Under an Alien Sky Read online

  Under an Alien Sky

  Sue Rupe

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual event is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Robin Vuchnich

  Copyright © 2018 Sue Rupe

  All rights reserved.

  Dedication

  For my beloved husband

  Chapter 1

  A damp blast of wind buffeted her, and she opened her eyes. Packed sand shifted beneath her as she raised herself. Brushing embedded grit from her face, Kyla Anderson fought to make sense of what she was seeing.

  Dozens of people lay strung across a windswept beach. Some were beginning to move like her, but others lay motionless. Not far an elderly woman, fighting against the battering wind, attempted to stand. The wind won and the woman fell, collapsing back in the sand. Help her, Kyla’s internal voice whispered but the thought instantaneously dissolved away in her sluggish brain. Wind-whipped hair stung her face in sync with the pounding surf. A trembling hand secured the ends as her gaze sought the horizon.

  Beyond the waves, tossing gray white-capped seas merged seamlessly in the distance with leaden clouds. The blanketed sunlight seemed sharp—harsh. The incoming swells sprayed frothy plumes against a broken line of rocks near the shore. The largest rolled up the steep beach depositing foam only inches from prone bodies.

  Where am I? A groan ended in a muffled cough beside her. She turned. A man, suit and tie speckled with sand, lay curled up beside her. Kyla tugged on his sleeve. His body weight shifted, and he flopped on his back, slack face skyward. Between one heartbeat and the next Kyla’s memory returned.

  I was on the plane. Did we crash?

  Plane crashes were well-covered events on the news channels. Wouldn’t there be wreckage? Kyla wondered. No jagged, scorched metal fragments, no massive engines lay embedded in torn ground. Not a hint of oil, hot motors or jet fuel lingered in the air or drained into the earth. There were no purses, laptops or reading materials. No carry-on luggage. No debris of any kind, just people lying on the sand.

  As she rose to her feet, a sudden roll of nausea overwhelmed her. The wind’s raw bite cut through her damp clothes, and she shivered. Nausea faded only to be supplanted by a pounding head.

  Kyla felt for a pulse on the man closest to her. It throbbed steadily beneath her fingers, but he did not wake. Sprawled as if comfortably ensconced in his bed, a second man who she recognized from her seating row, was also unresponsive. Staggering against the wind, she examined two other people. They were alive and unscathed. She trod a narrow, slightly unsteady path between bodies. People lay in roughly the order they had been seated on the plane. A handful of seats had been unclaimed on the late summer afternoon flight from San Francisco to Denver.

  Voices cut above the wind’s keening and turning Kyla sought the source. On the dry gravel beneath the shoreline bluffs, a knot of humanity was forming. The loose shingle sucked and held her back as she made her way up the bank, but the voices grew louder, more distinct with each sliding step. A dozen or more passengers circled one of the airline's crewmembers.

  One woman's shrill voice cut through the wind, “Were we hijacked?” Holding her breath, Kyla strained to hear the response.

  His dark tie popping in the wind, the man’s words were audible now, “Lady, I don’t know.”

  Voices rose, piling on top of each other calling for attention and answers.“…demand to know what happened?” “Where are we?” “…damnest crash. Where’s the plane?”

  “Sir...” The uniformed man’s reply was sucked away and lost in the onslaught.

  “You’re going to be hearing from my lawyers. I’ll sue this airline. I’ll sue you personally. I’ll make sure you never fly another plane in your life, even in some insignificant, shit hole third world nation. I have to be in Denver by morning.”

  “Did you hear me? I asked you where we are!” Kyla couldn’t tell who asked the question, but it didn’t matter.

  “I DON’T KNOW! Hurled against the wind, his frustration reached everyone.

  The airline officer was a trim, dignified man in his late fifties, dressed in Sun Coast carrier's ubiquitous stark white shirt, gold insignia and dark blue pants, now flecked with sand. He ran a hand through coarse salt and pepper hair, smoothing it but the wind only savaged it with the next gust.

