Sirius reached into her bag and pulled out the smoke bomb. Plan B was its name. Plan B hit the ground with a snap enveloping the ticket desk in a thick blast of smoke.
Running through the smoke she almost smacked into the side of the boarding tunnel. Correcting herself she fell, hitting hard on her side. Pulling herself up in pain, she grabbed her bag and ran down the tunnel as smoke dispensed after her. Alarms started.
Sirius entered the cab pushing a flight attendant holding his throat and followed by fat wave of stupid smoke. This seemed to be a new cue to Year of the Pig. He saw Dog One and Nine Hundred Days running down the aisles towards the front pulling gas masks and machine pistols out of their bags.
Year of the Pig pulled his mask and submachine out his bag and fired into the ceiling. The old man next to him jumped out of his chair and slammed into Year of the Pig with his arms outstretched. They both fell to the ground in a tumble. Year of the Pig saw his gas mask slide away. The smoke cloud fell over him like a wave.
Nine Hundred Days collided with a stewardess starting to move a drink cart. The stewardess flew backwards into the wall. Nine Hundred Days fell astraddle the tipped over drink cart. Dog One leaped over the spreading mess. He hit a steward in the face with the stock of his gun.
Why?
Cried the steward.
He pushed open the cockpit to surprise the two pilots. Both were holding cocktail glasses. One was filled with glistening fruit.
The engines were starting to power down.
Get those engines back up.
The pilots continued to stare. One of them hiccupped.
Get those engines up. We need to be leaving this minute
One of them put down his cocktail glass
Am I supposed to understand you with that mask on?
Dog One pulled it off.
Engines back up. We need to leave.
We are not cleared. There is an emergency going on.
There is an emergency occurring right here. Get this in the air or executions will start.
You seem really nervous. You should finish this.
He was holding up his cocktail.
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