ava
“Hurry, hurry,” I muttered, gripping my crossbody bag and power walking to baggage claim like an idiot. My runners squeaked on the polished floor, and my heart thudded way too fast.
I still had my neck pillow resting on my shoulders, my eye mask plastered to my forehead. I had no clue why I was even rushing. It wouldn’t get me to Sadie’s place any quicker—and it definitely wouldn’t change the fact that I still had to find a way home from Sydney to Melbourne.
There were no buses or trains running. My phone was dead. Would a taxi transport me nearly nine hundred kilometres?
I couldn’t access ride-share apps. How long would it take to walk?
I held back a hysterical laugh.
Shit.
Part of me wanted to curl up in a ball and wait for someone to come and rescue me.
This was too much.
Before I boarded the flight in Atlanta, my temperature was checked, then a staff member handed me a face shield, disposable gloves, and a full PPE suit to slip on over my clothes. People were frantically moving around the airport, dragging suitcases and shouting into phones. Some were cursing about delays and cancellations. All the while I was shoved in this direction and that as airport staff tried to manage the chaos.
It was only when I’d taken my aisle seat I could finally stop worrying—about that part, anyway.
Whispers had rippled among the passengers as the plane barrelled through the sky, rumours about another mutation in the Ultimus virus. Violence in built-up areas that went beyond riots and looting. People biting one another. Amateur videos were being played on the news, but we were up in the air before I got the chance to examine them properly and decide if they were real.
Surely we hadn’t deteriorated to the point of taking chunks out of one another?
I inhaled a deep breath behind my face shield and mask, following the overhead signage. Passengers who’d disembarked with me walked in the same direction, a long procession of misplaced people trying to wrap their minds around the logistics of our situations.
Before we could reach the luggage carousel, an alarm went off in the terminal, so loud it got everyone’s attention.
Bleep-bleep-bleeeep.
It went quiet for a few seconds, then fired up again.
And again.
A shiver skated up my arms, and a sense of doom fell over me. I’d never heard an alarm in an airport—and I’d been in a lot of airports.
Everyone in the vicinity either stepped up their pace or stopped dead and waited for an explanation.
My stomach tensed, and my pace slowed. What if the danger was in the direction we were heading?
It could be anywhere. Everywhere.
The alarm stopped mid-bleep, and a woman’s voice came over the PA system.
“Attention all passengers and personnel. An emergency is underway in the T3 Domestic Terminal. For your own safety, make your way to the nearest exit immediately. Follow signage to designated assembly points and await further instructions.”There was a pause, then the voice came back with a frantic edge, “All passengers and personnel, wherever you are in the building. Evacuate. Now.”
I met the wide eyes of another passenger in PPE, who quickly turned away and searched for the closest exit.
Fine.
So, we wouldn’t be panic buddies.
My pulse thudded in my throat, my eyes flicking from one overreaction to another. We’d been stretched to our limits for months and months, and this was the cherry on top of a shit cupcake.
While the voice repeated the instructions over and over, I ditched the idea of grabbing my luggage. The carousel would be complete madness by now, and I had everything I needed in my carry-on bag.
The yelling and confusion drowned out the squeaking of my sneakers as I pivoted and locked onto an exit sign. I headed straight for the door, stopping only to avoid collisions with other PPE-clad people. My breath fogged the plastic of my face shield, and the suit had turned into my own personal torture-sauna.
