Flight 12

Flight 12 – a serial novel by Travis Creel.

CHAPTER TWO – THIS IS NOT ARUBA

[Author's note: As the plot is complex, and you probably aren't reading this continuously, I will remind you of prior developments relevant to each upcoming chapter, much like the intro to TV series with continuing stories. They often begin with the following word:]

Previously:

En route from Miami to Aruba, American Airlines flight 462 is diverted to a small airport in the Turks and Caicos. Since repairs to the plane will take a full day, a regional carrier, Zen Tropical Airways, agrees to take the passengers – but its plane is smaller and can't accommodate everyone. Twenty-four `leftovers', all male and mostly young, are put on a second plane, ZTA Flight 12, which encounters violent turbulence and breaks apart, sending the passengers plummeting to a watery grave. The End.

Oh, wait – there's a chapter two? Better read on, then. Among those on board were:

• Seth Herrick, en route to a long weekend in Aruba both to celebrate his boyfriend's birthday and to rekindle their relationship, recently under some strain;

• Abe Derisian, said boyfriend, sitting across the aisle;

• Harry Mancini, a gay man afraid of rejection because of his weight;

• Sir Edward Niemann, the only passenger past his mid-thirties; at odds with

• Leo Niemann, his 19-year-old son;

• Barry Russell, the pilot (who moonlights as a bdsm dom), who has been ordered by a mysterious man to pilot Flight 12 – he's not sure why, but has been threatened severely enough to ensure compliance;

• four men who won't be mentioned in this chapter:

o Percy, the Jamaican flight attendant;

o Stan Kowalczyk, a married man bizarrely pressured by Percy to switch seats with

o a man named Onslow;

o Al Casey, Stan's new seatmate, a young Costco clerk;

• • • • • • • • SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1 * * * * * * * *

LOCATION UNKNOWN – SETH

I opened my eyes.

I was lying on my back looking up at palm trees. What the fuck?

A moment ago – it seemed – I had been paralyzed with fear as the plane broke apart. The entire left half had shorn off, inches from my seat, pulling Abe's hand out of mine. Each half spiraled downward, accelerating us toward our imminent demise. But before I hit the ocean's surface, I blacked out.

And now I was here. Conscious. On dry land.

I seemed intact, nothing broken. I touched my face, where my carry-on had hit me and broken the skin. No red on my fingers. It felt perfectly smooth.

I sat up, slightly dizzy, and pondered my fate. How on earth could I have survived without apparent injury?

It took me a moment to realize that there was another mystery – less existential, but equally incomprehensible: Why was I naked?

I was in a grove of trees, on sandy soil. Sunlight glinted through gaps in the leaves. Sunlight? The plane had broken apart at nine at night. I must have been unconscious for a long time.

I sat there, taking in my surroundings, totally bewildered by (1) my existence, (2) my lack of injury, and (3) my nudity. I decided to analyze my three problems, one at a time.

Problem 1: my existence. I would have been hurtling toward the earth at such a speed that death would be instantaneous – and certain. Where was the seat I had been strapped into? Neither it nor any part of the plane was in sight. Either it was a miracle, or I was dead and in some sort of afterlife.

I didn't believe in an afterlife. And dammit, I FELT alive! I wanted to be alive, I needed to be alive. I CAN'T be dead.

So Problem 1 decided by arbitrary proclamation: I'm alive, because I refuse to be dead. Q.E.D.

Problem 2: my lack of injury. Uh . . . skip that one. Address it later.

Problem 3: my nudity. Honestly, if I were dead, nudity would make sense. Clothing is an invention of society; our actual selves are just our bodies. In an afterlife, my soul might very well be unclothed. It was, I hated to say, the most logical explanation. Shit.

Seeking alternatives. The fall could not have removed my clothes, so someone must have stripped me while I was unconscious. Ergo, there are people around. Ergo, I could be rescued. If I'm alive. (Which I AM, see Problem 1 above.) And if I'm alive . . . maybe Abe is alive.

Whether I'm in this world or the next, there must be others. Time to go find them.

