Terminal Appetite

Terminal Appetite

          The day was passing slowly, like it always does. The steel chair I sat in was cold, hard, and creaky. Exactly the way I felt.
          My name is Cameron. I work as a security guard at LaRosa International Airport. The terminal I work at is the 2 hour and under connection flight terminal. Terminal 6, they call it. If you ask me, it’s the “connecting flight to no where” terminal. But that’s just if you ask me. No one interesting ever comes around this area. In my six months as guard, I’ve had three drunks who stumbled into the terminal, and a suitcase that was left unattended. That’s it. Like I said; nothing ever happens.
          Today, I was assigned to the detector. You know, the big metal scanner, where you have to take off your shoes and walk through. Of course, by assigning me to the most important job, (the detector) the rest of the guys got to slack off in their rounds in the terminal. Figures.
          When I got to the detector, Julie, the x-ray scanner was waiting for me. I was only 20 minutes late, but I could see that she wasn’t in a patient kind of mood. Her eyes cast a medusan look, freezing me where I stood. It was the “where the heck were you” look. I knew that one too well. After grumbling my apologies (claiming traffic), I sat down like a stone at my position, in the steel chair.
          The steel chair was a joke about Terminal 6. It was the only thing of interest in the entire area. The security area was a rectangular room, with a vinyl rope building fake pathways around it. Once the 1 or 2 people a day came through that jungle, they found me, on the steel chair, with my metal wand, and Julie, with her outdated x-ray machine. The room was painted beige. Boring
          So, I sat at my chair, waiting for someone to show up. A few did. A group of lawyers had gotten lost looking for Terminal 1, the big east coast terminal where the Ivy League and preps go. They had 20 minutes to catch their flight, and were in the totally wrong wing of the airport. There was no way they would have made it anyways, so I pointed them in the wrong direction. There was no point in letting them rush just to have them miss the flight. This is my way of helping lost souls who come to me at Terminal 6. Another guy walked up dressed in clothes which looked like they had been crumpled up for a month. Actually, I smelled him before I saw him. He smelled like my dirty hockey uniform.
         Other than that, it was a pretty boring day. Probably 30 people passed through the checkpoint, with the most dangerous item I had to confiscate being a nail-clipper. Julie was shutting down the X-ray machine, and I walked to the security locker to put away my equipment at the end of our shift. I debated asking her for a drink at the bar, and as I did, my radio snapped, crackled, and started emitting high pitched beeping noises. Julie ran over to me.
         “Isn’t that the emergency frequency?” The hint of fear in her voice was unmistakable.
         “I’m sure it’s nothing” I said. But I sounded more convincing that I felt. Rex, the security chief for 3rd wing (which consisted of Terminals 5 and 6), was not usually playful with his use of the emergency frequency. In fact, I couldn’t remember ever hearing it before.
More beeping indicated that the security chiefs were linking the radio systems together with the other wings. This got me worried. Rex and the two other security chiefs were about to broadcast a message throughout the entire facility on an emergency frequency.
         “Attention security personnel. LaRosa Airport security officers have been informed that a high priority target has entered the area. FBI officials indicate that a man, approximately 6 foot, 180 pounds, is wanted for questioning in the murder and mutilation of 16 bodies in the downtown area. Please keep your eyes open for this individual, and approach with extreme caution. I repeat…”
         The message repeated itself. The temperature of the terminal must have fallen from a comfortable 70 degrees to a bone chilling 45. Julie grabbed my arm.
         “OH MY GOD!!! WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO?!?!?!”
         “Julie! Calm down! You’re OK!” I tried to still her fears. I tried to still my own. I tried to rationalize, to talk myself out of my fear.
         “He won’t come here. He can’t. If he did, we would see him, I would use my tazer, and that would be the end of this manhunt. Besides, why would he come to Terminal 6? There is nothing here.”
         She seemed to believe me. I hoped I believed myself. We jumped at the sound of the radio, after it repeated its message. It was off of the emergency channel. My security chief’s voice soothed me as Rex talked across the airwaves.
         “Cameron, you there?” the cackling radio was hard to understand, but I had gotten the message.
         “Yea boss. What’s going on? We heard the all-port call, but we would sure like to hear some more information. Like, maybe: He’s no-where near you.”
         “Yea, well, I’d love to calm your nerves, but truth be told, we are all pretty nervous up here at control. The FBI seem pretty organized right now, they are evacuating everyone one at a time through the emergency exits. They are already through with T1, and they should get to you in about an hour.”
         “Good. Maybe we can get out of here then. Julie is a little scared right now…-ow!” Julie punched me in the arm. As I rubbed my shoulder, the radio cackled back to Rex.
         “HAHA. I’m glad you haven’t lost your sense of humor. Oh, Cameron, by the way, I need a good man in 6th terminal to be reporting to me every half hour. Your shift manager, so it’ll be you.”
         “Yes sir.”
         “And Cameron, don’t report late. I’d hate to send the police down their and find you asleep at your desk.”
         Somehow, I didn’t think I would be sleeping anytime soon.
