above, propped on his hands and peering down at them through the trapdoor.
Brian pulled the ladder out of its storage clips, secured it in place, and then, one by one, they descended to the tarmac, Brian first, Bob last.
As Brian's feet touched down, he felt a mad urge to place his hand over his heart and cry out: I claim this land of rancid milk and sour honey for the survivors of Flight 29... at least until the langoliers arrive!
He said nothing. He only stood there with the others below the loom of the jetliner's nose, feeling a light breeze against one cheek and looking around. In the distance he heard a sound. It was not the chewing, crunching sound of which they had gradually become aware in Bangor - nothing like it - but he couldn't decide exactly what it did sound like.
"What's that?" Bethany asked. "What's that humming? It sounds like electricity."
"No, it doesn't," Bob said thoughtfully. "It sounds like.." He shook his head.
"It doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard before," Brian said, but he wasn't sure if that was true. Again he was haunted by the sense that something he knew or should know was dancing just beyond his mental grasp.
"It's them, isn't it?" Bethany asked half-hysterically. "It's them, coming. It's the langoliers Dinah told us about."
"I don't think so. It doesn't sound the same at all." But he felt the fear begin in his belly just the same.
"Now what?" Rudy asked. His voice was as harsh as a crow's. "Do we start all over again?"
"Well, we won't need the conveyor belt, and that's a start," Brian said. "The jetway service door is open." He stepped out from beneath the 767's nose and pointed. The force of their arrival at Gate 29 had knocked the rolling ladder away from the door, but it would be easy enough to slip it back into position. "Come on."
They walked toward the ladder.
"Albert?" Brian said. "Help me with the lad."
"Wait," Bob said.
Brian turned his head and saw Bob looking around with cautious wonder. And the expression in his previously dazed eyes... was that hope?
"What? What is it, Bob? What do you see?"
"Just another deserted airport. It's what I feel." He raised a hand to his cheek... then simply held it out in the air, like a man trying to flag a ride.
Brian started to ask him what he meant, and realized that he knew. Hadn't he noticed it himself while they had been standing under the liner's nose? Noticed it and then dismissed it?
There was a breeze blowing against his face. Not much of a breeze, hardly more than a puff, but it was a breeze. The air was in motion.
"Holy crow," Albert said. He popped a finger into his mouth, wetting it, and held it up. An unbelieving grin touched his face.
"That isn't all, either," Laurel said. "Listen!"
She dashed from where they were standing down toward the 767's wing.
Then she ran back to them again, her hair streaming out behind her. The high heels she was wearing clicked crisply on the concrete.
"Did you hear it?" she asked them. "Did you hear it?"
They had heard. The flat, muffled quality was gone. Now, just listening to Laurel speak, Brian realized that in Bangor they had all sounded as if they had been talking with their heads poked inside bells which had been cast from some dulling metal - brass, or maybe lead.
Bethany raised her hands and rapidly clapped out the backbeat of the old Routers' instrumental, "Let's Go." Each clap was as clean and clear as the pop of a track-starter's pistol. A delighted grin broke over her face.
"What does it m - " Rudy began.
"The plane!" Albert shouted in a high-pitched, gleeful voice, and for a moment Brian was absurdly reminded of the little guy on that old TV show, Fantasy Island. He almost laughed out loud. "I know what's different! Look at the plane! Now it's the same as all the others!"
They turned and looked. No one said anything for a long moment; perhaps no one was capable of speech. The Delta 727 standing next to the American Pride jetliner in Bangor had looked dull and dingy, somehow less real than the 767. Now all the aircraft - Flight 29 and the United planes lined up along the extended jetways behind it - looked equally bright, equally new. Even in the dark, their paintwork and trademark logos appeared to