Warm Bodies: Awakening

Chasing Ghosts

Mark felt distinctly uncomfortable.

The airport was deserted. Not a walking corpse in sight. It was jarring, particularly considering the last time he'd been here, when he'd been running for his life after an aborted attempt to cross the tarmac. There'd been plenty of dead then, all of them very eager to get up close and personal, and he'd barely escaped with his life. To come back here now to utter silence and stillness was just... making his skin itch.

This was Brandon's first visit back to the airport since that night, and it was obviously sitting badly on him. His son walked by his side, his handgun up and swiveling, scanning every doorway, every barrier and possible cover. He was visibly shaking.

He finally rested his hand gently over his son's, and Brandon slowly lowered the gun.

"I don't think you have to worry Bran," he said, "I really don't think there's anybody left."

Brandon released a heavy sigh and nodded softly, but kept the gun ready. "He's not here, is he," he asked, though it was really more a statement of fact.

They'd walked through almost the entire airport. There were a lot of corpses, but they were the real kind, the ones that would never get up and move again. Most of them were those skeletal things that apparently raided the stadium a couple of weeks ago, just before the change. They were incredibly creepy, and walking anywhere near them raised every single hair on the back of his neck. One of them had actually twitched as they'd passed by, and his son had emptied an entire clip in the thing's head before Mark had grabbed him and calmed him down.

Why they looked like mummies when the rest of the corpses didn't, Mark never understood. But he guessed it didn't matter anymore. Things were changing now, and he had a feeling they were all on the way out.

As they'd moved through the airport, he'd checked every corpse they passed, dreading what he'd find. But so far, his son's real corpse wasn't there either.

There was only one other place he could think of.

"Time to check out the plane I think," Mark said, his eye on the 747 parked beyond the regular gates.

"The plane?" Brandon asked.

"Yeah," he said with a nod, pointing to it. "That one. He visited it a lot for some reason." The manic run across the tarmac had been an attempt to solve the mystery, but the dead had had other ideas. At least his son hadn't been around when that happened. Hadn't been one of the pursuing corpses. Because he wasn't too sure he would have kept running if he had been.

Brandon stared at it, then turned back to him, an eyebrow cocked, "Why would he visit a plane?"

"No idea," Mark answered, shrugging.

They reached the aircraft, and stood at the base of the metal stairs leading to the crew entrance, looking up at the windows.

"If he's up there, what'll we do?" Brandon asked, holding the gun ready at his side.

"Whatever we can," Mark answered, and tried to prepare himself. He really didn't think his son was walking around anymore. If he was in the plane, it was because it was his tomb.

He scaled the steps, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible but failing, as the metal stairs rattled with the slightest movement.

Nothing moved through the windows.

Don't let him be inside, I don't want to see the truly dead corpse of my son.

Taking a deep breath, Mark drew the lever across and pulled the door open. The smell hit them both immediately and they looked at each other.