It didn’t light.
‘Oh-oh,’ she said.
Albert glanced over. She struck the match again … and again . . . and again. There was nothing. She looked at him, frightened.
‘Here,’ Albert said. ‘Let me.’
He took the matches from her hand and tore another one loose. He struck it across the strip on the back.
There was nothing.
‘Whatever it is, it seems to be catching,’ Rudy Warwick observed.
Bethany burst into tears, and Bob offered her his handkerchief.
‘Wait a minute,’ Albert said, and struck the match again. This time it lit … but the flame was low, guttering, unenthusiastic. He applied it to the quivering tip of Bethany’s cigarette and a clear image suddenly filled his mind: a sign he had passed as he rode his ten-speed to Pasadena High School every day for the last three years. CAUTION, this sign said. TWO-WAY TRAFFIC AHEAD.
What in the hell does that mean?
He didn’t know … at least not yet. All he knew for sure was that some idea wanted out but was, at least for the time being, stuck in the gears.
Albert shook the match out. It didn’t take much shaking.
Bethany drew on her cigarette, then grimaced. ‘Blick! It tastes like a Carlton, or something.’
‘Blow smoke in my face,’ Albert said.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Blow some in my face.’
She did as he asked. and Albert sniffed at the smoke. Its former sweet fragrance was now muted.
Whatever it is, it seems to be catching
CAUTION: TWO-WAY TRAFFIC AHEAD.
‘I’m going back to the restaurant,’ Nick said. He looked depressed. ‘Yon Cassius has a lean and slippery feel. I don’t like leaving him with the ladies for too long.’
Brian started after him and the others followed. Albert thought there was something a little amusing about these tidal flows – they were behaving like cows which sense thunder in the air.
‘Come on,’ Bethany said. ‘Let’s go.’ She dropped her half-smoked cigarette into an ashtray and used Bob’s handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Then she took Albert’s hand.
They were halfway across the waiting room and Albert was looking at the back of Mr Gaffney’s red shirt when it struck him again. more forcibly this time: TWO-WAY TRAFFIC AHEAD.
‘Wait a minute!’ he yelled. He suddenly slipped an arm around Bethany’s waist, pulled her to him, put his face into the hollow of her throat, and breathed in deeply.
‘Oh my! We hardly know each other!’ Bethany cried. Then she began to giggle helplessly and put her arms around Albert’s neck. Albert, a boy whose natural shyness usually disappeared only in his daydreams, paid no notice. He took another deep breath through his nose. The smells of her hair, sweat, and perfume were still there, but were faint; very faint.
They all looked around, but Albert had already let Bethany go and was hurrying back to the windows.
‘Wow!’ Bethany said. She was still giggling a little, and blushing brightly. ‘Strange dude!’
Albert looked at Flight 29 and saw what Brian had noticed a few minutes earlier: it was clean and smooth and almost impossibly white. It seemed to vibrate in the dull stillness outside.
Suddenly the idea came up for him. It seemed to burst behind his eyes like a firework. The central concept was a bright, burning ball; implications radiated out from it like fiery spangles and for a moment he quite literally forgot to breathe.
‘Albert?’ Bob asked. ‘Albert, what’s wro-‘
‘Captain Engle!’ Albert screamed. In the restaurant, Laurel sat bolt upright and Dinah clasped her arm with hands like talons. Craig Toomy craned his neck to look. ‘Captain Engle, come here!’
4
Outside, the sound was louder.
To Brian it was the sound of radio static. Nick Hopewell thought it sounded like a strong wind rattling dry tropical grasses. Albert, who had worked at McDonald’s the summer before, was reminded of the sound of french fries in a deep-fat fryer, and to Bob Jenkins it was the sound of paper being crumpled in a distant room.
The four of them crawled through the hanging rubber strips and then stepped down into the luggage-unloading area, listening to the sound of what Craig Toomy called the langoliers.
‘How much closer is it?’ Brian asked Nick.
‘Can’t tell. It sounds closer, but of course we were inside before.’
‘Come on,’ Albert said impatiently. ‘How do we get back aboard? Climb the slide?’
