96 Hours (3 page)

Abby rolled her lips in and pressed them together, hiding the grin.

The passengers were not allowed to retrieve the baggage they had checked, and that irritated the lot of them. They were told this as they deplaned and were corralled toward security.

“But, I’ve got important things in my bag,” one man said to no one in particular.

An older woman looked worried. “My pills. What about my pills?”

Abby had traveled often enough to know to put an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush in her carry-on, so though she wished she could get her hands on her suitcase, she knew she’d be all right for a while. Getting through customs hadn’t taken as long as she’d expected and as she followed the line of walking traffic, feeling a bit like a sheep, she caught a glimpse of red hair and a gray suit in front of an enormous map of the world. She walked up next to the woman and followed her gaze to the crude arrow drawn with a red marker. It pointed to Gander, Newfoundland, on the very far eastern side of Canada. The words next to it said, “You are here.”

The redhead stood quietly for a moment, sighed heavily, and muttered, “Terrific.”

“This way, please, ladies.” Before Abby had a chance to speak to the redhead, a kind-looking woman was waving them toward her and gesturing to a corridor. They both looked toward her and she smiled. “This way.”

With a weary nod, the redhead adjusted her computer bag on her shoulder and followed the woman’s directions, Abby just behind her. The airport seemed eerie and quiet and Abby wondered, not for the first time, exactly what time it was. Trying not to enjoy the view ahead of her too much—the redhead’s ass was just as tight as her calves—she started to hear voices ahead. When they turned the corner, they were greeted by a congregation of people dressed in red-and-white vests and red windbreakers.

“The Red Cross?” the redhead said to nobody.

Abby stood and looked around. The redhead was right. It was the Red Cross. And if the Red Cross had been mobilized, they were certainly not going to be delayed for a few hours. It’d be a few days, at the very least. She looked around at the faces of bewilderment, wonder, and terror on those around her. Standing next to her, the redhead looked as if she’d come to the same conclusion as Abby and was now asking herself the same question: What the hell had happened in New York?

“This way, please. To the buses.” A middle-aged man with a thick brown beard was gesturing to them much as the woman had at the entrance of the corridor. “Everybody on the buses.”

Outside the airport, it had grown dark, but the air was warm and salty, a mischievous breeze rearranging hairstyles and toying with clothing. A fleet of yellow school buses waited for passengers. When one filled up, the next would pull forward. The scope of the operation amazed Abby, and she wondered how big this Gander was to have so many people ready to help.

“Where are we going?” the redhead asked the driver as they boarded.

“Your flight is going to the Lions Club, ma’am. It’s not far.” The driver was a man in his fifties, his gray hair thin on top, his blue eyes gentle. “Don’t worry.”

The redhead moved down the aisle to find a seat and Abby heard her mutter, “Is this Gander or freaking Stepford?”

Abby snorted a laugh. “I was thinking the same thing.”

The redhead found a seat and Abby made a move to sit next to her, forcing her to slide toward the window. Once seated, she turned and held out her hand. “Hi. Abby Hayes.”

The redhead eyed her and Abby could almost hear the internal argument. Manners won out and the redhead shook her hand. “Erica Ryan.”

“Erica. That’s pretty. It’s nice to meet you, Erica.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention for a minute?” The man who stood up at the front of the bus was in his mid-thirties and vibrant. His dark hair was tousled and his eyes showed kindness and sympathy. Once the passengers focused on him, he continued: “I know you’re confused. I know you’re tired. We’ll be at the Lions Club in a few minutes and you’ll be able to wash up, get something to eat, and rest. You’ll also be able to watch the news on television. Now, I know a lot of you are wondering what’s going on. Here’s what we know: at around nine o’clock this morning, two planes flew into the World Trade Center in New York City.” A rush of gasps ran through the bus like a swarm of hornets. The man held his hands up, asking to continue. “Those two planes had been hijacked in the air by terrorists. There were two other planes that had the same thing happen to them. One flew into the Pentagon. The other crashed in Pennsylvania.” He allowed another moment or two for people to absorb what he was saying. Several people were crying. Erica and Abby sat stunned, as did the rest of the passengers. “The United States government immediately ordered American airspace to be closed, so all planes in the air over the States or en route to the States were ordered to land ASAP. That’s why you’re here.”

Abby’s stomach twisted painfully. She had friends in New York. She needed to know if her mother was okay. Several seats up on the bus, she saw Mrs. Baker, her shoulders shaking, her husband trying to comfort her.

“As I said, there will be televisions for you to watch and phones for you to use to call your loved ones and let them know where you are.” He paused and his voice dropped a bit. “When you see the footage, you’ll understand why things were done the way they were.” His throat moved as he swallowed. “If you find yourself in need of anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. We want to make you as comfortable as we can while you’re here. Okay?”

Abby wasn’t sure how many people were still listening to him at that point. She suspected that most of them felt like she did: numb. Shocked. Confused. She turned her head to look at Erica, any thought of flirting or playing gone. Erica had the same thunderstruck expression on her face as she returned Abby’s gaze. Neither said anything, they simply sat in silence for the remainder of the ride.

Chapter 3

The Lions Club reminded Erica of the local American Legion hall in the small Illinois town where she grew up and where her parents still lived. It was a large, rectangular one-story building, simple in its construction, yet housing everything a community might need for any type of fund-raiser or local celebration. She could almost smell the remnants of chicken barbecues and pancake breakfasts past.

