Pet Sematary - Stephen King [155]
burst in through the doors, almost dropped one shoe, juggled it, caught it. It was 11:37.
One of the two clerks on duty glanced up at her.
Flight 104, she panted. The Portland flight. Has it left?
The clerk glanced behind him at the monitor. Still at the gate it says here, he said, but they called for final boarding five minutes ago. Ill call ahead. Bags to check?
No, Rachel gasped, and brushed her sweaty hair out of her eyes. Her heart was galloping in her chest.
Then dont wait for me to call. I will-but I advise you to run very fast.
Rachel didnt run very fast-she was no longer able. But she did as well as she could. The escalator had been turned off for the night, and she pounded up the stairs, tasting copper shavings in her mouth. She reached the security checkpoint and almost threw the tote bag at the startled female guard, then waited for it to come through on the conveyor belt, her hands clenching and unclenching. It was barely out of the X-ray chamber before she had snatched it by the strap and ran again, the bag flying out behind her and then banging her on the hip.
She looked up at one of the monitors as she ran.
FLIGHT 104 PORTLAND SCHED 11:25P GATE 31 BOARDING
Gate 31 was at the far end of the concourse-and even as she snatched her glance at the monitor, BOARDING in steady letters changed to DEPARTING, blinking rapidly.
A frustrated cry burst from her. She ran into the gate area just in time to see the gate attendant removing the strips which read:
FLIGHT 104 BOSTON-PORTLAND 11:25
Its gone? she asked incredulously. Its really gone?
The attendant looked at her sympathetically. It rolled out of the jetway at 11:40. Im sorry, maam. You made a helluva good try, if thats any consolation. He pointed out the wide glass windows. Rachel could see a big 727 with Delta markings, its running lights Christmas-tree bright, starting its takeoff roll.
Christ, didnt anyone tell you I was coming? Rachel cried.
When they called up here from downstairs, 104 was on an active taxiway. If Id called her back, she would have gotten caught in the parade going out to Runway 30, and that pilot would have had my bee-hind on a platter. Not to mention the hundred or so
passengers on board. Im very sorry. If youd been even four minutes sooner-
She walked away, not listening to the rest. She was halfway back to the security checkpoint when waves of faintness rode over her. She stumbled into another gate area and sat down until the darkness had passed. Then she slipped her shoes back on, picking a squashed Lark cigarette butt off the tattered sole of one stocking first. My feet are dirty and I dont give a fuck, she thought disconsolately.
She walked back toward the terminal.
The security guard eyed her sympathetically. Missed it?
I missed it, all right, Rachel said.
Where were you headed?
Portland. Then Bangor.
Well, why dont you rent a car? If you really have to be there, that is? Ordinarily Id advise a hotel close to the airport, but if I ever saw a lady who looked like she really had to be there, you are that lady.
Im that lady, all right, Rachel said. She thought about it. Yes, I suppose I could do that, couldnt I? If any of the agencies has a car.
The security guard laughed. Oh, theyll have cars. Only time they dont have cars at Logan is when the airports fogged in. Which is a lot of the time.
Rachel barely heard her. In her mind she was already trying to calculate it.
She couldnt get to Portland in time to catch her Bangor flight even if she bulleted up the turnpike at a suicidal pace. So figure driving straight through. How long? That depended on how far. Two hundred and fifty miles, that was the figure which came to mind. Something Jud had said maybe. It was going to be at least a quarter past twelve before she got going, probably closer to 12:30 A.M. It was all turnpike. She thought that her chances of going the whole distance at sixty-five