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airliner. He tries to connect with them. No one answers. He realizes with a striking calm: We’re going to collide .
    His hands move instinctively. He brings the Boeing-777 off fly-by-wire and maneuvers the plane. The rudder responds. He banks to the south, hoping to cut around the Airbus. The other airliner grows larger, and he can see lights in the passenger windows just as it roars overhead. His plane shudders and shakes as the Airbus’ thrusts turn the air into a turbulent cesspool. Then everything calms. He returns the airliner to autopilot and walks over to the other window, stepping over Richard’s body. He peers out just in time to see the Airbus nosedive. A few minutes later the tiny blinking lights are enveloped in a flash of red and yellow light as the Airbus is scattered into the Atlantic.
    He understands. He understands why all the planes were crashing.
    The frenzied hysteria, ended only with death, had spread to them. It’s spreading all over the world . The thought makes him shiver.

    The time is 10:35 pm. The New England coast vanishes beneath the airplane. He takes over the controls and flies lower, hoping to get a better view. Boston is off to his right. He levels the plane and crawls to the opposite window. He looks down and sees Boston aflame: the entire city is being consumed by fire. The skyscrapers reach into the sky like fiery pillars, and the harbor crumbles into the shallow sea of the Boston bay. Fires pepper the surrounding communities. He closes his eyes, takes several deep breaths, wants to cry again. No . He knows that if northern Kentucky is in such bad shape, he’ll be unable to land. Power will be out. The landing strip will be dark. The Control Tower won’t be sending him any directions. He’ll be entirely on his own. He has never been a man of prayer.
    But now he prays so feverishly: for himself… and for Kira.

    1:15 AM. The Appalachian Mountains are shrouded in darkness below. He fondles the engagement ring in his fingers.
    The cut diamond glints in the wan blue light from the glowing screens. Kira’s words echo in his mind: “You’re so amazing…”
    He wishes he would have woken her up last morning.
    He wishes he would have held her one last time.
    One last time ? He curses himself: she can’t be dead.

    Why can’t she be dead?

    Because I love her.

    Anthony Barnhart
    Dwellers of the Night
    27
    He brings the Boeing-777 over Cincinnati, flying south. The city is not on fire; for this he is thankful. Peppered fires cluster on the hills, but downtown is clothed in a sinister darkness. He can’t tell much from his vantage point in the sky, but the city looks relatively peaceful. He wonders why Boston had been on fire—maybe a blown gas station? He wonders if cities can burn. No , he tells himself, then he laughs. He had seen Boston burning. Yes, cities can burn. But Cincinnati isn’t burning. Hope lurches inside him. He imagines Kira locked in their house, pacing back and forth, waiting for her prince to return for her.
    “I’m coming, Kira,” he mutters as the plane flies over the black and snaking Ohio River. “I’m coming.” He begins to go over the landing checklist. He has simulated emergency landings in blackout conditions, during flight school… And he knows that if he doesn’t execute it exactly right, he will die.

    He makes a pass over the airport. It looks quiet. The power is still on. He can see glows coming from the large bay windows overlooking the airstrips and hangars. He draws a deep breath and begins to circle the airport. He tries to raise the Control Tower, but he receives no response. One of the runways is burning: a plane had flipped onto its side and burst into flames. Debris coated several runways. The firelight illuminated yet another runway with an airline parked at its far edge, ready for take-off, the twin engines still running. He decides to land shallow on that airstrip and hit the brakes just in time to avoid smashing into the idling