The inside was broken into three large areas, plus a kitchen in the back corner and bathrooms opposite. Their flight had been full to capacity, so Erica estimated that there had to be close to two hundred people flooding the building. Conversation was at a surprising minimum, aside from the dozen or so overtired kids and babies who were making their dissatisfaction loudly known. Luckily, all families with children were ushered to the smaller area to the left. Those without kids were sent to the right. Some people went directly to the table in the lobby area on which sat four telephones. Others just meandered like sheep lost in a too-large pasture.

How was it possible that doing absolutely nothing for hours on end could make a person so damn tired? Erica wanted nothing more than to lie down in her own bed and sleep for three days. Her feet were killing her and the only reason she still wore her pumps was the fear of never being able to get them back on again. She’d almost sobbed out loud when they were told they couldn’t get their checked baggage. She had a much more comfortable pair of dress shoes in her suitcase, as well as her Reeboks and three pairs of cushy athletic socks, for which her feet were now screaming.

Erica followed the expanse of people moving to her right, thinking absently that they looked like cattle being herded from one area to another. Okay, this way. Now this way. Down this hall, please. Onto this bus. Everybody too stunned to say much of anything or ask any questions, just doing what they were told. Once the guy on the bus had filled them in, they’d all pretty much been locked inside their own heads with their own thoughts and their own worries and no idea what was to come next.

The larger side of the Lions Club was obviously made for dinners and presentations. The tables had been pushed to one side in order to make room for the cots and air mattresses that now filled the other side like small boats anchored at a marina, lined up one after another for yards and yards. Her computer bag felt like it had gone from ten pounds to fifty in the course of a couple of hours and she dropped it unceremoniously onto the first empty cot she came to. Pollyanna—er,
Abby
—took the cot next to hers. Erica had been trying to ignore the fact that she’d been stuck to her like glue since the airport, so she said nothing. Abby had been right about the water and Motrin taking the edge off her headache, however. Erica supposed she ought to be grateful for at least that.

She was just about to sit when the TVs in the corner of the room caught her eye—two of them, back by the tables, on wheeled carts and turned slightly so as not to disturb the people on the cots. The passengers seemed to forget how exhausted they were, dropping their belongings and, like stray spaceships in the pull of a tractor beam, they moved slowly toward the televisions, toward the news reports showing on both of them.

The upper third of the World Trade Center’s south tower was an inferno and fire shot from all directions from a plane that had flown directly into the building. People in the room gasped. Several began to cry. Erica barely registered anything the news reporter said. She just stared at the screen in horror and kept thinking,
This is some kind of sick and twisted hoax. This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life, only in the movies. It’s a hoax. Right?
Then the second plane hit and any and all logic fled from her brain. Next to her, Abby grabbed her forearm and made a quiet strangled sound, startling her out of her trance. Erica turned and looked at her, saw unshed tears shimmering in her blue eyes.

Nobody said a word. The only sounds in the entire main room of the Lions Club were those emanating from the TVs and the mingled gasping and crying of some of the spectators. Everybody else stood stock-still, stunned, held captive by the footage they were being shown—people jumping to their deaths from sickening heights—unable to escape the shock of it all.

And then the south tower collapsed.

Exclamations of horror and anguish filled the air as they watched the building cave in on itself, like an aluminum can being squashed from the top down. Abby’s hand flew to her mouth and her grip tightened on Erica’s arm. Erica’s breath stopped in her lungs—just stopped—and she felt a lump in her throat that she couldn’t swallow down.

“Oh, god, all those people,” Abby whispered aloud. “All those people.”

Most of those watching were unable to move from the televisions, even though they wanted nothing more than to turn away, to wipe the images from their minds. By the time the second tower went down, nothing in the room could be heard over the combination of crying and swearing in disbelief. But after a few moments, there was a burst of energy, a stampede to get to the table with the phones, Erica and Abby caught up in the flow like leaves dropped into a rushing stream.

“Take it easy,” a rotund man behind the table said. “Just take it easy. There’s time for all of you to use the phones, but let’s not trample one another, okay?” He managed to sound kindly rather than condescending and Erica wondered again if every resident of this little Canadian town was required to take Congeniality 101 or something as they grew up. If this many people had invaded her space, she’d be less than polite, she was certain about that.

Abby hadn’t spoken since they’d left the TVs, something Erica found to be odd behavior for somebody who’d never shut up on the plane. She looked shell-shocked, moisture still pooling in her eyes and her face drained of all color. Before Erica could think about what she was doing, she grabbed Abby’s arm and caught her attention.

“Hey,” she said quietly. “Are you okay?”

“My mom. I need to get a hold of my mom. She works in Manhattan.”

“Come with me.” Without letting go of her arm, Erica pulled her away from the throng of people crushing against the telephone table and led her back to the cots. She rifled in her bag, pulled something out, and tugged Abby by the hand to a secluded corner. Once there, with Abby looking at her questioningly, she handed over her cell phone. Only a dozen and a half or so people on the flight had cell phones and they’d been swarmed by others begging to be allowed to use them. Erica had kept hers under wraps. Now, she simply shrugged at Abby’s questioning expression. “I don’t want everybody and their brother hounding me to use it. Call your mother.”

Abby held Erica’s gaze for a long moment before she took the phone from her hand and dialed her mother’s house. When there was no answer, she tried again, her fingers trembling as she tried not to think about why her mother wasn’t answering the phone at this hour.

Erica hung out in front of Abby, trying not to eavesdrop, but not wanting to move too far away and leave her open and visible to everybody in the place.

Abby hung up a third time and muttered, “I’m going to try her office.” Erica simply nodded.