Page 7 of Airborne
Was he blind to the surrounding people’s condition? Heather peered at the woman who coaxed him into taking his seat.
Heather left the couple and moved on to the rear, where the blond-haired little boy sat beside the older woman—Heather had seen them at the gate. The woman had a blanket over her face.No. No.Maybe she was sleeping. Heather pulled the blanket back far enough to view vacant eyes staring back at her. She quickly replaced the blanket, the fear mounting until she wanted to scream. But breaking down served no purpose.
“Hey, sweetie.” She bent to the little boy and noted his flushed cheeks. She adjusted his loose seat belt to his slender frame. Dampening a folded piece of a paper towel, she held it for him to see. “I’m going to clean the blood from your face.”
He whispered, “Grandma,” and touched the blanket of the covered woman. “She must have a headache.”
So young to experience such an ordeal. “She’s asleep, honey. Let her rest.” She swallowed to keep the tears at bay. “What’s your name?”
“Frankie.”
“Where do you live?”
“Me and Grandma live in Kingwood, Texas.”
“You’re a big boy to take such a long trip.” A piece of the paper towel stuck to his face, and she brushed it aside.
“I’ll be in kindergarten again. I missed a lot of school ’cause I’ve been sick.”
His explanation for repeating kindergarten ripped her heart raw. Fighting a virus required a strong and healthy body. “But you’re better now?”
“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t been in the hospital since April. Grandma says I’m growing out of it. Soon I can live with my dad. That’s where we’re going, to see my dad in Germany. He’s a soldier. We’re gonna have my birthday there.”
“You are brave.” His eyes dropped to half-mast, his pallor tugging at her fears for him. “Go ahead and sleep. Dream about your birthday and the time with your dad.”
“Will we be there before Grandma wakes up?”
“Not sure.” Poor Frankie would see his dad by himself. If he recovered.
Please, God, take care of Frankie and these helpless people. You know my concerns, my secret.
CHAPTER FOUR
HEATHER PEEREDinto Frankie’s face and continued to pray for him and those on board. How often had she heard terror brought others to God? During the past eight years, her relationship with God had dwindled to a weak thread. Chad held fast to the god of science, and while he didn’t ridicule her faith in the beginning, he often had plans for them on Sunday morning—for the benefit of their marriage.
In the early years, they debated their views of God, and Chad even attended church occasionally. Why hadn’t she followed the Bible’s instructions not to marry someone who saw no need for God? Heather had digested a lie. She thought she could influence Chad to change. But her pleas to invest time in exploring God collided against the soundproof wall of his heart.
“Agent Lawrence.”
Heather gave Nathan her attention. “Do you need me?”
“Houston’s FBI has requested you join a conference call inprogress regarding the sickness on board our aircraft. TSA, FAA, and CDC have already linked via audio. The pilot has arranged a special patch through our interphone. You can use the one near the flight deck.”
Heather nodded and glanced at Frankie’s closed eyes. She stared at the disposable gloves encasing her fingers, smeared with blood and vomit. If only attempts to make the victims comfortable helped. She peeled off the gloves, then tossed them into a full plastic bag and followed Nathan to the front galley.
A man grabbed her hand. Blood streamed down his arm, not from him but from his small daughter. “Please, help me.”
Heather grabbed tissues from Nathan. The little girl’s eyes stared vacant...
Nathan urged her toward business class, where he gave her the handset.
“Agent Lawrence here.”
A drone of voices stopped.
“Heather, this is SAC Bischoff. Those of us managing the crisis on board flight3879 need your input. Medi-Pro-Aire has requested CDC protocols, which we have put into effect. I’ve been told you’re assisting with the sick. While your efforts are commendable, please take precaution. On the call is ASAC Mitchell and Dr. Jordan Radcom, the director of the CDC’s Division of High-Consequence Pathogens and Pathology. I understand Dr.Radcom is a friend.”
“Yes, sir. My husband, Chad, and Jordan attended medical school together, and we stay in close contact.” She swiped beneath her eyes. “I can’t be professional in this. What is being done for these people?”
