The Ghost of the Hindenburg (The Tes Simms Anthology, Book 1)

The Hindenburg

"I don't think you were all that wrong," Cody says. "This might be the Hindenburg. Let's get the stretchers out of here so we can help Wesley and Stacy."

"What about water and shelter?" Holly asks. "We still need to find them."

"If we don't mention the bones, they won't have to know. As for the water, we'll get there when we get there."

I grab a stretcher and put it under my good arm, being careful to avoid loose bones scattered across the ground. I'm not sure what accidentally kicking a skull will do for my mental stability, but probably nothing good.

Cody grabs the second stretcher, and the three of us quickly exit the room. Holly leads us the way we came in with her oil lamp, and Cody and I follow close behind. Whether he's willing to admit it or not, he's as unnerved as I am.

When we reach the front, we hear a creaking noise down the tilted hallway to our right. The three of us stare in fear, and Holly aims her lamp that way, but we don't see anything.

"Probably the wind," Cody says, nervously laughing.

We step out of the ship and back into the desert. There is no wind. Whether they notice or not, we don't talk about it again.

Ten minutes later, we return to Stacy, who's sitting quietly in the sand. She waves.

"Are those stretchers?"

"We found the wreckage of some old airship," Holly says. Her talking is funny, like it's hard for her to not tell the full truth. "There must've been some sort of medical center area, because these were inside."

"We're going to load you first and take you to the airship for shelter," Cody says. "Tes, why don't you stay with Wesley, and we'll move her? It'd be hard to carry two people with five working arms."

I nod. Makes sense to me.

As they load her up, I revisit Wesley. He's still breathing and awake, but there's no telling for how much longer. Blood has already crusted in his mouth and around his lips, and more than a little has spilled onto the sand.

"You should be helping the other three," he says, his voice strained. "I'm no good anymore."

I motion for him to be quiet with my finger. Not going to have him waste his last precious moments trying to lecture me.

I sit down next to him. The moon is high above us, somewhere between a quarter and half full. It's a cloudless night, and all the stars are on display. Even the colors of the galaxy are with us.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asks.

I nod in reply.

"It's all I've been able to see since the crash landing. We never got a view like this in Cali, eh?"

My bottom lip quivers. I know what he's doing, and it won't work.

"Hey, would you do me a favor, Tes? Would you hold my hand for a moment? I'm scared."

I do as he asks. He squeezes mine.

Ten seconds later, his grip loosens. I stare down at him. His irregular breathing has stopped.

Holly and Cody rejoin me fifteen minutes later.

"Is everything alright?" Holly asks.

I stare at her, tears streaming down my face. They stand in silence as I sob.

"Were you two close?" Cody asks.

I shake my head.

"If he hadn't helped, we might never have made it off the plane," Holly says.

"Well, it wasn't all in vain. Let's go back to the airship. Stacy says she thinks she heard running water."

I slowly get off the ground, dust the sand off my pants, and look at what's left of our ride. There's still plenty of billowing black smoke, but for the most part, all that's left is the aluminum shell. Without a doubt, my medication went up in flames.

"Should we still bring him to the airship?" Holly asks.

"I realize that's our classmate," Cody says, "but there's no way in hell I'm touching a dead body."

I can't say I blame him, but that isn't just any dead body. That was Wesley.

I follow the two of them to the airship. We enter through a different structural instability, this time a diner. Old red stools are caked with a layer of dust and sand, broken glasses and bottles sit on top of an old bar section, a collection of paintings that may have been worth a lot litter the floor and walls, booths with tables are strewn about haphazardly, and tabs for beer that most likely ran dry years ago line the countertop. The air has a mustiness to it, and the only light is provided by the oil lamp Holly snagged earlier.

Stacy straightens at the booth she's reclined in as we enter. She's clearly tried dusting her table off.

"Where's Wesley?" she asks.

"He... didn't make it," Cody answers.

Like the rest of us, the news wasn't exactly easy to receive.

"What now?"

"I don't know."

"There's too many 'I don't knows' happening," Holly whines.

"I know, babe. Here's my idea so far: we'll wait and get some sleep. In the morning, we'll take turns searching outside for water and food and people. How's that sound to you guys?"

"Works for me," Stacy says.

I shrug and mime opening my bottle of anxiety medicine, hoping they'll understand.

"Pills?" Holly asks.

I nod.

"Yours? You're on medicine? Are you gonna be okay without it?"

I frown. The message is clear.

"What are they for?" Cody asks.

I make my eyes wide and dramatically shake my hands.

"Chills?" Holly guesses. "Shakiness? Schizophrenia?"

"Anxiety," Stacy says. "I saw her take some this morning. My aunt has the same stuff."

"Oh, well, that'll be easy," Cody says. "Just don't worry. We've got this under control."

I roll my eyes. I sure wish I'd thought of that when I was diagnosed.

Holly stifles a yawn, which infects the rest of us one by one.

"I think it's time we get some sleep," Cody says. "If you'd like, I can sleep in a different room, since you're girls and all."

"I don't mind if you stay," Holly says.

"That was more directed towards Tes and Stacy, babe."

"Oh, right."

I shrug. Won't bother me at all.

"Fine by me," Stacy says.

Within twenty minutes, both Holly and Cody are fast asleep, curled up together on the floor in a cleared spot. I go to lie down in the booth seat opposite Stacy. Like me, the events of the day, on top of her damaged leg, promise to keep her brain functioning at full capacity for a while longer.

To be fair, I'm not sure I want to go to sleep. I can almost guarantee there won't be any pleasant dreams.

"Thanks for helping me on the plane," she whispers. "I know you're not really a fan of me. Or anyone, for that matter. I'm glad you're mostly okay."

I'm glad you are, too, I write on the dusty table with my index finger. She smiles softly. I smile back.

Then, I hear the drip of a liquid against metal.