Extermination Day by William Turnage

him. “Janie’s not answering her phone . . . ”
    As he spoke, Paulson thought he caught a faint hint of alcohol on his breath. He didn’t know the man very well, but from what he had seen, McMiller was always very straight-laced. Paulson couldn’t believe that he'd been drinking, not in this time of crisis. But seeing everyone die around you, including your family, could cause unexpected reactions in even the hardest of men.
    As Paulson struggled to get inside his bulky bio-suit, one of the pilots announced, “We’re coming in for final approach and should be on the ground in about twenty minutes. Please return to your seats and buckle up. We have automated landing assistance but no human contact from the tower. I don’t see any other planes in the area though, so we should be fine.”
    Paulson finished putting on his bio-suit and returned to his seat, as did all the others in his cabin. He felt the tension build as they waited in anticipation of the landing. He’d been in high-pressure situations before, so this was nothing new. He’d grown up in Texas cattle country on a sprawling ranch owned by his family for generations. He came from a strong stock of people, hard-working cowboys and cattle farmers. His father had expected him to continue in that line but when Paulson was a young man, he wanted to see the world. The Texas ranch was just too small for him. So he applied to the United States Naval Academy and over the course of a twenty-year naval career, he got his wish and then some.
    A few minutes later the plane was coming in low for landing. Paulson could see the lights at the small Greenbrier Valley Airport, but no ground or air activity. Snow was falling, the start of the expected blizzard. The runways were brightly lit, and he could make out two planes that looked like they’d been heading for a takeoff and had collided. A baggage car had careened into the side of the hangar, dumping luggage out onto the tarmac, its driver nowhere to be found.
    “I suggest we all put on our helmets,” Demetrius said. They tested the coms in their helmets, finding them to be clear and the volume strong.
    Moments later the plane touched the runway, smoothly at first, gliding along the tarmac. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a muffled explosion rocked the plane beneath their feet. The floor started rattling and shaking and the plane jumped violently into the air and then dropped down, lifting everyone out of their chairs and slamming them back down again. The plane swerved to the right, and Paulson was jerked so hard that his seatbelt cut deep into his stomach.
    “There was an explosion in the baggage area; the landing gear has been destroyed!” one of the pilots yelled out over the intercom. “Hold tight!”
    Paulson heard the men directing one other as they tried to slow the aircraft, but then the plane started shuddering as a horrible grinding screeched through the cabin. Then an exploding, wrenching sound, of thick metal being torn asunder, pierced Paulson’s ears. The cabin lights blinked once, then went out, and still the plane was moving forward at an incredible speed.
    Another bump and the plane flipped forward, end over end. As it did, the floor under Paulson’s feet was ripped away, leaving him dangling in midair.
    Still strapped to his seat, he spun two or three times. Luggage, broken pieces of the plane, food, and other debris flew through the cabin, smacking him in the face, on the back of his neck, on his chest.
    The plane came to a grinding halt with Paulson lying sideways and the others strewn like rag dolls around the cabin, groaning and crying.
    A sharp pain shot up from Paulson’s leg through his whole body and up to his teeth. In the darkness he reached down and felt his leg. It was trapped under twisted metal, bent violently to the side, certainly broken. He just hoped his bio-suit wasn’t breached.
    Live wires were sparking all around them, and flames began to flicker in the darkness.
    There