The sandy soil suggested a beach; through a gap in the trees I could see a hint of ocean beyond. I forged a path in that direction, which indeed led to a beach. Hoping beyond hope that when I got there, I would see the others, all safe. And one particular other, all safe.

I reached the beach and saw a particular other. Sadly, not MY particular other, but someone I recognized: Harry, the fat guy. He was fully clothed, which put the kibosh on the `I must be dead because only our naked souls go to the afterlife' theory. That was good news – I think.

• Seth?- Harry!

• Omigod, I'm so glad it's not just me.

• Have you seen anybody else? I'm looking for my boyfriend.

• The dude with the kindle? No. I haven't seen anyone. But I just woke up.

• Me, too. Some kind of miracle, I guess.

• What happened to your clothes?

• (well, this was embarrassing) I don't know. I just woke up like this. That's like the fifth thing on my mind right now. I'm too confused. Like – where are we?

• We must be in the middle of the Caribbean. Somewhere I can't get a signal. The battery's not dead, but there's no hint of a bar.

• Yeah, well my phone is wherever my pants are. But it's logical that you wouldn't get a –

• (a voice) Hey!

• Harry, what was that?

• Someone else!

• (the voice) Anyone there? I thought I heard voices!

I didn't see anyone else, but in a couple of minutes someone stumbled through the trees onto the beach. He wasn't naked either.

• Praise the Lord, I'm not the only one!

I assessed him. Young, awkward, the kind of guy who looked tall without actually being tall. Maybe nineteen. I'd seen him in the Cockburn airport with a young woman who must have gotten onto the direct flight. My gaydar said `straight', anyway, but that was the furthest thing from my mind at the moment. Well, if I thought about it, I guess it wasn't the furthest thing.

He trotted over to us, then looked away from me, addressing Harry.

• (new guy) What happened?

• (Harry) We don't know.

• Before you ask, I'm not a nudist. I woke up naked. Someone took my clothes, and it's not funny.

• (new guy) Nothing's funny. I mean – how did we survive?

• Maybe we didn't.

Seth, you're alive, remember? Doubts creeping back in? Yep.

• (new guy) What do you mean, maybe we didn't.

• Maybe we're dead. Maybe this is heaven or something. I don't really believe in heaven, but –

• (new guy) You don't? . . . I should introduce myself. I'm Augie. Augie Stapleton.

• (Harry) Harry Mancini.

• Seth Herrick.

• (Augie) You were on the right side of the plane.

• Yeah, both of us.

• (Augie) If we survived, maybe others did, too. From our half, anyway.

He had to add in that last bit, a dagger to my heart. Why had the flight attendant insisted on seating Abe on the left? He said he didn't mind. And we were right across from each other, so we could easily talk – it seemed immaterial at the time. And now it was material as hell.

• My boyfriend was on the left half.

• (Augie) Boyfriend? . . . Oh.

Augie gave me a startled look. He wasn't expecting my open declaration of being gay. And he didn't look any too happy about it.

FLASHBACK: SETH (CLEVELAND) – November 20, a year ago

• Hi.

• Hi.

• Come here often?

• Wow, what an original pick-up line!

• Is it working?

• Are you trying to pick me up?

• Not yet. I'm trying to engage you in conversation.

• Ah, conversation. That's what you're interested in.

• I would imagine a lot of guys approach you because you look so articulate.

• Possibly, but you're the first one to actually say so.

• It's my X-ray vision. I can see through your pretty face into your brain. I haven't seen you here before.

• I haven't seen YOU here before.

• Ah, so you do come here often.

• Actually, it's my first time. That's why I haven't seen you here before.

• That would explain it. Seth Herrick.

• Abe Derisian.

• Derisian, interesting. Could I ask you something?

• It's Armenian.

• Not what I was going to ask.

• Abe is short for Abraham.

• That wasn't it either. Want to dance, Abe?

• I'm not a good conversationalist when I'm dancing.

• You're not overwhelming me right now. But I'll bet you can dance up a storm.

I was on the rebound. I was on the rebound from Ian, who was my rebound from Ysidro, who was my rebound from Caleb, who followed Cole, Raj, and Dieter, who individually weren't around long enough to have to rebound from, but were all an attempt to rebound from Sean, who had started it all. Sean, from whom I needed a big rebound. Sean, who had ruined my life – and maybe rescued it at the same time.

