Our Little Secret Ch. 01

Joel looked at her more carefully now, and saw her lips were blue. It was a symptom of hypoxia -- lack of oxygen. He remembered that from CPR classes. Joel placed his hand on her chest, above her bosom. She was not breathing. He knew time was critical. He rolled her onto her back, tilted her head back, and opened her mouth. He could see something in there. He remembered -- sweep the finger -- don't push. He put his finger down the side of her mouth, and swept sideways, and something moved. He did it again, and it broke off. He pulled it out. It was the part of a boiled egg white. She still wasn't breathing. The rest must still be further down her windpipe.

What to do when they're unconscious? Think! Okay, now I remember. He straddled his knees over the flight attendant's knees, and he placed the heel of his left hand just under the center of her rib cage, and he placed his right hand on the back of his left hand. Then he straightened his arms, braced, angled upwards, into her lungs, and PUSH! She made a "thwoop" sound as the piece of egg white literally flew right out of her mouth and landed on the floor beside her.

Joel listened to her mouth. She was breathing, but her head was still bleeding. He looked at it more closely. It was a nasty gash above her left eye that reached into her scalp. The cut was C shaped, and a flap of skin pulled away, revealing muscle tissue beneath. He pressed the skin back into place.

Joel looked around for something to bind her wound. An unconscious or dead woman in the front business class seat wore a scarf. Joel removed the woman's scarf, and tied it tightly around the flight attendant's forehead head, fixing the skin flap tight against her head.

Last thing they taught him in CPR is put the victim into the recovery position in case she vomits. Joel rolled her on to her right side, so the cut on the left side was facing up, hopefully helping the blood clot. He gently rested her head on her own arm. If she threw up, now the vomit would drain down her open mouth, and she wouldn't choke to death.

As he stood up again, Joel looked down the plane toward the back, counting the bodies in the aisle, and a curious notion struck him. All the men were waking up and all the women were still dead or asleep. He examined the aisle again, looking at each still body carefully, one by one, and every single person not moving was female. He scanned the faces of the seated passengers in the cabin, and all the women were dead or sleeping, and all the men were fully awake or rousing.

He was about to bang on the cockpit door, knowing it was impossible to breach. Then a thought occurred to him. Joel went to the white phone mounted on the wall next to the main door, and pulled the handset out of its cradle. There was a button marked COCKPIT on the cradle. Joel pressed the button, and listened.

"Granger," came the voice at the other end.

"My name is Joel Winkman," he announced. "I am a passenger." Like, duh! He knows I am a passenger. "All three flight attendants are down."

In two seconds the door opened, and a stocky fifty year old pilot with four chevrons on his shoulder -- he was the captain -- stepped through the door. He had the name tag "GRANGER" on his left breast pocket. Joel put the phone back to its cradle.

"All the women on the aircraft are dead or unconscious," Joel reported to the captain.

"WHAT!" Granger exclaimed incredulously.

"See for yourself," Joel gestured down the aisle. "The third flight attendant is in the back galley," Joel reported.

Granger looked down the length of the cabin for five whole seconds, surveying the corpses in the aisle. As he visually checked every body, and he confirmed they were all women. The captain spun on his heel and poked his head into the cockpit, and barked a command to his first officer. "Gary, squawk seventy seven hundred. Put us down R.F.N. Multiple code black. I'm checking for damage."

"Center, American 7921," Joel heard from the flight deck, "we are declaring an emergency. Possible mid-air collision. Commencing rapid descent. Require direct vector to nearest major airport for immediate landing."

Holy shit! This is getting real.

Joel couldn't hear the air traffic controller's reply, but then he heard the co-pilot say "Right heading zero eight zero, descend at my discretion, not below twelve thousand, American 7921." Moments later, the aircraft banked hard right. The engines went quiet, and Joel felt the whole aircraft tremble and he heard something new -- a faint howling. He looked out the window, and saw the spoilers on the wings had risen to their maximum deflection angle. Joel worried something had gone horribly wrong, because he had only ever seen the spoilers come up when they landed on the runway.

Captain Granger listened to his first officer's radio communications while he looked backward, surveying the cabin. As the plane banked right, Captain Granger was satisfied the co-pilot had the situation in hand, and he closed the cockpit door.