         I radioed the other two guards in the terminal, Bill and Don, and told them what was up.
         “Fifteen minute reports, all the time, until this guy is found, Alright?”
         “Yea, Yea, we got you” Bill replied.
         “Cameron, do you really think that he would be in T6? I mean, we can see everyone in the terminal from here. There are about 20 of them. 2 fit the description, but we already talked to them both, and, trust me, neither of them are our guy.” Don’s voice annoyed me, but the information he told me soothed my already frayed nerves.
         The first hour crawled by. Reports every fifteen minutes by my super team of slack offs, and I reported to Rex every thirty. After the first hour, I began to relax. Julie and I began to play silly little game, like I Spy. That, in retrospect, was a mistake. The radio crackled up again.
         “Cameron, this is Bill, performing my 15 minute check in. Almost everyone has left the terminal through the FBI controlled exit. It’s me and Don, and he went to check out the security closet for a smoke. Other than that, it’s quiet here.”
         “Bill, why did you let him go off by himself??? Don’t you realize that this guy could kill again?!?!” I was worried. Not for Don, but for everyone else in the area.
         “Don’t worry, Cameron!! Nothing is going to happen to Don. I promise.”
         Bill stopped his transmission, and I felt sick. I impatiently tapped my foot, waiting for Don to radio in. I waited for 10 minutes before I called Bill back.
         “Bill, where is Don.”
         I waited. And called again.
         “Bill, where are you?”
         I waited again. Julie squeaked behind me, and I jumped.
         “Jesus, Julie! You scared the hell out of me!”
         “How do you think I feel? I’ve got to get out of here!” She began to move towards the terminal exit.
         “Julie, no! You have to stay here. I have to find out what happened to Bill and Don!”
         “Forget it Cameron! They’re dead! They’re all dead! If you stay, you’re going to die too!! She was hysterical. I tried to calm her down.
          “Please, they are probably just smoking in the security closet. I’ll go check.”
          “Cameron, please, don’t go! Don’t leave me here all alone!”
          “Julie, it will only take 5 minutes. Don’t worry.”
          I left Julie in one corner of the terminal’s security checkpoint, and began my minute-long trek through the terminals main drag. The silence was eerie, one I had not heard since I had begun working their. Even though T6 was a small terminal, there was almost always a person or two hanging around near the stores. And there was always someone manning them. But now, all the steel grates were up on the stores, and not a soul moved in the area. My shoes squeaked on the newly polished floor, and every time I stepped, I grimaced. If the guy was in here, I thought, he’s gonna spot me for sure.
          I made my way to security closet 1. It was one of those “Employees-Only” doors, made of thin wood and a flimsy lock that you felt that you could break down with one good kick. I, of course, used my key. As I opened the door, all sense of hope for the guys being in here was dashed. In fact, it might as well have been a cannon-ball shot through that hope.
          On the floor lay Don. Or, what was left of Don. Blood covered the whole of the security closets floor. Huge file cabinets lay on their sides, and papers were littered as if an atomic bomb had just blasted through. Don’s arms lay in unnatural positions, and his legs, well, there wasn’t much left. Bloody stumps were left where his legs used to be. I backed out of the room slowly, and slammed the door on the orgy of death.
          OK…I’m officially scared now, I thought to myself. My feelings of self confidence and hope were dashed. I picked up my radio, ready to call in the disaster. But then I remembered about Julie. About her being…alone.
         I tore off through the terminal, hoping I wasn’t too late. My shoes hammered on the polished floor, and I slid more then once on my way back to the security checkpoint.
         My heart was pumping at incredible rates. I swore in my head for leaving Julie alone in the security terminal. What was I thinking!!! I tried to calm my thoughts and increase my speed, but all my focusing did was to add to the horrors that I imagined Julie was going through at that moment.
         When I got to the checkpoint, my worst nightmares were confirmed. Julie was gone. However, traces of her could be found everywhere.
         The walls were smeared with blood. Handprints and swirled images were splashed across all four of the beige walls. Julie couldn’t have this much blood in her body, I thought to myself. And there were letters written in the blood. A “N” here, an “L” there. My curiosity got the better of my fear, and I stepped back to read the grotesque message. The first was written along one of the walls.
          “Shouldn’t have left her alone”.
         The other was written at the bottom of one of the walls, almost at the carpet line. That was the one which scared me the most. It was only three letters too.
         “BRB.”
         Be right back.
         I ran. Not the gym- “I’m running for a grade” kind of running, but the “Psychopath on the loose, I’m running for my life” kind of running. And it was fast.
         I ripped through the airport, swerving around corners like a blind man driving a Corvette. It would have been almost comical, if not for the fact that two of my three co-workers were just brutally murdered and mutilated beyond belief.
         I stopped running blindly, and slowed to a jog to look where I was. I was near terminal 5, and the underground concourse to the international flights. I turned to the left and found myself at the bank of the escalators, leading to the lighted causeway.
         I stepped onto one of the moving staircases, and began to assess my situation.          Don was dead. Julie was dead, I assumed. And then I realized that I could use my radio.
