However, there is nothing he can do.

It’s not like they can go anywhere from here and we certainly can’t hold many in the cockpit. There’s no way I’m letting those crazed ones in here.

The long pause from Denver Center continues. “Delta 1493, state number of casualties and nature of attacks. Squawk appropriate code.”

Sheldon knows the message of his aircraft being attacked is making the controllers believe that he’s being hijacked. However, he can’t really say that, although those infected people may inadvertently bring down the aircraft.

Sheldon replies that their squawk is correct and that he has an unknown number of casualties on board. Denver Center tells them that they are cleared direct Denver and to descend at their discretion. They are giving Sheldon clearance to do as he deems appropriate.

A particularly hard slam against the door shakes the cockpit. All three turn toward the entrance with concern. Rising, Sheldon peers through the peep hole to determine what is going on. The expanded fish-eye view is startling. One of the pale-faced passengers is standing in the aisle. At his feet lie a number of bodies, some piled on top of one another. The man takes a run at the door. As the peep hole fills with his body, Sheldon flinches. The entire aircraft shakes as the man slams into the entrance with his shoulder. The hinges, although holding, vibrate.

Sheldon turns toward the front of the aircraft. Out of the windows, a few pinpoints of light shine from miles below. The lights from Denver and its surrounding cities glow in the distance directly off their nose. The altimeter winds through 30,000 feet. His thoughts feel muddled, in shock most likely. Here he stands, on what was to be his last red-eye for some time, a flight to be enjoyed in peace. Instead, he is six miles in the air, flying over some of the most rugged, mountainous terrain in the world, a cabin full of dead passengers, with crazed sick people trying to get into the cockpit.

This all might be easier if we weren’t trapped miles high with nowhere to go. This is it. If they get into the cockpit, there isn’t anywhere to run.

Hoping the door does its job, and thankful, in a strange kind of way, for the need of it, Sheldon retakes his seat. Mary hasn’t moved from the side and is gripping her shirt, her eyes wide with fear. The co-pilot, who Sheldon still doesn’t know although they exchanged pleasantries, looks on with worry, but without the fear he should be feeling, his not having witnessed what happened.

Another hard slam startles him. He never knew someone could hit the door so hard and he isn’t sure how long the entrance will hold under the onslaught. He informs operations of their predicament, knowing he’ll be in for a psyche eval first thing in the morning.

Bang!

Another hard crash shakes the cockpit. Instead of weakening, as he would expect, the crashes against the door seem even harder.

Perhaps out of desperation.

His heart thuds against the wall of his chest. Not knowing if the infected in the back will start hammering against any door they see, Sheldon has the co-pilot and Mary go on oxygen in case of rapid decompression.

Denver Center continues to monitor the flight, allowing for any deviations that Sheldon might require and directing traffic out of their way.