Flying High
Hellblazer #4 April, Year One	by Curt Fernlund

I hate t'fly. Always have.

A couple hundred tossers all crammed into an aeroplane like so many kippers in a tin. It's jus' not bloody right, y'ask me. Then, to top it off, your life's in the hands of some bloody git that may or may not be sober enough to wank 'isself let alone fly a big metal buzzard about the sky for hours on end.

I'm not sayin' it's not for some folk. Jus' not for me.

Got its props though. Made the world smaller it did. That's a fact. Planes did what old Scratch never could. 'Course maybe the First of the Three 'ad 'is fingers in that pie some too. You never know.

The drinks are free too; I'll give 'em that. Watered down t'piss, mind, an' not enough to wet a bird's whistle, but beggars an' choosers an' all that.

Then there's the Stews. Had me one once- bird up Hampstead way. Fine little lass. Great pins- better knockers. Stews always good for a quick tumble on a cold layover. Know what I mean?

All that aside though, I still hate t'fly. Just don't seem right some how. If man were meant t'fly we'd have wings, right?

Still, a bloke in my line a' work's gotta fly time t'time. It's bollucks, but I can't really save the world from me flat in Soho now can I. Too many pissers out in Bumfuck, Nowhere wantin' to recreate the world in their image! Bunch of toffs with delusions of grandeur most times.

Flyin'? It's for the birds!

You can quote me on that.

It's simple really. Not even a proper trick when it comes right down to it. A bit of self-confidence for the most part. Walk like you know where you're going. Don't attract attention- don't make eye contact. For the most part, people will ignore you and some even move out of your way. They never know why 'course, but they would. That's the way it works-

I hurried along at a smart clip- not too fast, not too slow. Kept to meself mostly, eyes on the prize 'n' all that, the prize in that case bein' an airway-boarding gate at the far end of the corridor at the far end of the terminal. In't that always the way?

I had no luggage to speak of, nothing to drag me down or hold me up. I live from day to day for the most part, all that I might need to be found within the deep, damp pockets of me ratty, weatherworn trenchcoat- or within meself that bein' the case. I don't need much, truth be told; a pack of silk cuts, a cigarette lighter and a box of matches just in case. I've no ID to talk about either, though I carry a wallet with a few quid, maybe a pound or two. I had some yellowed photographs- family and friends- but they're long gone, a ring of mostly useless keys, a little black book with a few phone numbers and notes to meself and a map a' the Tubes. Never leave home without that. If I gotta travel, John Constantine travels light, or not at all.

I made me way through the terminal, ignoring the plastic, generic surroundings for the most part. In my opinion, you seen one airport, you've usually seen all they have to offer. People were shoving and rushing in every direction as usual, trying to get to their flights on time. There was a small crowd gathered at the United gate waiting area getting ugly over a delayed flight. People were spilling into the aisles and milling about in confusion- generally being a nuisance. A skycap hurried by with an empty wheelchair. A security guard stared out of one of the huge windows facing the airfield, oblivious to everything, wishing 'e were someplace else.

I pulled a cigarette from me jacket pocket lighting it whilst I walked. Only a few people looked up as I passed by, smelling the wispy smoke or sensing the short flame and sulfur of me match. I was not invisible mind- that's a spell that's never worth the effort as it makes the caster weak and the recipient half-blind as light gets warped for the hiding. Takes a whole lot of preparation as well, scribbling in the dirt an' like. Not worth the time 'n' hassle. Instead I prefer to be rendered Unremarkable- unnoticed, dull and mundane. Takes no effort, and less concentration. Like I said, it's not even a proper trick.

Still it let me pass through the boarding area without breakin' stride, jus' a glance and a smile at the woman trying to organize the other people trying to get on to me flight. She didn't give me a second look even though I had a ticket out and ready and gave her the once over meself. She had nice legs, that one, but her hair was a rat's nest in auburn streaks. I could see she was getting a bit harried too, what with the mob gathering to push past. I dunno what the problem was, 'n' frankly couldn't care less. I was on board- bugger the rest! I did need to secure a proper seat though, once on the plane. It would not do to 'tall to 'ave some thirty stone Inland Revenue clerk ploppin' her fat arse in me lap for ten hours.

