Buzz - A short story written sequentially, between two friends, 20 years ago.

Three quarters of an hour later, Buzz had only progressed that much farther in miles. He should have known. Friday afternoon on the 401 would be like an invitation to have your wisdom teeth removed. The heat was unbearable. The road was filled with holiday travellers: motor homes, boats, viscously-packed cars, trucks, all filled with impatient drivers.

Reluctantly, he tried a few radio stations until he found the five o’clock news. The same old rotten news blasted at him. The stock market took another plunge, the dollar closed at a new record low, and the weather was to remain a sweltering 30 degrees! Suddenly the broadcaster announced an interruption in the regularly scheduled broadcast service to bring these special announcements.........

" This breaking news....There has been a mid-air collision of a passenger jet with a light plane west of Pearson Airport as the jet was attempting an approach to land... "

Buzz sucked in his breath and felt the fear creeping up the back of his spine as he listened intently. The broadcaster continued, his voice deep with shock:

"...the passenger plane managed to make an emergency landing but there was an explosion and fire as it careened off the runway... Emergency crews are arriving on the scene.... We don't know the details yet regarding the condition of the passengers and crew..."

Buzz felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead; in a catatonic stupor, he stared in disbelief at the car radio and listened. His sense of foreboding loomed large in the back of his mind. He was frozen, clinging to the words of the announcer, whose voice continued to crackle with barely restrained emotion.

"... light plane, however, crashed, impacting with a tractor-trailer on the 401 and bouncing into week-end traffic...."

The announcer stopped to gasp for air before continuing....

Buzz could only hear pieces now, his mind reeling. "Horror..... pilot's brave attempt to avoid the highway.... traffic stopped for kilometres …..chain reaction ....."

He looked up and out the car window. He glanced over at the cars, stopped dead, beside him and recognised the same shock in the faces of the nearby travellers. They were going nowhere.

But he had been going to the airport....

The fear was palpable now. He'd had that feeling before, where he wished against the thoughts terrorising his mind, hoping fervently that he would be wrong but feeling that white-hot brand in the base of his skull and the sick churning in his stomach telling him in complete and utter certainty that he would be right.

"No!!!" he whispered to himself, "No!" He tried to shut off the flood of thoughts by assessing his situation.

He wiped the sweat from his burning eyes and reluctantly put the car in park and shut off the engine. He saw people getting out of their vehicles, realising they would be going nowhere fast. Tempers flared in the blazing heat but quickly subdued as the information filtered through the developing crowds.

Buzz looked toward the airport and made out a billowing column of thick, black smoke at the horizon distinct from the usual brownish haze of a summer smog inversion. Turning he looked in the opposite direction and noted the flashing lights of emergency vehicles travelling in the direction of the highway impact sight. Buzz blinked, inspecting the nearby people. They were all stuck there, right in the middle. He could hear the radio of a nearby pick-up truck tuned to the same station, the staccato vibrations of the announcer up-dating information continuously in convulsions of sound. Mostly it was incomprehensible, but periodically, one or two words pierced his foggy mind and the clarity became crushingly brutal...

Nothing in his training had prepared him for this. Eight years in the air force as a captain; two of those years spent as special operations leader working with the Americans in Jerusalem. Three years with CSIS and another year on loan to the United Nations.

He knew he had to remain calm. "Think.....think.....steady your thoughts" he kept saying to himself. "Information....conditions....options....choices....consequences....contingencies".

It was no use, his emotions were strained like never before. He could feel himself slipping into auto-pilot, acting on queue. Next course of action: obtain more information. Without a second thought, he wheeled his car onto the shoulder. He could hear a man yelling obscenities but they were not important. Up the shoulder he raced, past the dumbfounded gawkers to the last on-ramp. By this time, people had begun using the same tactic and it made for easier going.

Buzz raced to the nearest restaurant, which was a few blocks west on King Street. He dialed the office, identified himself, and asked to speak with special agent Kott. Luckily he was still in.

"Kott, Buzz here" he cautiously intoned.
"Buzz, where are you?" Ron asked.
"Never mind that, did you hear what happened"? Buzz said electrically.
"Yeah, we're on it Buzz". "
What do you know so far".
"Not a lot, Buzz".

A deathly silence hung in the air until Buzz asked, "What flight was it, Ron?". Ron hesitated and let out a sigh "Flight 1839, Johannesburg,........Buzz, I'm sorry".

He stood frozen.....a wave of icy cold venom shot through his body. "Buzz are you there?" squeaked Ron. "Buzz"? "Yeah, I'm here Ron". "Now listen to me" he said. " There is no use jumping to conclusions,....we need more information and we're working on it this instant. Buzz, you know as well as I do, there will be survivors". "The plane made it down Buzz!". "There is a very high probability, that up to fifty percent of those on board will survive".

