That means a hijacking and it may leave Denver closed for some time.

Staring at the approaching lights, the tower personnel note the occasional swing as the aircraft rides through turbulent air. The red flashing lights of emergency vehicles stand to the sides of the runway, the only real indication that something is amiss with the flight. Other than that, it looks like any other airliner approaching for a night landing. The runway controller holds a radio in his hands, ready to turn control of the flight over to the FBI agents who arrived a short while ago. Once the wheels touch the ground, it’s their show.

Over the approach lights, the landing lights break through the darkness. The aircraft experiences another wobble of turbulence which is almost immediately righted. The runway threshold begins to be illuminated under the intense glare. Going through another moment of turbulence, the 757 slews slightly to the side. Used to seeing the effect of turbulence from the wind passing over the mountains a short distance to the west, the controllers gathered together in the tower expect an immediate correction. They are taken aback, and then watch in horror, as the aircraft slides to one side of the runway and slams into the ground. Dirt, metal, and fuel are thrown into the air and to the sides. Skidding across the ground, the aircraft begins coming apart. The fuel, thrown from ruptured tanks, becomes vaporized by the impact and ignites with a tremendous concussive explosion that lasts only moments before settling back down to a slow burning fire.

They were right about one thing; Denver would be closed for some time.

Seaside, Oregon

Kyle Thornton stands unmoving on the sidewalk, staring at the reflection in the window of him and his family. The small store advertises T-shirts and other touristy items familiar to many of the small shops in the towns along the Oregon Coast. People from the interior and other locales descend upon the coastal communities during the summer months to partake of the sunny days on the long stretches of beach and scenic views of the mostly rock coastline.

Kyle’s red T-shirt reflects starkly as he gazes at the torsos of the partial mannequins just inside the window, each one hosting a shirt with scenic screen prints plastered on their fronts. Looking to his daughter, who is approaching her eighth year, he smiles as she reaches into the small white sack to extract another salt water taffy. Her white summer dress blows gently against her legs from a light onshore breeze.

“That’s enough candy for now,” Kyle’s wife, Carol, says, leaning down to pluck the sack from her small hands.

She adds the small bag to the other larger, plastic ones she is carrying from the shopping they’ve done during the morning. Her long, tan legs extend from a pair of jean shorts with her button-up blouse blowing in the breeze. Even with the illnesses that have spread throughout the world, the day couldn’t be more perfect.

With so many sick, it feels like they almost have the town to themselves. The usual number of tourists in the small coastal city is much less than is usual. Spending the first weeks of summer at the beach has become a ritual for them and they almost didn’t get to make it this year. The firm Kyle works for has come under a shortage of personnel due to the vast amount of workers calling in sick and his supervisor asked him to cancel his vacation until they were better staffed. Kyle told him that he wasn’t going to do that and that his boss could fire him if he felt so inclined. Looking at the reflection of his family, and feeling the perfectness of the day, he’s glad he made that choice.

His smile broadens at his daughter’s mild complaint about having her candy taken away, begging for just one more. It’s her usual plaintive request, “just one more, pleeeease.” Her complaint is short-lived as his wife, Carol, shakes her head.

“Dad, can we go to the beach now?” his daughter asks.

Reaching down to ruffle her dark brown hair, he answers. “Sure, hon.”

“Can we get a kite? Huh, can we?”

Looking to Carol, his wife shrugs her shoulders as if to say, “Why not.”

Closer to the beach, nearing the end of the tourist shops and across from their hotel, they enter a shop advertising kites for sale. A short time later, with his daughter prancing with glee, they emerge with a kite added to their already numerous bags.

“Come on, guys,” his daughter says, skipping ahead of them.

“Sarah, you stay close to us,” Carol states.

Even though there are only a few people strolling along the sidewalk, Carol, her motherly instinct at the forefront, is protective about keeping Sarah close to them. The sun is directly overhead, bathing the small town in its bright light, and begins warming the day to the extent the closeness of the ocean and onshore breeze allow.

“Do you want to go throw the bags in the room before we go?” Kyle asks Carol.

Sarah, upon hearing, turns with a frown at the proposed delay.

“No, I think it’s fine. Let’s just go,” Carol replies. “We have an early dinner reservation so let’s enjoy what we can of the day.”

Nearing the promenade sidewalk edging the beachfront, Kyle can’t imagine a more perfect day.