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last passengers, but Rayford refused. “I can’t see passing my own passengers as they walk to the terminal,” he said. “How would that look?”
    Christopher said, “Suit yourself, Cap. You mind if I take him up on his offer?”
    Rayford glared at him. “You’re serious?”
    “I don’t get paid enough for this.”
    “Like this was the airline’s fault. Chris, you don’t mean it.”
    “The heck I don’t. By the time you get up there, you’ll wish you’d ridden, too.”
    “I should write you up for this.”
    “Millions of people disappear into thin air and I should worry about getting written up for riding instead of walking? Later, Steele.”
    Rayford shook his head and turned to Hattie. “Maybe I’ll see you up there. If you can get out of the terminal, don’t wait for me.”
    “Are you kidding? If you’re walking, I’m walking.”
    “You don’t need to do that.”
    “After that dressing-down you just gave Smith? I’m walking.”
    “He’s first officer. We ought to be last off the ship and first to volunteer for emergency duty.”
    “Well, do me a favor and consider me part of your crew, too. Just because I can’t fly the thing doesn’t mean I don’t feel some ownership. And don’t treat me like a little woman.”
    “I would never do that. Got your stuff?”
    Hattie pulled her bag on wheels and Rayford carried his navigator’s leather box. It was a long walk, and several times they waved off offers of rides from units speeding out to pick up the non-ambulatory. Along the way they passed other passengers from their flight. Many thanked Rayford; he wasn’t sure for what. For not panicking, he guessed. But they looked as terrified and shell-shocked as he felt.
    They shielded their ears from flights screaming in to land. Rayford tried to calculate how long it would be before this runway was shut down, too. He couldn’t imagine the other open strip holding many more planes, either. Would some have to try to put down on highways or open fields? And how far away from the big cities would they have to look for open stretches of highway unencumbered by bridges? He shuddered at the thought.
    All around were ambulances and other emergency vehicles trying to get to ugly wreckage scenes.
    Finally in the terminal, Rayford found crowds standing in lines behind banks of phones. Most had angry people waiting, yelling at callers who shrugged and redialed. Airport snack bars and restaurants were already sold out of or low on food, and all newspapers and magazines were gone. In shops where staffers had disappeared, looters walked off with merchandise.
    Rayford wanted more than anything to sit and talk with someone about what to make of this. But everybody he saw—friend, acquaintance, or stranger—was busy trying to make arrangements. O’Hare was like a massive prison with resources dwindling and gridlock growing. No one slept. Everyone scurried about, trying to find some link to the outside world, to contact their families, and to get out of the airport.
    At the flight center in the bowels of the place, Rayford found much the same thing. Hattie said she would try making her calls from the lounge and would meet him later to see if they could share a ride to the suburbs. He knew they were unlikely to find any rides going anywhere, and he didn’t relish walking twenty miles. But all hotels in the area were already full.
    Finally a supervisor asked for the attention of the fliers in the underground center. “We have some secure lines, about five,” he said. “Whether you can get through, we don’t know, but it’s your best chance. They do bypass the normal trunk lines out of here, so you won’t be competing with all the pay phones in the terminal. Streamline your calls. Also, there are a limited number of helicopter rides available to suburban hospitals and police departments, but naturally you’re secondary to medical emergencies. Get in line over here for phones and rides to the suburbs. As of