Again, Buzz could feel himself turning on his auto-pilot. "Ron," Buzz said icily, "Send me the Jet Ranger...now". "Ahh.....don't make me do this Buzz" Ron complained. "You know that is misuse of Public Property!". "Just do it Ron. Do it now. Send it to the HoJos parking lot on King!". He hung up the phone.

It wasn't but 15 minutes until he heard the bird in the air. It circled twice, confirming the pickup with hand signals. Buzz jumped in the passenger seat and gave the pilot a serious look. They ascended over the restaurant and checked with the airport for clearance to fly over the accident scene. This aircraft, squawked the CSIS code which was automatically picked up by air traffic control. No indication of verbal identification was required other than call sign. You never knew who could be listening.

Once they made their way North they could begin to see the carnage which lay in front of them. Emergency vehicles were everywhere. The wreckage was still smoking but no flames could be seen. Ambulances were flashing their lights. They were still too far away to determine what had happened.

It looked unreal, seeing the lights and unnatural events unfolding below with no sounds to attach to the activities, just the steady drone of the plane's engines. For Buzz, despite the apparent violence, it still had the innocuous appearance of the child's play of his youth, playing G.I. Joe with his brother and supplying their own sound effects and mock explosions. The pilot indicated the highway wreckage from the light plane off in the distance as they approached the airport.

"I don't care about that!" Buzz snapped. "Sorry" he added, apologising, "I didn't mean that."

The pilot nodded his head sympathetically. "I understand...." After receiving no reply, he turned his attention back to flying. He focused his energy on the splintered plane below which seemed to have held up well, all things considered. The two men spotted people on the runway below, service personnel and there! Buzz felt his heart leap slightly. Some passengers no larger than ants at this elevation, it seemed, were being removed in the waiting ambulances, some walking unsteadily but under their own power.

"Get me down." he ordered.

The pilot wasted no time and brought the Jet Ranger down expertly on the runway after receiving clearance.

Buzz was out of his seat as soon as the wheels touched down. He had his military fatigues on and his bag retrieved by the time the aircraft stopped. He slammed the loaded MP5 home into his back sling and packed several more rounds of 9 mm. ammo in his pocket hoping he wouldn't need to use it. The pilot quickly helped him out and said softly, "Good luck".

Buzz nodded a curt thanks and was gone. The heat struck him in the face as he jumped down. His Corcoran boots were quite warm but he felt reassured by their protection. "Gotta get a hold of myself" he berated himself mentally.

No time to feel, just act.

Once he got past the Peel Region Officer controlling access to the site, Buzz made his way to the accident scene, commandeering a ride on the back of a passing ground-crew vehicle. After what seemed to be an interminably long time, he arrived.

He felt like he was operating remotely. All of his military training paid off in the face of a crisis. Yet somehow it seemed so new to him this time. He felt like another person watching himself acting, ordering, speaking. He didn't hear himself speak yet he must be: the people around him looked at him and nodded, apparently following his orders and answering his questions. The scene was brutal but his initial cursory inspection gave him a tiny shard of hope.

The Airbus had split into two main parts. One section, the tail, was still partly on the runway; the front section had continued and slid off the runway into the field. This second section seemed to have taken the majority of the damage. Without much imagination required, Buzz knew that there would be no survivors in the light plane based on the impact damage of the jet.

"I need a passenger manifest and I need to know about every survivor and body on that plane." Buzz demanded, his mouth dry. His authoritative tone, matched with the military garb and the cold, unflinching stare got the results he wanted.

"We've got just about everyone accounted for in the coach seats, sir. It's the first class section we're working on now." said the emergency site command leader, after inspecting Buzz's identification. He added gently, "we aren't ... ah.... anticipating much...um..." he searched for an appropriate word, "success.... there."

The sun beat down on the disaster workers. The temperature soared on the hot tarmac, making the rescue work all the more difficult. People were starting to faint from the heat and exhaustion as others brought water for relief. Buzz took a ravenous slag to ease his parched throat. Crews were only getting to the front section now because the heat of the flames and white hot metal had been too much for the rescuers. It was still smouldering and humid; water cascading down in spots, sometimes evaporating before it reached the scorched shell.

For reasons he couldn't understand, Buzz knew it was imperative that he had to get to that front section. The Airbus, he knew, was a solid airplane. His instincts had gotten him out of some serious scrapes before and he knew he had to trust his gut reactions.