Abe, like the others, was younger than me. Sean was older, and I wanted someone who reminded me of him as little as possible. Some were twinks, particularly the Cole-Raj-Dieter triad. Ysidro, Caleb – I was fooling myself that there was anything real there. Ian could have worked out, if not for some sexual issues. But we were still friends.

So here I was in Studs & Stripes looking for the next iteration of Mister Right. Abe probably wasn't it, but he was hot and looked smarter than the average sex object.

It was Seventies night, and we gyrated to Donna Summer and the Beegees and Sister Sledge and, yes, he could dance up a storm. And raise a storm in my pants. I noticed other guys looking at us, hoping they were thinking "Wow, what a hot couple – they look perfect for each other." When they were probably thinking, "One night stand at best." After all, that's all that most of them were seeking.

• So, Abe, how do you engage that fabulous brain I've been admiring so much on the dance floor?

• I'm studying for my doctorate at Case Western.

• Impressive. In what?

• Biometrics. And you?

• I have a boring office job.

• Hmm, figured you for like a physical trainer.

• Actually, I do a form of physical training as a hobby. With men. At night.

• I see. What kind of physical training?

• I concentrate on training certain parts of their body, using a certain part of mine.

• Hmmm. Need any more clients?

• Interested?

• I think my mouth needs a workout.

• (smiling) I believe I can fit you into my schedule. I have an opening tonight.

• I have two openings. Both available tonight.

• Well, Mister Abraham Doctoral Student, do you see any reason to hang around this joint any longer?

• You don't want to find out more about my brain?

• Your brain is in your head. Just past that opening that needs a good workout.

THE BEACH – SETH

• (Augie) So you like – just woke up naked?

• Yep.

• (Harry) Listen, Seth, if you want something to wear - I could go commando, give you my boxers, but – they're so big, I don't think they'd stay up.

• (Augie) Mine might fit. Your hips are wider than mine, they might be a little tight, but you know, if you wanted . . .

• Well, I have no shame about nudity – but when you guys are wearing clothes, it IS a bit weird. So Augie, if it's okay?

• (Augie, uncomfortably) Uh, yeah, sure. No problem. Would you mind, like, turning around?

Really? Here I am, in the buff, and he's afraid to undress in front of me? Is it because he knows I'm gay? By now I've sussed Harry as gay, but Augie (yes, I'm sure he was with a girlfriend) seemed straighter than a gutter at a bowling alley. His accent suggested Texas. I decided to find out.

• (facing away from him) Where you from, Augie?

• Dallas.

Told ya.

A couple of minutes later, having redonned his khakis, he handed me his briefs. I slipped them on. They were snug, but wearable.

• Thanks, Augie.

• Thanks for turning around. I don't like undressing in front of other men.

• You haven't been in a locker room?

• (Augie, turning red) Well, yeah, in PE. I don't like it, though. I don't like seeing other guys' junk.

I did.

FLASHBACK: SETH (CLEVELAND) – November 20, a year ago (continued)

• Wow. Nice place.

• Thanks.

• And you have a view.

• It came with the windows.

• You afford this on a boring office job?

• Boring, but well-paying. But your future's bright - biometrics has got to pay well, right?

• It does. But I don't think I'm going to do biometrics for my career.

• What? After a Ph.D.?

• The only reason I'm not leaving grad school is because I'm too stubborn to quit. I just want to get this damn thing over with and then find something fun to do with my life. Like acting.

• I see.

• Unfortunately, I have a mound of student debt.

• Oh, well, acting will take care of that. Just the tips from waiting tables should do it.

• That's what I figure. So tell me about your job.

I was a mid-level manager for an investment firm. It paid well, but it was truly boring and took up far too much of my time. Not what I wanted to talk about, mid-seduction. Time for a diversionary tactic.

• Can I get you a drink?

• Ah. Preliminaries. Sure, get me drunk, I'm easier when I'm a little tipsy.

• How hard are you when you're sober?

• Rock hard. But I'm hard when I'm tipsy, too.