‘Won’t be necessary,’ Brian said, and pointed. A rolling stairway stood on the far side of Gate 2. They walked toward it, their shoes clopping listlessly on the concrete.
‘You know what a long shot this is, don’t you, Albert?’ Brian asked as they walked.
‘Yes, but’
‘Long shots are better than no shots at all,’ Nick finished for him.
‘I just don’t want him to be too disappointed if it doesn’t pan out.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Bob said softly. ‘I will be disappointed enough for all of us. The lad’s idea makes good logical sense. It should prove out … although, Albert, you do realize there may be factors here which we haven’t discovered, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
They reached the rolling ladder, and Brian kicked up the foot-brakes on the wheels. Nick took a position on the grip which jutted from the left railing, and Brian laid hold of the one on the right.
‘I hope it still rolls,’ Brian said.
‘It should,’ Bob Jenkins answered. ‘Some – perhaps even most – of the ordinary physical and chemical components of life seem to remain in operation; our bodies are able to process the air, doors open and close.’
‘Don’t forget gravity,’ Albert put in. ‘The earth still sucks.’
‘Let’s quit talking about it and just try it,’ Nick said.
The stairway rolled easily. The two men trundled it across the tarmac toward the 767 with Albert and Bob walking behind them. One of the wheels squeaked rhythmically. The only other sound was that low, constant crunch-rattle-crunch from somewhere over the eastern horizon.
‘Look at it,’ Albert said as they neared the 767. ‘Just look at it. Can’t you see? Can’t you see how much more there it is than anything else?’
There was no need to answer, and no one did. They could all see it. And reluctantly, almost against his will, Brian began to think the kid might have something.
They set the stairway at an angle between the escape slide and the fuselage of the plane, with the top step only a long stride away from the open door. ‘I’ll go first,’ Brian said. ‘After I pull the slide in, Nick, you and Albert roll the stairs into better position.’
‘Aye-aye, Captain,’ Nick said, and clipped off a smart little salute, the knuckles of his first and second fingers touching his forehead.
Brian snorted. ‘Junior attache,’ he said, and then ran fleetly up the stairs. A few moments later he had used the escape slide’s lanyard to pull it back inside. Then he leaned out to watch as Nick and Albert carefully maneuvered the rolling staircase into position with its top step just below the 767’s forward entrance.
5
Rudy Warwick and Don Gaffney were now babysitting Craig. Bethany, Dinah, and Laurel were lined up at the waiting-room windows, looking out. ‘What are they doing?’ Dinah asked.
‘They’ve taken away the slide and put a stairway by the door,’ Laurel said. ‘Now they’re going up.’ She looked at Bethany. ‘You’re sure you don’t know what they’re up to?’
Bethany shook her head. ‘All I know is that Ace – Albert, I mean – almost went nuts. I’d like to think it was this mad sexual attraction, but I don’t think it was.’ She paused, smiled, and added: ‘At least, not yet. He said something about the plane being more there. And my perfume being less there, which probably
wouldn’t please Coco Chanel or whatever her name is. And two-way traffic. I didn’t get it. He was really jabbering.’
‘I bet I know,’ Dinah said.
‘What’s your guess, hon?’
Dinah only shook her head. ‘I just hope they hurry up. Because poor Mr Toomy is right. The langoliers are coming.’
‘Dinah, that’s just something his father made up.’
‘Maybe once it was make-believe,’ Dinah said, turning her sightless eyes back to the windows, ‘but not anymore.’
6
‘All right, Ace,’ Nick said. ‘On with the show.’
Albert’s heart was thudding and his hands shook as he set the four elements of his experiment out on the shelf in first class, where, a thousand years ago and on the other side of the continent, a woman named Melanie Trevor had supervised a carton of orange juice and two bottles of champagne.
Brian watched closely as Albert put down a book of matches, a bottle of Budweiser, a can of Pepsi, and a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich from the restaurant cold-case. The sandwich had been scaled in plastic wrap.
‘Okay,’ Albert said, and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s see what we got here.’