Purposefully, wrapped in a blanket of surreal expectation, he headed to the field. Coils of fear snaked their way into his body. He swallowed with difficulty and had to concentrate hard about walking steadily under the heat, his lungs burning as he choked on the smell of jet fuel, firefighting foam and gore. The front section of the Airbus had spun around violently and was now facing the runway. The cockpit was completely destroyed, an unrecognisable black char positioned where he knew there once had been a pilot. He paused for an imperceptible moment in reverence for a lost brother of flight, then shook himself back to survey his primary focus. He had to get in that first class section... he had to...

"...up to fifty percent... will survive..." Ron's voice echoed in his head. Buzz was starting to feel a bit light-headed. Nausea threatened to creep up on him from the stress and overwhelming odours but he fought it back down.

"Yeah, that would be the fifty percent in the tail section." Buzz spit out bitterly to no one in particular. He snatched a Scot Airpac, put it on, and cleared his lungs with the fresh air, adjusting his machine pistol so he still had easy access to it. His heart beats were pounding fast and seemed incredibly loud, vibrating through the bones of his skull. He closed his eyes for a few seconds to prepare himself for what the next few minutes would bring.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the ladder to climb into the blackened interior with the rescue crew. Quietly, in the form of an unshakeable belief, he whispered, in a barely audible voice to himself.

"I need fifty-one."

Buzz steadied himself and turned his attention and sights on entering the cabin through the charred hole in the side of the crumpled fuselage where the door had been just as an official looking type came running across the runway waving papers in his hand. It was the manifest. Buzz snatched that manifest out of the man's hands without acknowledging his presence. The man identified himself as one of the commissionaires in charge of crowd control and valiantly offered his services. Buzz ignored him and read quickly. His mind raced as he read the names. His knuckles clutched the paper until his fingers ripped through the sides. Suddenly, his gaze became transfixed on Row D seat three. His heart… it seemed to stop beating. His world had suddenly been frozen in time. Great tides of emotion welled up inside him and threatened to overtake his sanity. He was sweating and clenching his jaws so tightly that he realised he hadn't taken a breath for quite some time.

He choked backed some air and the realism of the situation began to invade him through the sounds of emergency equipment and human voices. Buzz appeared to the commissionaire as a man that was possessed. Automatically, Buzz threw the papers to the ground and raced into the side of the plane.

The smoke was intolerable and the stench of burning flesh filled his lungs. The visibility was about three feet. The contents of the fuselage no longer resembled the interior of a luxury transatlantic airship. The aisle was blocked by a twisted mass of what appeared to be the structure of the forward luggage rack. Buzz savagely ripped the lightweight aluminum structure out of his way to reveal the first row of blackened seats. The left hand seats had been pushed forward and over. The passengers were burned beyond recognition. On the right side, the ceiling luggage racks had deformed the seats and partially decapitated a middle-aged man. His companions seemed to have met a similar fate but not as gruesome. The people in row B appeared to be less burned than those he just examined, but no life could be found.

Buzz gasped for air as he continued his approached to Row D. The seats appeared intact. He heard someone just in front of him and gasped as he saw a crew of fireman with gas masks working their way from the rear of the plane. As he recounted the rows of seats and began to examine the victims, seat three was empty!!

Buzz frantically re-checked the rows he had searched and began a search of the remaining first class section. He yelled at the fireman and asked if anyone had been taken from the first class section.

The fireman shook his head and continued the extraction of the bodies in the coach class. Could it be? Was there an error in the manifest or had she been elsewhere when tragedy struck? He had to get out of there. He turned and almost knocked the commissionaire over who was waiting patiently for orders. He picked the man up and ushered him out of the plane.

Buzz was in a panic and confused state. This thread of hope strangled his emotions and tore through his being like cold blue steel. Buzz raced over to a man who appeared as if he were in charge of the bodies as they left the plane. No person fit the description of the woman that had changed his life forever. No luggage had been found containing her identification.
Buzz turned and watched the rescuers as they grimly began removing the charred remains of several victims. A fireman looked about, and spotting Buzz, walked toward him, slowly removing the protective gear. Buzz wiped a soot-covered hand across his forehead to clear the sweat-soaked hair from his eyes and squinted at the approaching figure.

"Sir...Buzz?" the fireman looked momentarily surprised and under different circumstances would have smiled with delight. "It is you!" His hand came out and Buzz grasped it, recognition dawning in his eyes. They grasped each other's handshake firmly.

"John...." Buzz managed to say, his voice sounding as dry and dusty as an old gravel concession road in the hot summer sun.

The smile faded suddenly in John's eyes as he remembered his purpose. He cleared his throat and his countenance became hard yet sympathetic. Slowly, he said in an even tone, "Buzz, there was a body in the washroom...."

