Rawpocalypse

24 - Flight

Hanna Ekman sat with eyes closed in the back seat of an Oslo taxicab. The crawling traffic couldn't carry her from the godforsaken city fast enough.

She opened her eyes to see virtual deadlock ahead. With a weary groan, she closed her eyes and tilted her head against the seat rest.

A voice squawked over the two-way radio, drifting untranslated through Hanna's vacant mind.

"You hear that?" said the driver. "They just shut down the train."

Hanna bolted upright, peering ahead several blocks. A mob stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the station gates, backs facing her, oblivious to the closure.

She fished a handful of bills from her purse and thrust them forward. "Can you drive me to the airport?"

The elderly man in a newsboy cap considered the crowd, then eyed the vacant seats. "Alone?"

She pulled out a few more bills and offered them without hesitation.

"Sit back," he said, waving off the money. "I'll get you there."

A loud bang pelted the cab like a gunshot. The driver ducked in his seat, disappearing from sight.

A moment later, his flat cap slowly rose back into sight like a turtle easing from its shell. "Aw, fanken," he said.

"What was that?"

The driver opened his hands to the windshield. A large crack spanned the length of the glass. On the hood, a fat seagull lay awkwardly prostrate, its wings contorted, its feathers dislocated.

The driver goosed the throttle, then slammed the brake, sending the lifeless bird sliding off the hood. "Damnedest thing I ever saw."

"Yeah," said Hanna, lacking sincerity.

In a tight series of maneuvers, the driver wiggled the cab forward and backward, turning a miniscule amount with each motion, fighting to get the vehicle reversed in the congested traffic.

Hanna peered toward the crowd. A wave of motion swept through the masses, heads turning, people dispersing. She could almost hear the groans of disappointment washing over the mob.

A final turn of the wheel and a change of gears sent the cab squeezing from the tight space into the open lane, headed opposite the stopped flow.

Hanna pushed uneasily back into her seat, stiff as a board, eyes wide, taking in the surreal string of vehicles headed the opposite direction. An overwhelming sense of going the wrong way crept over her.

Her eyes drifted to the smudge on the windshield and the spidery cracks emanating from it. If her suspicions were correct, the ill-fated seagull had fallen victim to a growing mass in its gut. She gazed into the clear sky to see dozens of gulls circling with no signs of distress. She prayed she was wrong, but if she wasn't, she could only wonder how far a seagull could travel before succumbing to the rogue meat it had ingested.

Two blocks later, two police vehicles obstructed the street with lights ablaze. Uniformed officers diverted traffic to the left or to the right, denying access to the onramp leaving the city.

The cabby muttered something unrecognizable in Norwegian.

Hanna tipped forward. "Excused me?"

"Ah? Oh yeah. I said we'll have to take the scenic route."

"Whatever it takes. Just get me out of this city."

The man nodded, then cut the wheel, turning abruptly into a stone-paved alley. Midway through the narrow passageway, a fat seagull waddled in the center of the path. In obvious distress, the bird flapped its wings, unable to lift from the cobblestone, meeting its demise with a thud beneath the cab.