I checked the Stew's seating chart and found me a seat back by the loo. Closer to the mobile bar that way. I sidled down the aisle, tryin' me best not to push past any of the others stowing their gear overhead and finally settled in. I draped me long coat over the back of the chair then threw the seat as far back as I could manage. He crushed me fag into the small pristine tray in the armrest. It looked brand new, as though it'd never been used. Bloody shame that. There were smoke sensors on board now too, jus' to make me flight a little more unbearable. One of the 9-11 security measures that meant bollucks in the long run but gave me nothing but grief. It was one thing to go unnoticed to the milling masses. Bloody machines though had no soul. Still, better to not draw attention. I'd grab a fag in the loo later. For now though, all I wanted was a quick nap before the first in-flight snack.

I needed a drink…

Stewardess First Class Mary Robinson smelled something foul as she pulled the trays for the evening meal from the cabinets. She wrinkled her nose, almost gagging as she leaned in close and sniffed all up and down the tall metal rack. There should have been nothing there to spoil, as it was a quick snack really; pre-wrapped sandwiches and bags of chips and nuts, a fruit cup or pudding. Still, there was something…

She pulled the heavy rack aside and peered into the darkness of the cabinet itself. Perhaps there was something there in the corners on the floor that had been missed. Maybe something had fallen and rotted from a previous flight. It did happen, especially with the current lay-offs industry wide. The cleaning services were just not as efficient as they used to be. The toilets were often left dirty and foul, and there never seemed enough tissue in stock anymore. The carpeting under the seats was hardly ever cleaned properly. And the food had gotten worse- if that was even imaginable. Mary was glad that she had started to bring her own food aboard for her break, rather than sample the fare that the airline provided. It was horrible.

Still, there seemed nothing amiss in the cabinet, and the odor was lessening, if not going away altogether. Mary Robinson was a good stewardess however, and she knew that something had made the rank smell in the first place. She crouched down, trying to see into the dark recesses of the cabinet, way in the back. She knew there was a ventilation grill set into the back wall that also contained the heating unit. Perhaps a mouse had crawled in there and gotten stuck and died. It had happened before, though the airline would never admit it. That was something that the public did not need to know. She remembered when a pigeon had become trapped in the bathroom waste disposal- wedged in and died. It had been weeks before maintenance had found what was left of that, and it had left an odor that never really went away.

Mary got down on her knees and actually crawled into the cabinet, trying to peer into the vent, sniffing on all fours almost like a dog in heat. She giggled to herself. Gerald would love to hear about that! It made her a little warm too, picturing herself sniffing about between Gerald's spread legs. Mary licked her lips, shook her head trying to get her mind back on her job. Stifling her laughter she got right up to the vent and sniffed.

Yes… Definitely a sm-

Mary Robinson felt something snake and twist throughout the loose strands of her hair. At first she thought she had snagged her hair on the edge of the grate and leaned slowly back trying to pull loose. Her scalp pinched as she reached the limit of her tresses and she winced. Definitely snagged- Mary shifted her position in the cramped cabinet, balancing on her toes and knees to try and pry her hair loose. Taking hold of the trapped lock she tugged, then gasped as something tugged back-

Mary fell forward and slammed headfirst into the metal grate with a loud 'clang'! She moaned, spots of light exploding in her sight as she scrambled about, trying to rise again to her hands and knees. She slammed forward once more, her face pressing into the vent. Something had pulled her forward! She had not even been trying to pull away that time. Mary's eyes went wide as she peered through the vent, blinking at the startled dust floating about the cabinet. There was something peering back! Mary drew in a breath to scream-

SLAM!

Mary's head was spinning now. Her ears were ringing and there was blood trickling down her face, stinging her eyes. She was crying, sobbing and gasping for breath as she tried to pull away-

SLAM!