The world stopped for Buzz. He could hear, feel and see nothing except his old friend's eyes. He knew he must look at John because it was the only thing preventing him from falling down and retching on the spot. They had not yet disengaged the handshake and John was now powerless to let go for fear he was watching a drowning man for whom he was the only lifeline. Buzz knew without another word what John had left to say.

Slowly, with the most demanding effort that he'd ever asked of himself in his entire life, Buzz straightened up. He willed his face to be blank so he would be ready to take the next few moments like the strong, disciplined soldier that he was. He knew he had to listen to John's words although it was as if they had already been spoken in his pounding head.

"Go on..." he said firmly.

John looked at Buzz and thought he was looking at a face in which all recognisable human characteristics had evaporated and had now been distilled into the purest form of courage. Suddenly, he felt that instead of extending a lifeline, he was now gathering the strength he would need to finish speaking from the hand he stilled gripped. Wanting to do his friend justice, John straightened and let go of Buzz's hand.

" I realise, looking at you now, that I know who it is you are... were... looking for. I'm afraid what little I can make of the ... person....would tell me it could be her." He paused, then continued carefully, "I could guess from the remains... her body, that she would have been about the right height, weight and colouring if she hasn't changed much from the last time I saw her..."

"That's ...her ... over there.... but... you know...dental records... so, you don't have to...." his voice broke off.

Buzz looked at the form on the ground behind John. It didn't seem right that the covering sheet should look so crisp and clean like freshly washed laundry which had been hung out to dry; the fibres infused with the glorious scents of fields of summer flowers. It seemed ludicrous that there would be any notion so cheerful and innocent to associate with this carnage. The juxtaposition infuriated him.

He glanced back momentarily to John and then proceeded to stalk over to the remains. He knelt down and nodded to the attendant who delicately removed the sheet for Buzz's inspection. It could be her. It could be anybody. There were some unburned strands of long blonde hair and enough of the body to be recognisable as a young woman's. He looked for jewellery or some identifying item to confirm his fear. He knew after the first few seconds that it would be hopeless but he couldn't bring himself to stop. He had to keep trying.

The attendant looked at him questioningly. "Sir?" he prodded gently.

"Thanks." Buzz said, his voice flat and he finally stood up once again. He felt the pistol in his back sling and thought about it for a moment. But the foolish notion disappeared as quickly as it had come.

It hurt too much to look at John again. He thought about the woman and about the seared body under the sheet, his mind refusing to connect the two. He thought he should be feeling something now. Anger, heartache, pain, anything. He felt nothing. Although the temperature was soaring- he could see the shimmering waves radiating above the runway - the numbness of his body left him cold. He thought this must be how it feels to be dipped into liquid nitrogen.

He started walking away. John called to him but he ignored the worried fireman and continued on. He continued to the staging area. The annoying features of the commissionaire popped up in front of him and suddenly all of Buzz's emotions erupted and spewed onto the poor shrinking creature before him. Any object within his range became ammunition and subsequently, shrapnel as he exploded. The by-standers were too awe-stricken to move by this rage-filled display, the nearby vehicle was overturned violently as Buzz poured his grief into its destruction. He beat on the runway, the people, the vehicle, the hapless insects and inanimate objects. Great clods of earth flew and papers scattered aimlessly as he screamed.

He felt someone leap on his back and tackle him, throwing him to the ground. He fought back and broke his wrist punching the attacker when his hand met the metal of the Airpac on the back of his assailant. John wrestled him to the ground as Buzz reached for his weapon and struck him a blow across the head. John fell and rolled off of him, looking up just in time to see Buzz cock the weapon inches from his face.

"Buzz... Buzz....BUZZ..." John screamed. Buzz stopped as the sound finally reached his ears. His eyes slowly focused.

"Oh my God!" he whispered and dropped his weapon, gripping his broken wrist with the other hand.

John closed his eyes, took a deep breath and got up, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Buzz..." he said softly.

"Buzz, look...."

He looked up at John's face and saw the trickle of blood slowly weaving a path down the contours of his face, the gash beginning to swell hideously. Buzz wanted to apologise but saw his friend was trying to tell him something.

Curious, he followed his gaze and looked toward the staging zone.

There stood a tall blonde woman, her hair dishevelled and her cotton dress covered in grime. Her eyes were large and frightened. But she was beautiful. Buzz gasped, remembering the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. He'd fallen in love at first sight. She ran up and threw her arms around his neck.

It was too much. Buzz was overwhelmed. He sank down on his knees and clutched her around the legs, sobbing. She smiled, gently running her hand through his hair and said, "Daddy, this is the first time I've ever seen you cry..."

Written between February and January 1998.

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