• When you're tipsy you're both easy and hard.

• Yep. Spot the paradox?

• Not really a paradox. What's your poison, as the cliché goes?

• Gin and tonic. Easy on the tonic if you want to get me tipsy.

• (with a smile) One gin and tipsy coming up.

• Gin and tipsy. I like that.

I disappeared into the kitchen and made the drinks. I'm rather ecumenical about alcohol – I'll drink just about anything. So I always have whatever my guest has.

After making the drinks, I left my clothes in the kitchen and walked back into the living room in the nude. He burst out laughing.

• Does that mean I should guzzle it?

• No, but you might want to be similarly attired while we enjoy our refreshments.

• For a man without an original pick-up line, you sure are capable of surprises.

• On the contrary. What you see is what you get. And I wanted you to see what you're going to get.

In a minute he was as naked as I was, and we sat together, our bodies touching. My left hand held my drink. My right hand teased his cock, which stiffened; this was going to be a piece of cake.

• I have a suggestion for your biometrics dissertation.

• Yes?

• You should do it on penis recognition technology.

• I'd need to conduct some experiments for that.

• Let me contribute to your database.

I polished off my drink, slapped him on the thigh, and grabbed him by the cock as if to pull him up by it. He grinned, stood up willingly, and followed me to the bedroom. I gave his mouth a workout, all right. He proved he was no student when it came to cocksucking – he was a skilled connoisseur, and drank every drop with relish. Both times. I reciprocated, once.

In the morning, he punched his number into my phone.

• About my dissertation . . .

• Yes.

• I think penis recognition technology might be employed by mapping it to certain regions of the tongue. There are possibilities there.

• What about anal recognition of a penis?

• I'd need more data.

• Saturday?

• . . . Saturday. (Yeah, he hesitated.)

• You'll want to do proper research. Bring your anus.

• I'll make a note of that.

THE BEACH - SETH

We split up and searched the nearby woods for other survivors. I found one. .Medium height, fit, with the well-chiseled good looks of a doctor or lawyer on a television series. Wearing a three-piece suit, minus the jacket. His graying hair placed him in his forties or low fifties. His identity was obvious:

• You're the British knight. Sir Edward something.

• (startled) Am I famous?

• I heard you give your name at the airport.

• Ah. Yes. Ed Niemann. Looking for my son.

• Seth Herrick. Looking for my boyfriend.

• Boyfriend? So you're – ah. So is Leo, I'm afraid.

`I'm afraid.' Ouch. This explains at least some of the tension between father and son at the airport.

• I haven't seen Leo.

• You think he could have survived? Frankly, I don't know how I did.

• Neither do I. But there's at least four of us.

• Brilliant. Are they as underdressed as you?

• No, they have clothes. Somehow I woke up nude – these shorts are a loaner.

• You shouldn't parade around like that. Would you like my weskit?

• Your what?

• My weskit. Left my jacket on the plane, it's gone, but I can spare this.

Something clicked. Weskit' = waistcoat. I'd seen it in books. British for vest'.

Attired in boxer shorts and weskit (which didn't fit, but made me look less naked), I went back to the beach and introduced Ed to Harry and Augie. By the position of the sun, we were on the east coast of an island. I looked south. Long stretches of sand, nothing of interest.

We couldn't see much to the north, as the land curved west, out of sight. Who knows what's behind what you can't see? So we headed that way.

THE BEACH - AUGIE

I was shocked when Seth said he had a boyfriend.

This looked more like heaven than hell, which was reassuring. But Pastor Markson had made it clear that all homosexuals went to hell, and here was Seth in the same place as me. Had I gone to hell, too?

I had my sins, like anyone. I'd always hoped they wouldn't be enough to send me to hell, and I had repented the worst one, hadn't l? But when the plane was going down, I should have taken the time to repent my sins. I didn't. I was too scared. All I could think about was omigod-I'm-going-to-die. I should have been praying. If I'm dead, I died with unrepented, unforgiven sins. Maybe that was enough to send me to hell.

Or maybe, when we were going down, Seth had repented for the sin of homosexuality and God had forgiven him. Aside from being queer, Seth seemed like a decent guy.