"H-help me…"

Mary whimpered as her head smashed into the grate again, plunging all the way through. She was kicking now, struggling as something started to tug her through the tiny opening. She felt something tighten its grip in her hair, yanking, ignoring her whining pleas. She wondered why no one had heard! Why was no one coming to help. She heard her uniform rip and tear as she lurched through the gaping, growing hole in the ventilator grate. She felt something slice into her arm, her breast as she was dragged through.

She could not catch her breath, could not breathe! Mary gagged, gasping, kicking as her hips were forced agonizingly through the hole. Something snagged her tights, ruining them, digging into her leg. Something warm and grizzled clamped over her mouth and nose. She felt a shoe fly off of her foot and rattle about the warm metal shaft. She tried to scream again, but by then it was too late.

Mary Robinson, Stewardess First Class had become one with the smell…

I woke with a start and shifted about trying to figure where I was. I hate that, waking in a new place and not knowing. Gives me the willies. Took me a moment or two to remember I was on a plane, hopefully somewhere over the Atlantic, hopefully close to touching down to Heathrow. Wouldn't hurt me feelings a bit to think I slept through the whole bloody flight.

No such luck though as I rose up outta me seat 'n' peered out the closest window on either side. Nothing but dark ocean to the horizon on the left and the last rays of the setting sun turning the storm clouds to the south a fiery pink. I hoped we were running away from the storm. Nothing like a little turbulence to make a bad situation ten times worse. I settled back down into me seat and checked me watch. It was after ten, which meant we were barely two hours into the flight-

Bollocks…

I glanced about, hoping that I hadn't missed the evening snack, but it looked like nobody had been fed. Usually there was some gob still nursing his drink, but I didn't see a plastic cup to save me life. I saw the Stews though huddled up by the divider between Second Class and Coach. They looked to be in conference or something, whispering close and personal so no one could hear. They looked worried too. I wondered what was going on, and was jus' about to make me way forward for a drink when somebody screamed-

'Course it was total pandemonium after that. It's like that movie with Lloyd Bridges in the airplane. Something happens and everyone in the cabin is outta their seat and acting the ass, yelling and screaming, pushing the Call Button, swinging from the overhead compartments- well, maybe not that bad, but you get the idea. This was no exception.

I raised up out of me seat, but couldn't see much for all the others doing the same in front of me. I caught a glimpse of some young bird screaming at the top of her overdeveloped lungs and trying 'er best to climb over the fat slob that was apparently still asleep in the chair next to 'er. He had 'is 'ead phones in, not 'earin' a bloody thing as the chippie scrambled over 'is bulk 'n' fell flat in the aisle. The Stews came running 'course, and some idiot charged up from the back waving a gun that started the row all over again! Bloody wankers!

The Stews ganged up on the bird and got 'er to 'er feet, then with the Sky Marshall bringing up the rear, drug 'er towards the back of the plane kicking and screaming. I caught 'er eye as she passed 'n' she looked terrified. She was crying and trying to breathe but not doing too good a job of it. The Stews didn't seem to give a shit- they still had something else on their minds. The Marshall jus' waved 'is gun about an' assured us that everything was fine. Set me mind at ease, that did…

It was Janet Kingsley's first trip abroad. Needless to say, she was excited. She had rarely been out of Jersey, let alone overseas, and she had been looking forward to her trip- the trip of a lifetime for years!

She had had everything planned to the letter. The flight to Heathrow from Kennedy, four nights in London with her Uncle Nate, then on to Paris and Rome before heading home again in two weeks time. A fortnight she giggled. That's what the Brits called it. Two weeks was a fortnight.

Janet settled into her seat on the plane, barely able to contain her excitement. She ignored the huge man that sat next to her, giving her that sleazy, lecherous smile that she had seen all too often growing up. She was happy that he was not a talker, and even happier when he began to nod off after a few sidelong glances. Hopefully he would sleep the trip away and not bother her at all.

