Departure by A. G. Riddle Read Free Book Online

That’s the first time I’ve hit someone since I was ten. I hope it’ll be the last punch I ever throw—but it’s worth it. Easily.
    From the ground, 2D’s eyes are daggers. “I’ll have you arrested for assault when this is over!”
    â€œReally? How?”
    â€œI’ve got two dozen witnesses.”
    â€œDo you?” I glance back at the crowd, who are all smiles, some shaking their heads.
    â€œAnd I’ve got proof,” 2D says, pointing to his bloody face.
    â€œOf what? Being in an airplane crash?”
    I turn to Jillian, whose eyes are wide. “How much food is left?”
    â€œSome. I’m not sure.”
    â€œStart bringing it out. Take two people to help you.”
    The mob swells forward, but I hold up my hands. “Wait. We need to stay down here. The plane could be unstable. Let Jillian bring the food out, and we’ll divide it evenly, okay?”
    There’s some grumbling but no real pushback. After all, I just punched some random guy in the face, seemingly apropos of nothing.
    Behind me, Jillian is struggling up the chute with the help of two guys. It seems a waste to build a stairway when we’ll be rescued soon, but someone’s likely to get hurt if we don’t. I walk over and talk with the three of them about what we might use, everything from luggageto the serving carts. We agree that that will be the next priority, after breakfast is served.
    What next? The mob is still here, massed like concertgoers waiting for the show to start. We need real help. Rescue.
    â€œDoes anyone here have a working cell phone?” I ask.
    Voices around the crowd call out.
    No, no service.
    Battery’s dead.
    Been trying all night, nothing.
    Nobody has, I’ve been asking.
    That’s odd. No, it’s unbelievable. Out of two hundred passengers who crash-land in England, no one has a cell signal? Something’s wrong.
    The crowd seems to be thinking the same thing. A man wearing a tweed blazer over a Doctor Who T-shirt and jeans steps out of the crowd. “It’s obvious what’s happened, isn’t it?” He pauses, waiting for the group’s attention. “It’s started—the Third World War. They’ve taken out our communications, all electronics. The invasion’s begun, that’s why they’re not bothering with us lot. They’ve got bigger problems than rescuing us at the moment.”
    Groans erupt, as well as murmurs of concern. A short, bald man wearing a black sweater and tiny round glasses takes up the dissenting position, speaking with that Down East Maine accent, slowly, deliberately, like a professor dressing down his least-favorite student. “That, sir, is far-fetched to the point of absurdity.”
    â€œIs it now?” the Doctor Who fan retorts. “What do you know about it?”
    â€œA great deal, actually. I used to work for Northrop Grumman.”
    â€œOh yeah? Big whoop.”
    â€œIf this were World War Three, we’d be hearing explosions. Planes would be flying overhead. We’d probably hear tanks and troop carriers in the distance. Anyway, I doubt World War Three would start in England.”
    â€œMaybe they’re saving England for last. It’s the perfect launching place for an invasion of Continental Europe—history’s proved that.”
    â€œIt is,” Northrop Grumman guy counters. “And that’s precisely why nobody’s conquered it in almost a thousand years.”
    â€œWell, maybe it isn’t that kind of war. Your lot always assumes the next war will be just like the last, tanks and planes right up to the end, but it’s the technology that’s the real key. They’ve taken us back to the Stone Age. They’ll wait us out, let us start starving before they invade. They probably got us with a series of EMPs. That explains the crash—the phones, too.”
    â€œIt does not, sir,” Northrop Grumman