Chapter 4
Daniel
She was on a plane. She knew it was a plane because of the smell of recycled air and microwaved food. Plus, everything around was vibrating. A regular old commercial airline judging by the noise. First class from the fact that her arse actually fit comfortably inside her seat. For a few minutes, or maybe several hours Daniel sat still, letting the reality of her abduction wash over her. She’d been caught, she’d probably be interrogated, she might even die. The thought sent a little kick of excitement skittering through her overheated body. Still, there was no sense in just giving in.
Daniel summoned all her energy and sat up. A thick blue blanket fell from her shoulders leaving her instantly shivering and the dim cabin light burned her shriveled retinas, making her head throb like an open wound. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”
“Morning, love. Enjoy your nap?”
She turned to find Purple Shirt in the seat beside hers wearing in-flight headphones and his horrible purple shirt. “Urgh. It’s you.”
He scowled. “Thought you’d be a bit nicer after what happened in the limo.”
Daniel rubbed her throbbing temples. Her brain was slamming around her skull like an epileptic cat. “If you want women to like you, you ought to change careers.”
Purple Shirt gave her a greasy smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t you want to know how I got you on a plane?”
“How’d you get me on a plane?” Daniel asked dully.
“Wheelchair. It wasn’t easy, love, but I told ‘em you’re a Eurotrash starlet on your way to rehab. Helps that you’re dressed the part.” He gestured at her latex dress and pumps.
Daniel knew she should be grateful no one had stripped and changed her while she was roofied but overall she thought she’d rather be wearing pants. “Hooray?”
“Would you like some orange juice?” Purple Shirt asked, pressing the intercom button. “That’s a lot of blood you lost.”
Daniel looked down. Her inner elbows were decorated with dinosaur Band-Aids. “Lost? Or had stolen while I was unconscious?”
Purple Shirt held up a palm and rocked it from side to side. “Tomato, tomahtow. Now do you want a ham bagel or something, or are you a veggo? I know a lot of you Grassroots types are.”
Daniel stared at him. “What did you just say?”
Purple Shirt smiled indulgently. “Oh, don’t be so shocked, love. I told you I knew who you were. Whadja think? I believed you were a graphic designer or a fan dancer or whatever you’re passing yourself off as these days?”
Daniel looked around; most of the seats in first class were empty, but not all of them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Pull the other one, Tits Magee, you’re one of them.”
“One of what?”
Purple Shirt leaned closer. She could smell the stale coffee on his tongue. “A Grasshopper. A hippie with a handgun saving the world one coal seam gas explosion at a time.”
She’d been prepped on this situation. She was supposed to play dumb, claim the organization she and Cynthia had poured their hearts and souls into was a myth, an urban legend, a figment of Ronald Reagan’s feverish imagination. But the fact that he knew Grassroots members affectionately called themselves Grasshoppers said Purple Shirt knew a lot more than his dumb face gave him credit for. Denial, at this point, seemed pretty futile.
“I’ve never held a gun,” she said. “And I’m not a vegetarian.”
“Excellent.” Purple Shirt gestured to the flight attendant who tottered over at once. “What can I get you?”
“Juice and two bagels love. Quick as you can.”
“Please,” Daniel said. “Thank you.”
The flight attendant looked nervously between them then scuttled off. Purple Shirt studied her arse as she went.
“I don’t know if it’s the shirt or your bald spot. But you remind me of a middle-aged DJ who pauses the music mid-song to yell ‘put your hands in the air ladies, it is about to go off.” She raised her hands in the air and waved them back and forth.
Purple Shirt’s chubby cheeks went red. “You’re one to talk, sweetheart, you look like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.”
Daniel groaned at his sheer lack of creativity. “Calling a woman fat, that’s a good one. Tell you what, next time try ‘I know you are, you said you are, but what am I?’”
Purple Shirt pointed a stubby finger at her. “Look, you little cow, keep talking and I’ll knock you out again.”
“Do it. I hate flying.”
“Really? The amount of shit running through your blood could kill a mule—”
Daniel stretched her arms over her head. “Is that why you took it? To kill mules?”
“—another dose could end you. So unless you want to die on a plane I suggest you shut up.” Purple Shirt returned his gaze to his TV and continued watching Transformers 3 like the epitome of bad taste that he was.
Daniel studied the side of his head. Whatever organization Purple Shirt was in, he had to be high up to be traveling with her alone. His irritation at her lack of fear said he was used to getting his way, especially around women. Probably had a string of ex-girlfriends, all marked by the blows of his clumsy insults, or worse, his clumsy fists. He’d hit her in the stomach after all, he’d done it without batting an eyelid.
“Seeing as you know who I am would you mind telling me your name?” she asked.
“Mind your own business.”
“If you don’t say what it is I’m going to keep calling you Purple Shirt. And then I’m probably going to start screaming and crying and telling people you abducted me.”
That tore his eyes awake from colliding balls of metal on his screen. “I’m Alan. Alan Walshaw.”
Daniel tried and failed to hold in a snort. “Alan?”
“What?”
“On a list of intimidating names that ranks only slightly below Kermit.”
Alan undid his seatbelt.