         As it turns out, just as quickly I learned that I had somehow lost my radio in my daring escape. I cursed my bad luck. OK, I told myself. Stay calm. My mind worked in overtime to rationalize, to clear my thoughts of the murderer. I must have lost him, was my eventual conclusion.
         The escalator was one of the longest in the airport, but it ended too quickly for my taste. I felt safe on that escalator, like no-one could reach me. Now that I was back in open territory, the feeling of dread and terror came back to me. It was those feelings that had led me to my hasty run, and my unfortunate loss of the radio.
         The underground concourse consists of the moving walkways that give travelers a quick way to get to the other side. Four of them were side by side, 2 going in each direction. But the main attraction of the underground causeway was the lights above. Huge tube lights illuminated the area in a technological glow, which looks very cool at all times, except this time. The walkways were still on, even though no one was in the area. I stepped onto one, hoping to feel the same safety that I felt on the escalator. I felt cold, and scared. The lights didn’t help. They added shadows where they didn’t belong.
         The hum of the moving walkways was quiet, which lulled me into a sense of security like the escalator had. I could hear anything that was going on, the noise was easily discernable over the dull mumble of the walkways. That was my thinking. Too bad that it was completely false.
         He hit me from behind, which was from the side of the moving walkway, since I had been leaning against one of the sides. We flipped over the edge in a mass of arms and legs. I kicked out with my legs, and hit…air. I looked around the dark concourse. I saw nothing.
         I quickly rose to my feet, turning wildly around in fear of another attack from behind. Then I realized the warmth on my neck.
         I reached back behind my ears, and came back with a wet substance on my hand. It was warm, a little tacky, and dark red. It took me a while to recognize the color since the lights were masking everything’s true tint, like a yellow light bulb. I saw the blood, but didn’t think it was me. Nothing hurt. Well, everything hurt, but I didn’t think anything was bleeding. Which led me to believe that the man who tackled me was either bloody himself, or had blood on his hands. And since no one needing medical care could hit me that hard, I chose the latter. And started running.
         That was his cue. As soon as I began to advance, he hit me again, this time from the side. I was ready for his assault. As the man flew through the air, I rolled to my left, and avoided his grasp as he sailed over me. I snapped to my feet, eager to see the man who had killed my only excuse for friends.
         He was 6 feet, like the radio said, but he definitely couldn’t have been 180 pounds. He was a gangly man, one who looked like a computer programmer by day. He wore crumpled up clothes…that’s where the normal description has to stop, because the most noticeable thing on the murderer was what was around his mouth. Dried blood and chunks of flesh hung from the tips of his mouth, creating a wicked smile which he flashed at me as we stared each other down. His clothes were doused in blood, as if a B-grade slasher flick had chosen him to be the person responsible for the fake blood. Unfortunately, I thought to myself, it’s all real.
         Where had I seen this man before? I asked myself this question. But as my mind processed that thought at a million miles an hour, it slowed my body down just enough for the man to grab a hold of me. He threw us both down to the ground, and came at my neck with his teeth. I held him off like one would hold off a vampire, with my hands against his neck, pushing back with all my might. But my strength was waning. The constant running and constant fear was beginning to take a hold on me.
         He slowly made progress against my hands, until he was within a foot of my neck. I began to smell his breath, which was a putrid mix of blood and decaying flesh. How this man had so much strength I didn’t know, but I knew if I didn’t do something, I would be his next meal.
         Even this fear couldn’t overcome the complete exhaustion that I was feeling, and the man continued to gain ground. Now he was less than 3 inches from my neck, and began gnashing his teeth together. I screamed.
         BANG!!!
         The man went limp over my body.
         I shoved the body off of me, and jumped up off the ground.
         “Cameron, are you alright?” Rex was standing in a three point gun stance, with the muzzle still smoking from his shot.
         “Rex? How…How did you…”
         “How did I know you were in trouble? You didn’t report in. I sent everyone on search teams to find you. They already found Don.”
         “I think…I think he got Julie too…” My strength was just not there. I collapsed at Rex’s feet, and started crying.
         “I know Cameron, it’s horrible. I know. But it’s over now. The Feds will put this guy in a grave so deep that not even Frankenstein could get out.”
         I still didn’t feel any better. After leaving a statement with the FBI, which consisted of me saying “he killed them all” a lot, I was allowed to leave and go to my home.          It was only a 10 minute drive, but when I was home, I had composed myself enough to be able to sleep. Of course, my nightmares could continue for months, but who knows?
         I turned on the T.V. as I went to bed. It ended up where I fell asleep to the horror story of that day’s events.
         “And a man, recognized as 'The Walking Cannibal' Hector Manfreddi, was found at LaRosa International Airport today, after the death of two airport security guards. Manfreddi was attacking a third when he was shot by Chief of Security, Rex Cornith. He survived the shot, but was taken into custody by FBI officials. BREAKING NEWS!.. due to a ….Manfreddi killed… arresting officers…escaped…,-”
         … But I was asleep, dreaming I was in the hockey locker room.