"Do you have a first aid kit," Joel asked Captain Granger, pointing to the flight attendant on the floor. "She was choking to death -- egg white," he pointed at the broken remains of the hardboiled egg on the floor. "I gave her the Heimlich, but her head is still bleeding badly."

Granger went to galley at the front of the airplane, and opened a panel door markedFIRST AID. He pulled out the kit and gave it to Joel. Joel opened the first aid kit and found a compression bandage, gauze pack, and antibiotic ointment. He ripped the sterile packaging open. As he tended to the flight attendant's head wound, the captain carefully walked down the cabin aisle, picking his way over the bodies, and stopped three rows short of the emergency exit. He looked out both sides of the aircraft, inspecting the wings and engines. Then he went aft of the wings, and looked again out both sides. Next Granger continued to the back of the plane, stepping over more women, until he reached the galley.

By the time the captain returned to the front, Joel had finished bandaging the flight attendant's wound, and he was checking the pulses of stricken passengers. "What's your name?" the captain asked Joel as he returned forward.

"Joel," he replied, "Joel Winkman. So far they're all alive," Joel pointed to the downed women.

"Stand up please," the pilot ordered him, "so everyone can see you." Joel stood uncertainly.

"Mister Joel Winkman," the pilot announced loudly enough for all near the front of the aircraft to hear, "I am deputizing you as commander of the passenger cabin. You will keep calm and order back here. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Joel answered immediately.

The captain stepped over the remaining unconscious women and returned to the flight deck door. He entered a code on the numeric key panel, and waited a few moments. The door unlocked and he stepped in and closed the door.

About a minute later, Joel heard Captain Granger's voice over the public address system. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Granger on the flight deck. As you have no doubt determined by now, we have incurred an unknown event that has rendered many of our passengers and crew incapacitated. Rest assured that both pilots are fully alert and capable. We have declared an emergency and we are descending to Richmond Virginia where medical and emergency response teams are standing by. We have received priority approach to Richmond, and air traffic control is right now clearing out all traffic ahead of us. There has been no damage to the aircraft, and all systems are functioning normally. We temporarily lost our flight attendants due to incapacitation, and I have appointed Mister Joel Winkman commander of the passenger cabin. You will follow his instructions to the best of your abilities. Above all, stay calm, and keep your seat belts on. Air traffic control advises us we will have you on the ground in about fifteen minutes."

Joel looked around the cabin. "Is anyone a doctor or paramedic?" he shouted out.

"I am a retired surgeon," a man in his sixties put up his hand. He was three rows back. Joel waved him forward. The man left his unconscious wife beside him, and stepped over the bodies to reach Joel.

Joel spoke to him quietly, so others could not hear. "Count the dead. Assess the injuries," Joel told him, "and tell me how serious they all are. Take no more than five minutes for the whole plane."

"Yes sir," the surgeon nodded.

"Is anyone a flight attendant on any airline?" Joel yelled out.

"I did some training, but I wasn't hired," a man put up his hand.

"Go into the front and back galleys," he ordered, "lock everything down and button everything up so nothing flies around on landing." He nodded and started with the front galley.

Five minutes later they were still descending. The retired surgeon reported the flight attendant at the very back of the plane had an obviously broken wrist, and the one at the very front might have serious head trauma -- possibly a concussion. He was worried about moving them, especially the front one, if she had a spinal injury. At the same time, he was worried about leaving her there, and her back would be jolted upon landing. He couldn't be certain about the other unconscious women without a more detailed examination.

Joel explained he already moved the front flight attendant to administer the Heimlich maneuver, so he may already have done serious damage to her spine. "It doesn't matter," the doctor shook his head, "she still should not be moved, or moved very carefully."

The doctor added he counted thirty eight unconscious women, none dead. Joel nodded and went to the white phone, and pressed COCKPIT again.

"Granger," the pilot announced.

"It's Winkman," Joel replied. "I have a surgeon on board. He has declared one serious head trauma, and one badly broken wrist, thirty eight unconscious -- all women, no dead. The injuries are two of the flight attendants. The status of the rest is unknown due to unconsciousness."