  “This's just as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Give me a break okay!”

  “Do you expect us to believe that? You’re a pilot for God’s sake,” a thin young man huffed, his receding dark hair revealing a raspberry birthmark. His arms were hugging his shivering frame as he spoke, “You hav'ta know what's going on. Tell us!” Several other nodding heads around the circle appeared to agree with him.

  “Believe me; I don't have a clue as to what's happened.” The senior crewmember paused, picking at wind born grit in his mouth. Spitting it out he snapped, “Damn it! What we need is a place out of this wind. We've got to find some shelter. Please, people, let's help each other out here.”

  “So what do you want us to do?” Hunched against the wind, an older man nearer to Kyla spoke, one arm circling the woman at his side.

  “We’ll send someone along the cliffs. We need shelter, a barn or a house maybe.” Pointing to a younger male crewmember, he ordered, “Find Mark. See what you can find in an hour and then report back. But stay together. The rest of you check to see if others need help. Get everyone away from the water. Get to higher ground.”

  A few muttering voices rose as the pilot left and slid his way down the dune to the water packed beach and his passengers. One man looked as if he wanted to continue his tirade, but the moment was past. Lemming-like, most of the crowd followed the pilot, a bit slower and with some hesitation. A couple of younger men broke away headed toward the cliff face.

  “Hey, you there!” Anne Kaminski gestured to a likely candidate still standing on the sandbank. The fifty-something woman indicated to the startled girl to join her.

  “Yes, you! Come help.” When all she got was a wide-eyed stare, Anne shrugged and headed back to the beach.

  Huddled together for comfort and warmth, a family was unaware of the purposeful female until she stood over them.

  The older woman’s eyes assessed each one. She said, “Are you okay? Is anyone hurt...sick? I’m a nurse.”

  The mother sheltering a toddler from the wind only shook her head as she looked up. An older child perhaps five or six, cornflower blue eyes framed by freckles and unruly auburn hair, stared at her with unabashed curiosity. Anne smiled, and the little girl immediately smiled back unfazed by the situation.

  The unexpected appearance at her side of the girl she had tried to dragoon minutes before startled the nurse for a second, she smiled at the girl while continuing to direct questions to the family. “You’re sure?”

  The man tore his gaze from the sea to focus on the two newcomers, but the thumping waves quickly reclaimed his attention. In his mid-thirties, with sparse blond hair, the man was exceptionally tan for his fair coloring.

  “Sir! Did you hear me?” The nurse touched his shoulder. “Is there a problem? Are you all right?”

  Still fixated on the ocean, he replied, “We're not hurt, but I don’t understand what...”

  With a firm hand, Anne drew the mother to her feet and pointing to higher ground said, “Take your family toward the cliffs, please. Get with other people, and stay together. Don’t go wandering off by yourselves. The Captain will be able to give you information shortly.”

  The man took the baby from his shivering spouse. With the toddler tucked in the crook of his arm, he
started to say something to Anne, but his wife and daughter were already steps away. With a last lingering look at the sea, he followed.

  The middle-aged woman bent her head close to the girl beside her. “What’s your name?”

  “Kyla Anderson.”

  “Kyla do you have anybody with you? Parents, family, anyone?”

  Uncertainty was foremost in the girl’s hazel eyes, but at least she appeared alert. “No.” She shook her head while rubbing her arms briskly, she announced, “I’m alone.”

  “Alright. I want you to do the same thing I just did. My name is Anne; I'm a nurse.” Speaking at a volume at any other time would have been painful for someone standing close, here it was muffled and swallowed by the elements.

  “Check everyone on the sand. Make sure they’re not hurt, get them up and get them moving. If something’s wrong, find me immediately. If they want answers tell them to talk to the Captain. Don’t let them wander off alone. Don’t you go wandering off either. Get everyone together in one place. Understand?” Finished with the brief instructions, Anne waited for the girl’s nod before she turned and strode briskly toward the next person.