Janet Kingsley gripped the arms of the chair with all of her strength at take-off. The huge jet rumbled and shook as it left the runway and began its long arching climb out over the sea. She was shaking with unbridled excitement until the seatbelt sign dimmed and went out. Janet unfastened her safety belt and shifted around to dig through her bag. She had brought along a wide selection of CD's to listen to, and magazines and snacks- she had heard about airline food it seemed, and the one previous flight that she had taken to upstate New York had been too short for even a soda.

She chose Abbey Road, trying to get into the mood of England and settled back, easing into her chair. She was too excited to sleep, but she tried to relax. She felt like such a bumpkin…

Janet woke with a gasp. She felt something tickling and scratching at her ankle. She had thought it a dream at first as she glanced about dreary-eyed. The sun was setting, and the cabin was dimmed to accommodate those that wanted to sleep. Oddly, she thought that she smelled cigarette smoke for a moment.

She shook her head, trying to come awake. She rubbed one ankle behind the other, trying to scratch the itch as she shifted in her seat to find a Stewardess. She was thirsty-

There! She felt it again!

A bug, maybe. Growing up in Newark she was no stranger to having roaches clicking across her body in the middle of the night, and she knew the feeling. She rubbed the toe of her sneaker up and down her leg as she glanced down, hoping to spy the cockroach and crush it then and there-

Janet Kingsley gasped, her eyes growing wide…

Her mouth flapped wordlessly as she pushed back into her seat, trying to get up, up and away. She screamed!

The thing at her feet almost seemed to snigger, looking up at her with those huge black eyes. She thought that it was a rat at first, but it was too big- bigger even than the sewer rats that ran the subways in the city. It looked more like a squat monkey with wide flapping ears and big, dark glassy eyes. It was furry, but the hair covering its compact little body was gnarled and rusty, wiry gray. Worse, it had claws and teeth. It had a whole lot of teeth-

The thing snarled and stood up on its hind legs as Janet kicked at it, scrambling to get away. She thumped it hard against the wall and heard it yelp or belch maybe, and a horrendous odor wafted up at her- choking her- making her gag and cry. She kicked again-

The thing screamed and opened its mouth to its widest. It looked like a shark, row upon row of jagged teeth! It slammed down on Janet's leg, just above her ankle. She saw blood spurt out, gushing like a broken tomato! The little creature ripped away at the flesh of Janet's leg, tearing and pulling, its jaws like a vise. Janet screamed as she saw a chunk of her leg fly away and disappear down the things throat-

She screamed again, long and loud…

I could hear the Stews trying to calm the bird in the back. I could imagine 'er strapped into one of the crew chairs, the Stews forcing some sedative down 'er throat. Poor kid. Thanks for Flying British Air. Tell your mates!

Up front the Sky Marshall and the Co-Pilot were looking over the scene of the crime so to speak. They'd upgraded the fat bloke to First Class- lucky bastard- and were checking back under the seats for whatever had set off the girl. There was a lot of blood I saw, but nothing else. In the end they draped a blanket over the seats and floor- there wasn't much else to do. The Captain came on over the intercom and assured us that the bird was fine and resting peacefully in the Crew Lounge. She'd 'ad a bad dream 'e said. Nothing to get alarmed about.

Bollocks!

I got me ass up and out into the aisle. I made me way forward- I 'ad to piss like a freight train anyway- and I wanted to take a look at the mess they were trying to cover up. 'Course the Sky Marshall eyed me like I was a terrorist soon as I got close-

"Better return to your seat sir. Nothing to see here." He 'ad 'is 'and on 'is gun, and I could tell 'e was itchin' to be the next Clint Eastwood. I gave 'im me best charming grin and eased past, hands up and in plain sight-

"Jus' off to the loo, guv. Nature calls, y'know?"

He nodded me past, but watched me every step. I glanced at the seats as I passed, and saw the blood spattered on the wall near the floor. Either something exploded outta the bird's leg, or something took a bite out of 'er. My guess was the latter.