"Will advise ground," Granger replied. "Anything else?"

"We're going to start putting unconscious people back into their seats now, but I'm going to need about a five minute warning before landing."

"Five minutes, roger," Granger acknowledged. "Anything else?"

"We need a decision about whether to move the injured flight attendants into their seats, or leave them on the floor for landing. Either way, the surgeon is worried about making possible spinal injuries worse."

"We'll chew it over with ops center," Granger advised. "Anything else?"

"That's all."

"Good job, Winkman," and Granger disconnected.

Joel deputized two teams of four strong looking men, and told each team to gently, carefully, and respectfully place the unconscious women lying in the aisle back in their seats. He ordered the retired surgeon to supervise the two teams to minimize injuries, and make sure each seated woman's seatbelt is fastened. As they started reseating the unconscious women, Joel realized someone could be in the washrooms. He checked both front and aft lavatories, and found them empty.

Five minutes later, nearly all the women who were lying in the aisles were back in their seats. The captain announced over the speakers "Winkman phone."

Joel went to the front of the plane, and picked up the phone, and called the cockpit. "Granger," he answered, as always.

"Winkman," he shortened his salutation.

"Our ops center says to move the flight attendants into business class fully reclined seats as carefully as possible. Make sure there is no one seated in a seat behind a reclined seat. Do not leave anyone in the aisles."

"Reclined seats, okay," Winkman tried to be as brief as the pilot. "The aisles are already clear except the front flight attendant. We'll do her next. The surgeon is supervising all body movements."

"Seven minutes to touchdown," Granger announced.

"Okay," Joel acknowledged.

"That's all. How are things back there?"

"Under control, mostly calm, all women are still unconscious. Men are very anxious about wives and daughters. I checked the washrooms -- they're empty. That's all" Joel tried to be brief. He was wondering if making a joke about it being calm because all the women were unconscious was appropriate, and decided against it.

"Good job, Winkman," and Granger disconnected.

Joel asked the retired surgeon to supervise the lifting of the front flight attendant into the business class reclined seat. He had to move two business class passengers into economy to assure no one was behind a reclined seat. One team of men carefully carried the aft flight attendant all the way forward, and the other team carefully lifted the business class flight attendant into her reclined seat. The doctor examined the two flight attendants briefly and fastened their seatbelts over their hips. He started to set and splint the attendant's broken wrist.

"Three minutes to touchdown," Granger announced over the public address system. "Everyone to their seats immediately and fasten your seatbelts now." The doctor abandoned his first aid treatment of the flight attendant's wrist, and returned to his seat beside his sleeping wife. Joel decided to take the jump seat near the front of the aircraft in case he was needed at the door.

They touched down to a textbook landing on the center stripe of runway 16, the longest runway at Richmond airport, clocking in at nine thousand feet. The Airbus easily slowed to taxi speed before crossing the perpendicular runway 25, and under instructions from the tower, the pilot turned right onto runway 25, taxied down the second runway a few hundred feet, crossed taxiway 'L', and stopped on runway 25. This plan left runway 16 open for regular traffic while a battalion of emergency vehicles waited on taxiway 'L', next to the shorter runway. The fire trucks were the first to approach the aircraft. The firemen checked the entire aircraft to make sure the environment was safe to approach. Once the fire chief gave the okay, the next two vehicles to approach were stair trucks that nuzzled against both sides of the fuselage where the two main front doors were. Then the rest of the emergency vehicles swarmed the aircraft while the pilots went through their shutdown checklist.

There was a rap at the left door, and Joel stood up from his jump seat. A large red arrow pointed which direction to turn the handle to open the door, so Joel turned it, and the door opened as easily as that. Then he opened the door on the right side. Paramedics were first aboard the plane. "Those two need spine boards," Joel pointed to the two flight attendants in the reclined business class seats, "and this one was fully obstructed -- she had Heimlich -- she needs to be checked over."

Then Joel paused, aware just how ridiculous his next words would sound. "Every female on board is unconscious," Joel said.

"You said what?" the lead paramedic asked.

"You heard me," Joel stated plainly. He looked at the paramedic's name tag: WILLIAMS. "Every woman and girl on board has been unconscious since the incident."