  Before going too far, she turned to check on Kyla. The girl was slender, maybe her late teens and not much taller than her own 5'5” height. Her shoulder-length hair was whipping around her head in a chestnut swirl as she sprinted toward a recumbent man. Anne watched long enough to see her get the man on his feet and start moving toward the bluff. She turned her attention to others still down.

  Within ten minutes, the majority of travelers were on the move. Most complained of headaches, but there were no other injuries. She remembered to check on her helper a time or two, but she seemed to be in no trouble.

  Only one person remained on the beach.

  The frail, elderly woman's body shook with tremors as she stared at the pounding breakers. No one else remained near the water.

  “Come dear,” Anne urged, helping her to her feet.

  The woman’s unfocused gaze slowly turned to Anne, her lined face showing the ravaging effects of time and ill health.

  Her voice was a whisper, lost in the wind. “They didn’t touch me, you know. Not like everyone else. They said I was useless.” Her voiced faded with the effort of walking. “I’m too old to interest them.”

  Anne bent closer to the woman. “What did you say? I can't hear you.”

  The old woman didn’t respond, her words vanishing in the empty sweep of beach.

  The flight crew pointed the way, shepherding stumbling passengers through gravel and rock along the crumbling cliffs. As Kyla tripped over a half-buried stone, a shift in the crowd in front of her revealed the nurse. She seemed hard pressed to keep an elderly woman upright. Kyla ran to their side and placed her arm around the old lady's waist, steadying her progress.

  Anne, her short light brown hair twirling in the wind, smiling broadly at Kyla’s timely assistance resumed her reassurances to the woman, “Just a little bit farther, dear. Soon you’ll be out of this wind.”

  Kyla was not sure the old woman heard. Her pale blue eyes focused briefly on Kyla but drifted to her surroundings. Her legs moved, but there was no strength in her step. Once passed the mouth of the ravine, the wind's battering force dropped. Its absence was immediate, and just as suddenly the elderly woman slumped in their arms. The two of them managed to keep her propped up between them while, with one hand; Anne checked the limp form for a pulse and listened to her breathing.

  “I hope she's only fainted,” Anne muttered half to herself. “She said she has a heart condition. Now, you take the right leg, and I’ll take this one. We’ll manage.” Bending down, she grabbed the woman’s knee and lifted. Kyla did the same. Nodding her approval to Kyla, the two of them walked the elderly woman into the ravine.

  “Will she be okay? Does she have medication?” Kyla asked, straining. The woman was slight, but still dead weight in their arms.

  Panting, Anne replied in small bursts, “Not on her, I checked. If it were in her purse, it’s gone now. Damn. She needs a doctor or a hospital. Right now I need to get her warm and comfortable.” She snorted in dismay as her grey-blue eyes surveyed their surroundings.

  Her eyes fixed on the ground; Kyla tried to avoid rocks and driftwood determined to catch her feet. Several times she slipped, almost losing her grip.

  “Ladies,” A man blocked their way. He smiled, his dark brown eyes warm in a tanned face. “May I?” It was more of a command than a question as he scooped the unconscious woman into his arms, comfortably cradling the elderly lady's body against his solid six-foot-plus frame.

  He led the way around a granite outcropping. From its narrow opening, the ravine widened out. Almost sixty feet across at its widest point, it petered out and dead-ended against high rock walls. Perhaps twice as long as the plane, its thirty-foot high broken sides sheltered people from the worst of the ocean’s damp touch. Their dark haired helper worked his way to an overhang, setting his load gently onto the ground.

  Anne checked the woman’s breathing, “Thank you. She’ll be warmer here.” But she was talking to air; the man had left.

  Kyla's gaze followed him as he threaded his way back through the crowd, people shifted and he was lost to her.

  Anne knelt and reaching for the woman's wrist, timed her pulse. A sigh escaped her. Meeting Kyla's questioning gaze, she shook her head, frowning.