My mind was twisted in knots. I'd talked myself into hell and Seth into heaven. And here we were, together. Limbo? That never made sense to me. God wasn't wishy-washy; He wouldn't need to keep you in some kind of holding pen until He made up His mind. If this was an afterlife, then Seth and I were either both in heaven or both in hell. But maybe we were still alive - that's what Harry seemed to think.

In a way, it didn't matter. Alive or dead, we still had to figure out where to go and what to do.

We passed the bend, hoping to find others. We didn't. But we saw something in the distance to the northwest, poking over the top of the trees. Something round and multi-colored.

• (Harry) What's that?

• (Ed) It's curved, like a dome.

• (Seth). Hallelujah. A man-made structure on this island.

• Are you sure this is an island? This might be, like, Nicaragua.

• (Harry) Impossible, Augie. Central America's like a thousand miles from here. This is definitely an island.

• (Ed) I'm not aware of any islands between Hispaniola and Aruba. And I got a first in geography.

• (Seth) Nevertheless we are on one. And that dome's a sign of civilization. There are people on this island.

• (Ed) Or were.

• (Seth) We've got to keep going until we find them.

• (Harry) Then hopefully we can get out of here.

• And send messages. My girlfriend's probably sick with worry.

• (Ed) At least your story will eventually have a happy ending. You're both still alive. If Leo's dead, my wife will never forgive me.

• (Seth) If Abe's dead, I'll never forgive myself.

The structure was inland. Seth suggested we just follow the beach until we were even with it, and then cut directly west. It would be easier than trying to take a direct path through the woods – particularly for him, he had no shoes.

Before we reached the dome, we would find two more artifacts of humanity. Both of which confused us even more.

UNDERGROUND - BARRY

• Where am I?

• Where do you think you are, Barry?

• In a building.

• Such a mind! You see four walls, a floor, and a ceiling and you conclude that you are in a building. Brilliant. Where do you think the building is?

• I have no idea.

• It's about thirty feet below the surface.

• Underground.

• Yes.

• I'm dead. This is hell.

• Oh, no, Barry. You're very much alive. Everyone on Flight 12 is alive. For now.

• Where are they? Where's Phil?

• Your co-pilot? He's here. So is your flight attendant Percy. The passengers are on the surface. But some will arrive here shortly.

• How do you know this? How do you know that everyone is alive?

• You expect a magician to give away his secrets?

A magician. Yeah, he was that, all right. A mad one. He'd shown me a magic trick. Two people had died. He told me that what I had witnessed could happen to me. Unless I did for him this one thing. One little thing, which would be no big deal, just watch for his text.

A second magic trick hit too close to home. So I did that one thing. I flew ZTA Flight 12 from Santo Domingo toward Aruba. And we hit shit-crazy turbulence that tore the plane apart. The little thing that was no big deal was suddenly a very big deal indeed.

I should be dead. He says I'm alive. But how did I get in an underground building – with HIM?

• Look, when the plane crashed –

• Did it?

• It didn't crash?

• Do you remember it crashing?

• I remember it fucking breaking apart!

• And then what?

• And then I was here.

• So that's what happened. The plane broke apart and then you were here.

• How is that possible?

• I'm a magician, remember? Only maybe I'm not THE magician.

• What do you mean? Who is?

• You will see that this island is quite unique.

• The island is the magician?

• The island is an inanimate object, Barry.

• Look, I did what you asked me to do. Can I go now?

He laughed.

• No, Barry. You're not going anywhere.

• Who ARE you?

• You know who I am. Hamish DiSalvo. But you can call me Master.

• . . . Excuse me?

• Call me Master. Because you're my boy.

• Are you serious? I'm nobody's boy'. You know that! I'm a fucking dom! They call me Sir Barry'. Literally and figuratively, I'm a fucking dom! As in, a dom who fucks!

• And you will be again. But for now, you're my boy.

• Why? What is your goal? Why are you doing . . . whatever it is you're doing?

• All in good time, `Sir Barry'. Be patient. You will be amply rewarded. But you will have to earn your reward. Now surrender your clothes. All of them.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER THREE – LET'S GO TO THE LIGHTHOUSE]