Williams looked at the passengers, and saw that every woman was asleep. "Fucking hell," Williams cursed, never before hearing of such a thing. He looked back to the door, and saw a woman paramedic step in. He recognized her instantly -- Lorena Ruiz. She was a firecracker from Puerto Rico with a big attitude and dirty mouth. "Out!" he pointed at Ruiz, and yelled. "No female EMTs allowed," he ordered.

"Fuck you, turd" Ruiz challenged him loudly. Williams stepped into her path and blocked Lorena's entrance. "Every female onboard this aircraft is down. I don't know how or why, but I don't want to lose any EMTs."

"Holy shit!" Ruiz backed a few steps back. "We need a fucking quarantine."

"With you in it," Johnson pulled her back in.

"Fuck me!" she cursed at her bad luck, knowing he was right.

"Central this is Williams," he spoke into his radio microphone, "we need to isolate the aircraft. All females onboard are unconscious. Repeat. All females on board are unconscious."

There was a long pause. "Williams did you say all females are unconscious?" crackled over his radio speaker.

"A married man's dream," he smirked into his microphone. "You also need to pull back all female EMTs, fire, police, everybody. Males only."

A long pause. "Williams we're pulling everyone back and rethinking this. Seal it up. Everyone on board stays on board. Charlie Delta Charlie."

"Affirm," nodded Williams into his mike. They closed the aircraft doors tight again. "I need to talk to the captain," he said to Joel.

Joel lifted the phone, and spoke with Captain Granger, and explained he was requested in the cabin for a conversation with the EMT lead. The flight deck door opened, and Captain Granger stepped out. Williams explained the entire plane had just been placed in strict isolation by order of the Center for Disease Control. For how long, no one knew.

Joel sat down on the jump seat and turned on his personal cell phone. He sent a text to Valerie. "Flight diverted to Richmond, Virginia. Might be here a long while. Its complicated." There was no reply.

When he turned his work cell phone on to regular mode, it downloaded an email from Derrek, his boss. It was official. He was fired. "Fuck them," he murmured to himself, and smiled.

Then Joel got a thought. Joel carried two cell phones -- a personal one and a business one. Quinton didn't permit their phones to be used for personal email and phone calls. Joel had received the email telling he was fired on his business cell phone. He forwarded the email to his personal email account, just for safe keeping. You never know, right? He checked his email on his personal phone, and his you're fired email appeared.

- - -

"Do you have any aches, pains, headaches, or sore spots," Dr. Brighton asked. She was a cute young doctor assigned to examine Joel and about thirty other passengers. She had big brown eyes and a round face capped with sharp bangs and straight hair. She stood five foot four, and barely looked over 18. She insisted she had completed medical school long ago and was a certified doctor. It was hard to guess at her figure beneath her white doctor's coat, but Joel was pretty certain he'd enjoy playing doctor with her.

They had been held in isolation for 12 hours on the plane while Tuesday faded into Wednesday. The EMTs decided not to leave the two injured flight attendants onboard. They deplaned the unconscious crew on spine boards under strict isolation protocol. During the 12 hour wait on the plane, all the remaining women and girls woke up.

When they finally allowed the passengers to deplane, they took everyone into a cordoned off building and examined them individually. Even with six doctors, it took a long time to process everyone. Through the luck of the draw, Joel was one of the last passengers to be viewed. He had waited six hours in the sitting room before his name was called. It was ten o'clock in the morning -- twenty hours after he first boarded the plane in Atlanta.

"No," Joel shook his head. "No pains."

"Are you tired or fatigued?"

"Are you kidding, doc?" he grunted. "I've been up all night on a plane and then in your waiting room. I'm slammed."

"Yeah," she nodded, "sorry about that. It has taken a long time to get through the list."

"Don't worry about it doc," he smiled. "It's nothing a hot shower and quick fuck won't cure." Joel wasn't sure why he said that. He never says things like that.

Dr. Brighton looked at him strangely. Joel was about to apologize, when she said "well, there's a shower down the hallway, if that's what you mean?"

"Doc," Joel grinned, "you know that's just an expression, right?"