I locked meself into the loo and turned on the light. It was all metal and glare, and the ventilator fan rattled for a bit then sputtered to a stop altogether. It stank, and I could see that the toilet was backed up from the last occupant. Probably the fat man by the look and smell. Fuck it! I pissed in the sink and washed it down the drain.

I leaned up against the counter and lit a fag against the smell, trying to think. I racked me brain trying to figure what might've taken a bite outta that girl; a rat maybe, or somebody's dog? She was screaming like a banshee though, so me money was on a rat. Nothing unusual there, except for the blood. Rat bite doesn't draw that big a mess unless they 'it an artery, and the bird was hobblin' but not spurtin' blood. She'd live, with a chunk out of 'er leg- but she'd survive.

What then? If not a rat, not a dog or cat, what could do something like that?

Buggers, I was starting to sound like Doctor Seuss! I dropped me butt into the toilet and made me way back to me seat. It was right about then that the storm caught up to us…

Captain Robert Jansen glanced over his shoulder as the door to the cockpit opened and Bill Stern- his Co-pilot- stepped through the portal. He had logged over three hundred hours with Bill at his side, and another five hundred with Michelle Perkins the Navigator. They were a crew that he was comfortable with. No problems, no drinking, no family strife. They were good people and dedicated to the job at hand. He liked them, and he hoped they felt the same way about him.

"How's the girl, Bill?" Michelle asked, looking up briefly from her monitor. She was thirty-five and still looked good. The stress of the job had not wrinkled her face yet and she only had a handful of gray hairs here and there streaked through the thick black. She had a husband waiting for her in London, and a little girl just five years old.

"She's out of it." Bill sighed, taking his chair and strapping in. He draped the bulky headphones about his neck, taking a sip of the cold coffee that he had left half-finished on the side table before leaving. He grimaced. It was cold-

"Maggie gave her a sedative and tied her down. She'll sleep till Heathrow."

"What happened?" Jansen asked, watching through the windscreen as the storm flashed in the distance. He compensated for the wind, easing over a spot of turbulence. Stern shrugged-

"Who knows? Bad dream! Flight jitters! She cut the hell out of her leg though. Don't worry. Nothing serious, just a mess in the seat. Me and Frank covered it up with some blankets-"

"The Marshall?"

"Yeah. Real prick, but I was glad he was there. The passengers were freaked."

"I can imagine. Hold on!"

The plane shook and shuddered as it shot through another blast of turbulent wind. There was a lurching feeling as the plane dropped, but Jansen eased it back under control, climbing to the proper altitude again.

"Shit!" Michelle cursed, biting her lip. "I was hopin' we'd beat this bastard!"

"Yeah. Me too." Jansen smiled, adjusting the ailerons. "Looks like a biggie though. Movin' fast!"

"Can we veer around?" Stern asked, slipping his headgear into place. The plane rocked as though to answer his question.

"No. We just have to ride it out and hope we can stay ahead of it. Any sign of Mary?"

"No." Bill stern frowned and shook his head. "Just like Maggie said, the food rack was sitting out but Mary was nowhere to be found."

"Did you check the cabinet?"

Bill stared at his friend. "Why would she be in the cab-"

The sky flared white, lightning arching through the sky and igniting the clouds. The plane shook and vibrated from the booming thunder as it sped along, too fast to hear the force of the blast. Fire erupted on the wing-

"Fuck! Number Two Starboard's out!"

"On it!"

As one, Stern and Jansen compensated for the sudden loss of power, adjusting the thrust of the remaining engines and cutting the drag on the starboard side of the plane to keep it flying level. Alarms blared and lights began to flash as Michelle Perkins radioed their difficulties to anyone who could hear. The plane shook and they could all hear the sudden stress, but then as suddenly as it had occurred, the mighty engine coughed and sputtered to life.

"Eighty percent…" Stern finally said as the monitors leveled. A warning light blinked to his right indicating that the engine was still running less than efficiently, but the alarm claxons ceased.

'What the hell was that?" Michelle asked, turning in her chair.

"I dunno! Lightning strike! Power flux! Could've been anything. We're good now though."

