Or were they waving? Ali pressed her face against the window, but the beach was already out of sight and the runway was rising to meet them.
Ali rubbed her belly. She’d been feeling crampy low in her abdomen on and off for a week, but the last time she was at the hospital, they’d said it was just Braxton Hicks, practice contractions that were common at her stage of pregnancy. They also said that first timers almost always went over their due date. Thank God. Ali was looking forward to slowing down for the next four weeks. With the show over and nearly all the baby prep done, she’d been toying with really just bedding in, starting from the beginning of Law & Order: SVU and doing the entire twenty-one seasons before the baby came. The thought of all that epic lying down time buoyed Ali as the plane bumped in to land. While she was still flying high from the rave reviews My So-Called Best Life had gotten, she was exhausted from the performance and the debacle with Polly. It had been a hectic few weeks. Offers from talent agents looking to represent her, offers from production companies wanting to adapt the show for TV and even a movie deal had all flooded in, but Ali was happy to wait.
She’d made a splash. She had a hit and had proved her worth to herself as much as anybody else. She had talent. She could make things happen. But all that could wait. The baby would be her main focus for at least the next six months to eighteen years. Things with Sam were still tenuous. The man could really hold a grudge. His continued standoffishness would be impressive if it wasn’t so devastating. Ali kept thinking back to before the show when they’d been so close to getting their shit together. Yeah, the sex had been feral but even so, it was a reminder, however slapstick, of what she’d had with Sam. Of how close she’d come to getting it back. They were texting, of course, but each interaction was crushingly polite and it didn’t feel like them anymore.
‘Why are we just driving around?’ brayed one of the girls who had been dishing on Polly at the back of the plane.
Ali sat up a little straighter. The girl was right. They seemed to be taxiing up and down the same barren stretch of tarmac. Weird.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ One of the group at the back broke off to approach the pilot, who was only separated from the rest of the plane by a beaded curtain. ‘Excuse me, why are we just driving around?’
The pilot tried to ignore her, but she persisted.
‘Excuse me? Hell-ooo? Hello? You can’t just ignore me.’
Ali smirked to herself and leaned over to look out the window again. There was, she now saw, maybe two or three hundred revellers pressed against a chain-link fence running alongside the runway. So odd.
‘Excuse me?’ The girl was still pushing the pilot for an answer, despite his firm ignoring.
‘Why are all those people out there?’ Ali added.
‘What people?’
Everyone peered out the right side of the plane to take in the crowd.
‘Are they dancing?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Ali said slowly. ‘It looks like they’re … struggling? Or being … held back?’
At last, the pilot spoke. ‘Everyone get hold of your belongings. I’m coming to a stop and once I open the door, you’ll have two to three minutes to disembark.’
‘What the—?’ Before Ali could finish her question, the plane door lowered down, doubling up as steps to the runway, and everyone around her immediately began piling out of the tiny cabin. Ali hung back to avoid getting squashed, but the pilot turned around and urged her off.
‘I’m going, I’m going.’ Ali shimmied through the aisle and down the steps, and was outside on the tarmac fixing her skirt when she realised the chain-link fencing had given way and a mob of people in fishnet body stockings and Native American headdresses were coming right towards her waving and yelling. The pilot yanked a lever and the cabin door closed once more. Ali backed away from the plane to avoid the onslaught of people, all of whom looked wild and desperate. One guy, wearing just leather lederhosen, tried to grab at the pilot’s door but to no avail.
‘Take us with you, you prick,’ Lederhosen screamed. ‘You can’t leave us like this.’
The propellers began turning as more of the crowd started screaming and banging on the plane. Ali backed to the edge of the runway as the plane began to taxi and the crowd continued to try to thwart its takeoff.
‘What is happening?’ Ali asked, spotting a young guy crouched by the fence shaking.
‘No one can leave,’ he blurted, clawing at the ground between his feet. He peered up at her through bloodshot eyes. ‘They have forsaken us,’ he screamed, his pitch ascending just as the small plane took off at the other end of the island. Ali could see the mob watching, dejected.
‘Can you stop screaming, please?’ Ali sighed, pulling her phone out to WhatsApp any of the other influencers. Where was the transportation to the villas? Where were the villas? What was with these people? She recorded a voice note to the W Y N D influencers group chat:
‘Heyyyy, I’m finally here! Just encountered some early casualties of what I can only assume is a bad batch – so everyone be warned.’ She glanced back down at the boy who was silently rocking now, staring at his hands. Further along the runway the mob also seemed to have given up and was sitting down in a field by the tarmac. ‘It looks like pills laced with maybe ket? I dunno. Anyway, let me know what the story is. I cannot wait to get into the hot tub and relax.’
She sent the message but could see it wasn’t delivering.
‘Signal’s real bad on the island … it’s been that way s’long as I’ve been here,’ the boy whispered. ‘That’s how they’ll break us, isolation, psychological warfare.’
‘OK, well, best of luck with the K, don’t forget to hydrate.’ Ali, dragging her bag, made her way around the tattered chain-link fence.
Two men in high vis vests were heading down a dirt track about twenty feet away. ‘Hey! HEY!’ Ali called and hurried after them cradling her bump.
They glanced back at her and Ali slowed gratefully, but then the men, who seemed to be security, broke into a run, pegging it away from her.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Ali shouted, starting after them. ‘Stop. Wait.’
The shorter guy glanced back again and Ali saw him catch his friend by the arm to slow him.
‘Shit, dude, she’s pregnant. We better stop,’ Ali heard him say and they came to a halt.
‘What’s the deal?’ Ali was winded by the time she caught up with them. ‘Are you the transport team?’
At this, the short guy snorted, ‘There’s no “transport” on Inis Brí; there’s barely food here.’
‘But there’s loads of good spots for selfies,’ the taller guy added and they both cracked up.
‘Don’t forget to hashtag “W Y N D”.’ The short guy adopted the unmistakable Irish Insta voice. ‘If there was any phone service.’
Ali took out her phone again to check on her voicenote – it still hadn’t sent.
‘Shit, do the phones not work?’ Ali asked.
‘Nothing works. Name a thing.’ The short one was now clearly enjoying himself.
Ali opened her mouth to name something, but he cut across her. ‘Doesn’t work,’ he blurted.