“Are you trained for emergencies?” Nathan said.
“A little. I want to help.”
“What do you know that you’re not telling me?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. Medical testing can put a name on this.”
An attendant with bloodstains on the chest of her uniform sought Nathan’s attention. “Any paper towels?”
“Three rolls left and two stacks from the lavatories. Take a roll.” He gazed out at those in business class. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He marched to a man videoing the scene with a smartphone. “Sir, what’s wrong with you?”
“The media need visuals to show the status of these people,” the man said.
“Why don’t you ask the victims if they want to be exploited?”
The man went nose-to-nose with Nathan. “Try and stop me.”
“I’ll contact the pilot. He has authority to order physical restraint.”
“I’ve already sent pics and descriptions to the media.”
“Stop now or face the consequences. Take your seat and fasten your seat belt.”
“Who is in control here?”
Nathan reached inside his suit jacket and handed the guy a tri-folded pamphlet. The man read it, his face reddening. He slapped it against Nathan’s chest and pocketed the phone. He whirled around to his seat, mumbling obscenities.
Whoa. Heather hadn’t expected compliance. Nathan joined her, and curiosity gained ground. “What did you show him?”
Nathan gave a slight grin. “We have form letters that say, ‘Order to Cease Objectionable Behavior.’ It lists all the things a belligerent passenger can expect if he doesn’t stop inappropriate behavior, like law enforcement on the ground waiting to arrest him.” He stared at the man’s back. “They’re stored in the overhead, but some leads carry one with them for unique circumstances.”
“Definitely adds weight to your instructions. I’ve seen how flight attendants struggle with lack of authority. For some passengers, they are simply waiters.”
He faced Heather. “You asked to help, and I appreciate it. Whatever is on board appears to randomly attack people.”
“Weak bodies are the most susceptible.” She looked at those growing sicker before her eyes, a few elderly, and young children. Whoever got in its path. Their immune systems couldn’t handle the virus’s attack. The flight crew had moved several passengers forward to make room for the ill in the back of the plane. Earlier, she’d witnessed two more faces covered with navy-blue blankets. “Where can I best be used?”
He handed her a pair of disposable gloves and demonstrated how to remove them to avoid contamination. “We have a few stacks of paper towels left to clean up blood and vomit on the floor and seats.”
Heather wiggled into the gloves. Nathan handed her a stack of folded paper towels, a bottle of water, and a plastic bag. “I appreciate this. A good supply of water is on board, but don’t use it on an unconscious person.” He stiffened. “I don’t mean to sound calloused. The flight has no one dead, and the doctor on board refuses to make a pronouncement. Can’t blame him.”
“I’m aware of the airline’s policy.”
“Thanks for your cooperation. Procedure. Rules. A passenger might claim an upset stomach and demand the plane land costing the airlines thousands of dollars.” He glanced around them. “I wish a stomach virus swept through the plane. Not this tragedy.” He shrugged. “Blankets from unoccupied seats are available to cover the unresponsive.”
She returned to the elderly man who sat across the aisle from her. He wore a shirt soaked in blood and vomit, and she stopped beside him. “I’m here to help, sir. Do you have a change of shirt in your carry-on?”
“No. I’m sorry,” he whispered through blood-coated lips. “Take care of the others first.”
Heather wiped his face, neck, and shirt, then tossed the soiled paper into the plastic bag. Oh, for a breath of fresh air. She finished cleaning the man and prayed to a God she wanted to believe cared for these people.
She moved from business class to help others. A scruffy-bearded man seated in a middle row of the economy section blocked her way in the aisle. She recognized him from the gate in Houston. He wore jeans and a polo shirt. The pink-haired woman with him flipped through an airline magazine.
“I saw you talk to those flight attendants,” he said. “When will the pilot continue on course?”
“We didn’t discuss it, sir. I’m a volunteer to aid with the sick.”
“I have business in Frankfurt, critical business.”
“I’m not an airline employee, but these sick people take priority.”
He swore. “Not my problem. If I’m late, the airlines will pay.”
Was he blind to the surrounding people’s condition? Heather peered at the woman who coaxed him into taking his seat.
Heather left the couple and moved on to the rear, where the blond-haired little boy sat beside the older woman—Heather had seen them at the gate. The woman had a blanket over her face. No. No. Maybe she was sleeping. Heather pulled the blanket back far enough to view vacant eyes staring back at her. She quickly replaced the blanket, the fear mounting until she wanted to scream. But breaking down served no purpose.
“Hey, sweetie.” She bent to the little boy and noted his flushed cheeks. She adjusted his loose seat belt to his slender frame. Dampening a folded piece of a paper towel, she held it for him to see. “I’m going to clean the blood from your face.”
He whispered, “Grandma,” and touched the blanket of the covered woman. “She must have a headache.”
So young to experience such an ordeal. “She’s asleep, honey. Let her rest.” She swallowed to keep the tears at bay. “What’s your name?”
“Frankie.”
“Where do you live?”
“Me and Grandma live in Kingwood, Texas.”
“You’re a big boy to take such a long trip.” A piece of the paper towel stuck to his face, and she brushed it aside.
“I’ll be in kindergarten again. I missed a lot of school ’cause I’ve been sick.”
His explanation for repeating kindergarten ripped her heart raw. Fighting a virus required a strong and healthy body. “But you’re better now?”
“Yes, ma’am. I haven’t been in the hospital since April. Grandma says I’m growing out of it. Soon I can live with my dad. That’s where we’re going, to see my dad in Germany. He’s a soldier. We’re gonna have my birthday there.”
“You are brave.” His eyes dropped to half-mast, his pallor tugging at her fears for him. “Go ahead and sleep. Dream about your birthday and the time with your dad.”
“Will we be there before Grandma wakes up?”
“Not sure.” Poor Frankie would see his dad by himself. If he recovered.
Please, God, take care of Frankie and these helpless people. You know my concerns, my secret.
CHAPTER FOUR
HEATHER PEERED into Frankie’s face and continued to pray for him and those on board. How often had she heard terror brought others to God? During the past eight years, her relationship with God had dwindled to a weak thread. Chad held fast to the god of science, and while he didn’t ridicule her faith in the beginning, he often had plans for them on Sunday morning—for the benefit of their marriage.