Clarkesville (Chandler Riggs)

Chapter 3

I hated planes, a lot. The pressure on landing was even worse than taking off. It felt as if giant hands were lifting me into the air, and then dropping me after a full two hours.

But this ride felt as if the giant was chucking me to the ground.
My head was pounding from the hit, my brain was wracked with questions, and my heart was out of control.

And for some reason, my mother was completely calm. Even if the pilot told us to remain that way; she'd actually listen?

I didn't bother asking her about it, for she could have another breakdown, or she could just yell at me again. It surprised me that she hadn't complained along with the other passengers. Yet it also relieved me.

We touched down, my head banging against the softer back of the chair, and my funny bone nailing against the plastic armrest. You'd think they'd put better cushioning for safety on an international flight.

My whole body was practically damaged in someway, hit against another thing roughly. I groaned when we slowed, trying to move my tingling arm from it's rest.

Although nothing bothered me more than what was to come when we got off this plane.

I searched for the building out the window, seeing nothing but plains and twists and turns of pavement.
And then I saw a man.

He trotted limply in the middle of the landing space, his head a bit lower, his feet dragging behind him. The man seemed further away, probably about 30ft from our aircraft.

You could tell his clothes were tattered, and he had some sort of wound on his ankle. I wondered if he was affected by whatever was going on here, or just heading towards the port for help.

A hand gripped my still tingling wrist, and I turned to find my mother nervously tugging at it. "Let's go, now." She demanded. I lifted my bag from my lap and weaved my way after her, but still making sure I had everything I needed.

People frantically lifted their suitcases from above their heads onto the floor, as they shoved others along, including my mother and I.

"Look!" I twisted my head around to see a snotty looking man glaring and pointing out my previous seat's window.

Others behind him gasped at the sight that I believe was the poor looking man. What could possibly be a big deal about him?

The quirky man mumbled something, but I found myself stumbling after my mother, who now turned at the front of the plane and was gone. "Ugh, Mother!" I yelled after her.

I tripped over dropped bags and people's feet, until I finally got free. But as I turned the corner, I was swept up into the crowd of people again.

Mother was no where to be seen over the various different colored heads and hats. How am I supposed to get through this?

When the gunshot went off, I knew that I really couldn't get through it alone. Why would there be a gun in an airport, other than a policeman's?

Screaming, yelling, pushing, it was all too much. I wish I could just close my eyes, and fall away.

***

By the time I got through the tunnel and into the airport, people were scattered. It was a mess: alarms ran our of there soundings, stores had run out of supplies, and no body would help me with my mother.

I just wanted to know what the hell was going on.

A woman and her children, two little boys, were sprinting down the ramp ignoring my screeches.

"Please, can you tell me where the employees are?" I asked her.

"No, please, just leave us alone..." Her eyes glowed with fear for her and her children. They looked at me like a monster. But I was perfectly fine; so what was so wrong?