rushing past the two holes in its fuselage filled the cabin, yet Berry could still
hear the girl’s sobs and feel her wet tears against his arm. He was thankful for her physical presence. Facing the nightmare
alone would have been too much. Any companion, even a child, was better than none.
Berry’s first notion that something unforeseen would break into their moment of tranquillity came from a muffled noise from
behind. Berry, still holding the child, turned.
“Down!” he yelled, and he shoved the girl into an empty center row of seats. A tall and muscular man with wild eyes rushed
toward them, a jagged section of a serving tray held high in his right hand. The people who had followed the man up the aisle
stopped a few rows before reaching Berry and the girl. They seemed more curious than aggressive. They stood in mute wonder,
watching the encounter in front of them.
The man yelled incoherently. His facial muscles were contorted with hatred, and sweat covered his forehead. Somehow, in his
damaged brain, the man had formulated the thought that the young girl was crying because Berry had hurt her. The man would
protect the young girl. He would kill Berry.
“Stop!” Berry screamed. As the man approached, Berry wheeled himself to one side. The jagged serving tray was flung harmlessly
past him. Deranged and acting alone, the crazed man was no match for a normal adult. With a right uppercut against the man’s
jaw, Berry knocked him backward across a row of seats.
John Berry stood in the center of the aisle. His right hand throbbed with pain, and for a few seconds, he thought he might
have broken it. He rubbed his aching hand, and while he did he felt an awakening, a long-forgotten sense of pride. He had
successfully defended himself and the girl.
Berry glared at the other passengers and raised his fists. It was an act, a show of force for the half dozen of them who stood
around him watching. Inwardly, Berry wanted to run. But if they were to attack en masse, he would have no chance. Deranged
or not, there were simply too many of them. Too much muscle. He hoped that his threatening gesture would be enough to keep
them away.
In the minds of the passengers, rivulets of rational thoughts ran across arid areas of damaged brain cells. They could still
sense personal fear, and it had caused them, one by one, to back off. Berry thanked God that they did not have enough presence
of mind to gang up against him. Not yet, anyway.
Berry took the young girl’s arm and ushered her toward the circular staircase.
“You okay, mister?” she asked.
“Yes.” His heart pounded, and his mouth was dry. He flexed his fingers and could tell that nothing had been broken. He would
need to be careful. If he allowed himself to be hurt, they would be defenseless. He would get himself some sort of weapon
as soon as he could, and get one for the girl, too.
Berry inhaled deeply and felt his body begin to calm. “Keep your eyes open. Stay alert.”
“Okay,” she answered.
They climbed up the staircase and into the upper lounge. The stairway creaked under their feet.
The scene in the lounge was a welcome relief from the madness below. Except for the dangling oxygen masks, everything appeared
normal at first glance. But as they walked through the lounge, the abnormalities became obvious.
There were nine people in the upper lounge, and Berry’s impression was that they were asleep. Then he noticed that they sat
in tensed and contorted positions. On their faces they wore expressions of soul-chilling terror. Two of them, a flight attendant
and an old woman, were semiconscious.
The flight attendant leaned against the bar and ranted nonsensically. She had a crazed look in her eyes, and she groped spastically
at the edges of the bar to maintain her balance. Berry could see from her name tag that she was Terri O’Neil. He had noticed
her during the morning snack service. A little more than a
hear the girl’s sobs and feel her wet tears against his arm. He was thankful for her physical presence. Facing the nightmare
alone would have been too much. Any companion, even a child, was better than none.
Berry’s first notion that something unforeseen would break into their moment of tranquillity came from a muffled noise from
behind. Berry, still holding the child, turned.
“Down!” he yelled, and he shoved the girl into an empty center row of seats. A tall and muscular man with wild eyes rushed
toward them, a jagged section of a serving tray held high in his right hand. The people who had followed the man up the aisle
stopped a few rows before reaching Berry and the girl. They seemed more curious than aggressive. They stood in mute wonder,
watching the encounter in front of them.
The man yelled incoherently. His facial muscles were contorted with hatred, and sweat covered his forehead. Somehow, in his
damaged brain, the man had formulated the thought that the young girl was crying because Berry had hurt her. The man would
protect the young girl. He would kill Berry.
“Stop!” Berry screamed. As the man approached, Berry wheeled himself to one side. The jagged serving tray was flung harmlessly
past him. Deranged and acting alone, the crazed man was no match for a normal adult. With a right uppercut against the man’s
jaw, Berry knocked him backward across a row of seats.
John Berry stood in the center of the aisle. His right hand throbbed with pain, and for a few seconds, he thought he might
have broken it. He rubbed his aching hand, and while he did he felt an awakening, a long-forgotten sense of pride. He had
successfully defended himself and the girl.
Berry glared at the other passengers and raised his fists. It was an act, a show of force for the half dozen of them who stood
around him watching. Inwardly, Berry wanted to run. But if they were to attack en masse, he would have no chance. Deranged
or not, there were simply too many of them. Too much muscle. He hoped that his threatening gesture would be enough to keep
them away.
In the minds of the passengers, rivulets of rational thoughts ran across arid areas of damaged brain cells. They could still
sense personal fear, and it had caused them, one by one, to back off. Berry thanked God that they did not have enough presence
of mind to gang up against him. Not yet, anyway.
Berry took the young girl’s arm and ushered her toward the circular staircase.
“You okay, mister?” she asked.
“Yes.” His heart pounded, and his mouth was dry. He flexed his fingers and could tell that nothing had been broken. He would
need to be careful. If he allowed himself to be hurt, they would be defenseless. He would get himself some sort of weapon
as soon as he could, and get one for the girl, too.
Berry inhaled deeply and felt his body begin to calm. “Keep your eyes open. Stay alert.”
“Okay,” she answered.
They climbed up the staircase and into the upper lounge. The stairway creaked under their feet.
The scene in the lounge was a welcome relief from the madness below. Except for the dangling oxygen masks, everything appeared
normal at first glance. But as they walked through the lounge, the abnormalities became obvious.
There were nine people in the upper lounge, and Berry’s impression was that they were asleep. Then he noticed that they sat
in tensed and contorted positions. On their faces they wore expressions of soul-chilling terror. Two of them, a flight attendant
and an old woman, were semiconscious.
The flight attendant leaned against the bar and ranted nonsensically. She had a crazed look in her eyes, and she groped spastically
at the edges of the bar to maintain her balance. Berry could see from her name tag that she was Terri O’Neil. He had noticed
her during the morning snack service. A little more than a
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