  If a nurse can’t help her, what am I supposed to do? All I can do is wait. Someone will rescue us...someone always comes. Kyla leaned back against the hard but somehow comforting rock.

  People bunched together, shifting knots of talk and gestures. Voices rose and fell, querulous, demanding and frightened. Others sat in stunned silence braced against rocks or clutching loved ones. A few cried. Several were entering numbers on cell phones, the faint beeping out of place and eerily strange in the setting. The intermittent sounds continued for a few minutes, finally dying away.

  The ravine's center was now a rush of activity. Relays of dry driftwood from the beach grew in untidy heaps. Two individuals knelt beside one, and in sheltering hands; a tiny flame flickered generated from a smuggled matchbook.

  Closing her eyes, Kyla fought to remember the flight and what could have gone wrong. But her mind refused to give her clear images. Like snapshots, small scenes flashed and vanished. Boarding the jet and the executive next to his young assistant and me. The drone of the engines. The tinny rattle of the fuselage in turbulence. Bright, bright light. Blue light.

  But beyond that moment, nothing!

  Michael Tallin pitched another armload of driftwood onto a growing pile. He would have liked to keep gathering wood while there was enough light, but the captain was motioning people to sit.

  Raking his hair in some resemblance of order, the uniformed man moved to a central point within the ravine and looked around, expectantly. Voices stilled to silence.

  “May I have your attention, please!” His voice carried in the small amphitheater. “Thank you. My name again for those who don’t remember is Richard Kincaid; I’m your Captain. As we are all aware, something extraordinary has happened to our flight.” A single curt laugh erupted in his audience and faded, but no one spoke. “I want to give you all the information I have, everything I know. Number one: We had two hundred and eleven souls on board, one hundred ninety-nine passengers and twelve crew members. Everyone is accounted for, no one is missing.”

  The Captain slowly scanned the crowd, making eye contact with as many as possible. “Second, other than some complaints of headaches, we’re okay. No one is hurt. Third point: We didn’t crash. And contrary to some suggestions I’ve heard bandied about—I don’t believe we’re all dead.” His chuckle sounded forced, and his small attempt at humor failed, only a single pop from the fire broke the silence. Kincaid cleared his throat and continued, “Fourth...given we left San Francisco on time and spent just about an hour at cruising speed, if we had crashed, it would have been over Nevada. This place is definite
ly not eastern Nevada. I can assure you; we were on course. We shouldn't be here. I just can’t tell you where here is.”

  “Have we turned around? Could we have passed out and the plane circled back?” A thirty-something woman cradling an infant asked, a panicky edge undercutting her words, “Is it possible we are somewhere along the California coastline? Or Oregon?”

  The Captain nodded. “Yes I suppose. Technically, we have...had...enough fuel. Most of the West Coast would have been in range. But as I said, we were well into our flight and on course with the autopilot engaged. We cleared Reno airspace. But where would we have landed? Only a few airports along the West Coast can accommodate a 767 jet our size. You don’t set down one of these at some little Podunk airstrip...there aren’t too many runways which can handle us.”

  Shaking his head, he added, “And certainly not on a beach. Think about it. Someone would have to drug us, fly the jet, land, then deliver and unload us. I certainly didn't see any evidence of our plane. The logistics involved moving two hundred plus people would be elaborate. I didn't see tracks of any kind, and there is no road down here. The wind couldn't scour away the marks along the whole beach. Somewhere there should be some signs...a hint...a road...something.”

  “Not if we landed in the ocean.” A woman announced brightly as if just solving a mystery. “The plane would sink, and we would wash up on the beach.”

  A man deep in the shadows snarled back, “Use your head lady. How’d we get out of the goddamn plane? How’d we get laid out in rows?” His voice trailed off but not before an added comment drifted loud enough for all to hear. “Idiot!”

  Another man's voice rose; his question directed to the Captain, “You think this is a hijacking?”

  Captain Kincaid shook his head, “I don’t know, maybe not in the usual sense. No one challenged us when we left the beach. We haven’t seen anyone else but us.”