. I had a classroom to get to and a snappy twelve-year-old to embarrass.

  “Do you think they’ll cancel the flight?” I asked, trying to bring her back to reality. “I mean, it was pretty bad a minute ago.”

  She paused and looked out of the window beside me then bit her lip. Her face tightened and she swallowed before answering.

  “I really hope they do,” she whispered in an anxious voice. “They say the storm wouldn’t even affect us and we’re flying the opposite direction. But everything clearing up like it did, I don’t like it. I just don’t like it. Anyway, here’s your seat Mrs. Buchannan.”

  I smiled and nodded then she took my carry on and tucked it in the overhead bin. With that, she hurried off. I stared after her, fighting the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wished she had said something else, anything else. And while the weather looked promising, her words made me want to run off the plane as fast as I could.

  “Are all of these flight people that cheerful?” Timothy laughed.

  He was in the seat across the aisle from me. It pained me to offer up a smile like I remotely enjoyed his presence. Even an hour having to listen to h
im was going to be too much.

  “Timothy,” I started. “You seem like a nice guy, but whatever this thing is you’re trying to do, don’t.”

  He scowled at me. “I…I wasn’t. New York bitches,” he growled then turned away.

  “Asshole,” I snapped.

  Five years ago, I would’ve gotten up and broken his nose. Ten years ago, I would’ve broken his arm and thrown him head first off the plane. Thank God for the maturity that came with age.

  For the next few minutes I sat with my eyes closed, humming to myself. I kept hearing what sounded like thunder, but when I looked out of my window it was still clear outside. My mind was spinning itself into a knot and I was ready to get home. Sitting on the tarmac was torture, it was like being strapped into a roller coaster, just waiting for it to snap you forward.

  “Are we taking off soon?” I asked as another flight attendant passed me.

  He was an older guy, with glasses and a bulky, silver watch that I could’ve read from the back of the plane. He had dark, brown hair with silver streaks in it and thick eyebrows that almost fell into his eyes.

  “Just waiting on the all clear from the tower,” he replied. “We should be pushing off any minute.”

  I nodded and leaned back in my seat.

  “We’ll get you there. Don’t worry about that.” He patted my shoulder then walked off.

  Sighing, I rested my head against the window and stared outside. Miniature trains rushed across the tarmac with tails of luggage swinging behind them. The ground crew was zipping all over the place, ushering planes from here to there like traffic cops.

  A raspy hiss came from above as the vents started to blow warm air onto my face that smelled like stale water. A chorus of voices filled the cabin, swirling around, getting louder and louder. Passengers were growing restless.

  “Don’t talk to her,” a familiar voice droned. “She’s full of herself.”

  I looked up as a young man in jeans and a plain, white t-shirt stopped beside me. He had short, buzzed black hair and a thick beard that looked like he’d been growing it since childhood.