"We okay to go on?"

"Yeah. Yeah I think so. Long as we can keep ahead of the storm." Robert Jansen glanced at his crew. Michelle was frowning, but Bill smiled with a wink-

"Your call, Cap. Let's do it."

Captain Robert Jansen smiled, easing the controls forward and taking the plane to the ceiling of their allotted altitude. The turbulence eased a bit, and the worst of the lightning was beneath them. With a little luck they had weathered the worst that the flight had to offer…

I grabbed onto one of the support straps as soon as the plane started to buck. I saw lightning flash something fierce outside and the rain was hammering the windows more like sand in a desert storm than water. The plane lurched to the right, and I felt me stomach churn.

I stared at the bird as she swayed in 'er seat. Like I figured they'd strapped 'er down- for 'er safety and protection I imagine. She was doped up and totally out of it, lost in a world all her own. Soon as the plane righted itself I crouched down to get a look at 'er ankle. It was wrapped up tight in bandages, but it was bloody as 'ell, and a quick feel showed that there was a nice chunk a' meat missing. Nasty…

I stood an' lit a fag. The Stews 'ad all rushed forward to calm the passengers as soon as the storm 'ad 'it, so I slipped outta me seat and snuck back to the cooler to lift a bottle or two. We were more than 'alf way across the pond, and already I was starting to 'ate it. Did I mention that I don't like t'fly?

The plane rocked, and I 'eard the passengers start to panic again when the lights flickered. Lightning flashed all around and I felt me short hairs stand up for a bit. We seemed to be in the heart of the storm, so I knew it'd get worse 'fore it got any better. I pocketed a couple more bottles a' gin and turned to go back to me seat.

I smelled something then. Like death warmed over, it was rank and foul. I wrinkled me nose, feeling me stomach twisting into knots. Worse, I'd smelt it before. I'd smelt it in the loo, but 'adn't recognized it for what it was. I hung me 'ead with a sigh of disgust…

Gremlins!

That explained a lot. It explained the bird at any rate, and the gaping wound in 'er leg. Little buggers liked their meat fresh. They'd been around for ages, ever since man first started inventing things that they could fuck with. That was their purpose in the Grand Scheme, slow the monkeys down. His Most Holy couldn't 'ave 'is prize creations getting too smart too quick. He'd 'ad that problem once before. I chained another fag to life and popped the cap on one of me procured bottles a' gin, downin' it inna single gulp. I hated Gremlins like Poppa Jones hated rats.

I palmed another bottle of gin and started to sniff out the little bugger. His stink was still strong, so I knew 'e was close by, probably watchin' me an' laughing 'is fuzzy ass off. I started opening cupboards-

The plane swayed to the left and I stumbled back, tiny bags of macadamia nuts spewing outta the cabinet. I saw flames shoot up off the wing through the window and heard the groan of the engines as the pilots tried to compensate. Lightning flashed again, but I knew the little bastard 'ad been at the wiring. The plane started to fall- slow like- but we were losing altitude jus' the same. Fuckin' little bugger'd see us blow up in a ball of fire and 'e wouldn't even feel it. He'd jus' fly away and 'itch a ride on whatever was passin' by, 'n' start all over again. Bastard!

I found me footing and started ripping the Stew's compartment apart. I teared into every cupboard and cabinet I could find. I dug through their closet, and the ovens and refrigerators. I pulled out every rack and tray and cart that I could find…

I saw the blood soon enough. I saw the torn up grill in the back of one of the cabinets, the hole jus' large enough to force a body through. I pulled me Zippo 'n' crouched down into the back of the cabinet, flicking it to life. The flame flapped and swayed in a breeze that shouldn't 'ave been there. I leaned in, sticking me 'ead into the figurative lion's mouth. There was more blood, a lot of it on the far side of the grill. And a shoe- a woman's pump. I could only imagine that that was what had the Stews so worried before. One of their own was missing.