“Fine, fine.” Daniel raised her hands. “Shutting up, shutting up.”
The flight attendant returned with her juice and Alan’s bagels. Daniel downed her glass in two swallows, barely tasting anything through the thick layer of fur on her teeth and tongue. The juice sat in her stomach like icy lead. She watched Alan’s jowls quiver as he wolfed down his bagel. “Where is this bucket of bolts headed anyway?”
“California.”
“Urgh.” Daniel’s headache instantly worsened. “America.”
“What’s wrong with America? Sunshine, beautiful girls, good burgers—”
“Insane levels of pollution, the way they say ‘Daaaniel’, tipping, no metric system…”
Alan snorted, a piece of ham falling from his fat lips. “Calm down, love, I’m sure you’ll have a great time. Especially where you’re going.”
“Yeah, try and be a bit more ominous, Alan.”
Her captor scowled. It was then that Daniel saw it, five seats in front of her a businessman had his phone resting in plain view on his in-flight tray. A plan, both slick and straightforward arrived, fully formed in her mind.
She wriggled in her seat. “So Alan, can I take a piss or did you install some sort of catheter while you were stealing my blood?”
Alan poked the rest of his bagel into his rubbery mouth. “No. Go ahead. I’ll be watching though.”
“Woooooo,” Daniel said, waving her hands like a ghost without a sheet. She stood up, swaying slightly from the plane and the roofies. “Be back soon.”
She staggered up the aisle drawing odd looks from all sides. Her outfit had been risqué at a club but on a plane her latex dress fell just short of ridiculous. Thanks to her brain defect, shame wasn’t really on her emotional register, but if she could feel that particular emotion Daniel was sure she’d be baking in her skin like a jacket potato. A mother actually covered her son’s eyes.
When she was parallel to Mr. Free Phone Daniel deliberately tilted her ankle, toppling on her platforms and landing in the older man’s lap spraying latte everywhere.
The surrounding passengers sniggered and Daniel could hear Alan laughing thickly through his second bagel.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she said, flailing on top of him like a carp on dry land. “I tripped.”
“That’s quite alright,” Mr. Free Phone gasped. He had a Prince William accent and very kindly helped her to her feet without even looking at her boobs. The mark of a true gentleman. Daniel almost felt bad as she walked to the airplane bathroom, his iPhone freezing cold against her twat.
Safely locked in the toilet she turned the phone off flight mode and opened the email app. This was the tricky part. She could contact Grassroots and have herself swept out of here in a heartbeat but that would mean explaining everything; about Cynthia and Project Rangitoto and the end of the world. She couldn’t do that, which reduced her rescue crew down to exactly one person.
Fortunately, that one person was a thermonuclear scientist and all-around genius, Mikey Zhèng.
Millions of nerds would have killed just to shake hands with the prodigy who’d inspired an actual Star Trek character. Fortunately Daniel met him when they were both pimply ultra virgins enrolled in an international engineering program. Theirs was a traditional friendship; she tried to seduce him, he rejected her and then they bonded over their mutual love of heavily muscled men with tattoos.
As allies went, Daniel had complete faith in Mikey. He’d helped her cover up the apocalypse for Christ’s sake, rescuing her from some guy called fucking Alan was a day at the park. There was only one problem. Mikey changed email addresses the way other people changed their underwear; a side effect of constantly being hounded by tech geeks who wanted him to read their slash fiction. She knew his number by heart but on a strange phone, without a way to confirm her identity Mikey wouldn’t pick up.
There was a gentle knock on the door. “Miss? Your manager asked me to check if you were all right in there?”
It was the kind-faced flight attendant. Shit.
“I’m fine. Tell my manager he’s fired.”
There was a short pause. “Um. Okay, miss. Please um, just hurry?”
“Okay.” Daniel stared at the blank box reserved for an outgoing email address. She would just have to use the most recent email address she could remember and hope for the best. She began to type;
Kidnapped from London, currently on a plane to California. No idea who’s behind it or why. Possibly relating to You Know What, might just be a Grassroots thing. A man called Alan Walshaw (lol) is involved. No idea where he’s taking me. Please help. Dani.
She took a selfie to confirm her identity and location. Whistling at how incredibly shit her make-up looked she attached it to the email. Refusing to think about what would happen if Mikey didn’t see her message she tucked the phone back between her legs and abandoned her toilet sanctuary. As she passed True Gentleman, she gave him a big smile, let the phone drop out from between her legs and kicked it below his seat. Flawless. Well almost. She was still kidnapped.
“Nice fall.” Alan chortled as she got back to her seat.
“Nice face.”
Alan Walshaw’s nose turned purple, the burst capillaries welling up like blocked sewers. “You know I could kill you, you fat little bitch? Choke you out right where you’re sitting?”
Daniel sighed. Clearly her lack of fear was making Alan feel bad about himself but she was tired and sweaty and had reached her limit for jibes about her perfectly acceptable body. That was why she picked up her second cup of juice and threw it in his face. It hit him in a bright orange stripe, and she barely had time to wonder how someone got a huge-arse syringe on a plane before she was tumbling back into unconsciousness.