I held the lighter out in front of me, trying to look down into the duct. It was a tight squeeze. I can only imagine the Stew's agony as the little bleeder pulled 'er through. I wouldn't a thought it possible, but there was a trail of blood back as far as I could see. Smelled like shit too, dirty little-

It popped outta the dark like that alien in that movie, all teeth an' claws an' snarlin' like a jungle cat. It latched onto me arm like a pit bull, bitin' deep and 'anging on for dear life! I'm not proud. I screamed like a bitch!

I scrambled back, yanking the little bugger outta the duct with me. He had 'is teeth sunk into me arm and 'e wasn't letting go for love or money. I slammed back against the wall, screaming to heaven on high an' shaking me arm trying to get 'im off. He snarled, and I swear 'e was laughing as well. Bugger that! I slammed 'is ass up against the cabinets-

Stupid! His teeth dug even deeper with the impact. I saw blood spew and I swear I was starting to panic. The Gremlin was gnawing on me arm and 'ad 'is arms and legs wrapped about it by then. I kept screaming, and started beating at 'im with me other arm.

I heard something shatter and I remembered the little bottle of gin that I'd been holding for an emergency. I'd expected I'd need to drink it, but cracking it over 'is 'ead worked for me jus' as well. The little bugger hissed and snarled an' bit down all the 'arder. Right about then I got one of me famous flashes of inspiration. I leaned forward, biting down on the butt a' me Silk Cut-

"Chew on this, bitch!"

I rammed the burning tip of me fag into the little bugger's eye! He squealed in agony, and I knew that I'd 'urt 'im! Then 'e fuckin' lit up like a Christmas tree! The alcohol don't y'know…

He erupted in a ball of flame, and right about then he eased up on me arm. I snatched at 'im quick-like, fuck the fire and pain. No way I was letting the little shit run back into the ventilators. He squirmed and squealed, fighting every inch, prying at me grip and snapping at me with those raggedy teeth. I 'eld on! Fuck 'im!

I got up and staggered across the plane, 'olding 'im out at arm's length. Me 'and was sizzling, and it 'urt like 'ell, but I wasn't about to let go. I slammed from side to side of the cabin as the plane dropped and pitched in the storm. I could 'ear the bird behind me whining, but I paid 'er no mind. I slammed into the loo…

The Gremlin was spittin' at me now an' thrashin' about so much that I 'ad to get a grip with me other 'and as well. Me coat was flamin', and I could smell me own flesh cooking in the fire. The bugger started screaming bloody murder as 'e realized what I was about.

I slammed 'is ass down into the toilet- this one was backed up like the one up front- and I felt 'im having spasms as I 'eld 'im under. The fire went out 'course, in a cloud of smoke 'n' steam that smelt of- well, shit- but at that point it didn't really matter. I gagged 'n' 'eld me breath. I 'eld 'im under the shit an' piss for a minute, letting 'im savor the moment. I know I was. Then I 'it the flush…

He squealed as I shoved 'is ass down the pipe. I felt 'is teeth snappin' at me fingers as I leaned on the plunger, forcing 'im down into the waste hold somewhere below. Water spewed up into me face, but I didn't care. I 'eld that button, and as soon as I saw the last a' the little bastard I gave the thing a nudge-

The pressure in the loo dropped, and I felt me stomach twist as the plane started to plunge. I kept me 'and on the plunger though, wishing me chum a fast and 'appy trip down into the Atlantic with all of the rest of the waste. With any luck 'e'd 'it an' splatter fore 'e knew what was 'appenin'. The toilet gurgled then, and I let go of the plunger…

It was over…

I put the lid on the toilet down and sat with a thump and a sigh. I lit me a fag and jus' sat there for a bit. Me 'ands were charred and stinging, and me clothes smelled a' piss, but I really didn't care at that point. I was tired, and I still 'adn't 'ad a proper drink yet. Worse, I could 'ear the Stews 'n' that Sky Marshall finally running back my way. Probably brimming with questions, they were-

Fuckin' British Air…

Did I mention that I 'ate t'fly?

THE END

Story © 2004 Curt Fernlund and may not be reproduced without permission.