"Ladies and gentlemen, we've received an urgent alert from ground control. An atmospheric anomaly is forcing all aircraft in the region to make immediate landings. We'll be touching down at the nearest available airport, then figure out the best way to complete your travels to Detroit, Michigan."

  Will gripped his armrests tightly. Not out of fear, but out of frustration. After spending the weekend with his daughter, Abigail at the University of North Carolina, he just wanted to get them both home.

  "Chill, Dad. It's probably just some crazy weather and we'll be back in the air in a few hours."

  "We're close enough that we could just rent a car," Will muttered.

  "We're not in a rush to get home. Soon you'll be missing these moments with your favorite child!" Abigail chimed, half-mockingly.

  "Yeah, well, I'm not wild about you moving halfway across the country. I just worry that you'll be too far to... for me to be there if you need me," Will admitted, his voice softer than he intended.

  "Dad, you know I'll always need you," Abigail replied, squeezing his arm. "Just..." She stopped short as the plane nosed down more aggressively than they were expecting. Will glanced outside the window, rimmed with frost, to look down at the approaching ground. The seat-back map showed they were somewhere over Ohio.

  As the plane descended rapidly and began to make a tight turn, Will could make out an airport below them, coming into view. Several airliners were on the ground in front of the small terminal. Long, dark, streaks in the grass began between two of the runways, traveled the length of it, and ended at the tail of the plane.

  "Abby, something's wrong. There's a plane off the runway."

  Abby leaned over and gripped her dad's arm.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we're coming in for our landing but our runways are all full. We will be making an emergency landing alongside one of our runways. We ask that you assume the emergency landing position and brace for impact."

  Abigail turned and looked at her dad. Will saw her, not as a college-bound adult, but as the frightened little girl bursting into his bedroom during a thunderstorm. He took her hand and held it tightly.

  The impact jolted through the plane with a bone-jarring crunch. The lights flickered and died as a roar filled the cabin, drowning out the passengers' screams. Will and Abigail bounced violently in their seats. Warning alarms sounded as the plane slowly ground to a halt. Will looked out the cracked window, the ground closer than he had expected.

  "Stay close to me," Will said as he and Abigail unbuckled and stood. All around them, people were standing, sitting, and yelling at each other.

  A few rows ahead, the explosion of the emergency door filled the air. As people started jostling toward the emergency exit, sharp air filled Will's lungs. It was cold, painfully cold, in his lungs. Granted, it was unseasonably cold in the Midwest this June, but this air felt like needles piercing his chest.

  Will held Abigail's arm and firmly pushed her forward in the aisle. A small boy, no more than 7 years old was crying into the shoulder of his mother, her head slumped forward. Will saw her shoulders rising and falling as she took shallow breaths, her breath turning to steam in the cold air. He stopped and crouched down next to her.

  "Ma'am, are you ok?" he spoke, as he gently felt for a pulse. Finding one, he shook her shoulder. "Ma'am?" Blood soaked her dress, just above her left knee, running down her leg.

  "Mmmm..." the woman slowly lifted her head and opened her eyes. "Where's Brendan?"

  "Mom!" the boy cried and grabbed his mother's shoulders.

  "Ma'am, we have to get out of here," Will instructed as people pushed passed them in the aisle, making for the exit. Behind him, the airplane groaned under its abnormal positioning on the ground. Without the landing gears to support it, there was nothing preventing it from rolling to one side as the weight shifted. Will unbuckled the woman and helped to hoist her up out of the seat.

  He turned to Abigail to ask her to help with Brendan but saw she was already crouched down next to him, her arm around his shoulder. A sense of pride welled up in him. She's so capable, so compassionate.

  "Brendan? This is my daughter, Abigail. She'll help you get off the plane with your mother." Will supported the lady as the boy took Abigail's hand and led them all down the aisle.

  As they exited the plane, the frigid air hit them, instantly numbing their skin. Their eyes started watering as they took sharp, short breaths and navigated down the emergency slide.

  "It shouldn't be this cold," Will shouted at Abigail, over the sound of people yelling and crying.

  Quickly glancing around, Will saw emergency vehicles attending to other planes around the runway. None had made it to their aircraft, yet.

  "We have to get to the terminal before she starts going into shock!" He gestured at the woman he was supporting.

  The lights of the terminal were only 100 yards away, and it was apparent that the other passengers had the same idea.

  There was a shattering noise, followed by a terminal door opening in the distance, directing the flow of the crowd. Will half-carried the injured woman into the terminal with Abigail and Brendan trailing behind. She seemed to be slipping in and out of consciousness, and it took a lot of effort to support her as they made it into the building and into the safety of the terminal.

  Feeling the warm air enveloping them, their senses were assaulted by chaos. A cacophony of panicked voices echoed off the walls, punctuated by the occasional crash of toppled luggage or equipment. A group of airport employees and security faced off against a mass of people yelling and shouting. Abigail pressed in close against her dad, with her arm still around Brendan. Will led their group to some chairs relatively separated from the mob and helped them sit down. He lifted the lady's dress slightly to examine her wound and found a deep gash on the outside of her leg, just above her knee.

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  "Abigail, see if there's a first aid kit or something we can use as bandages. But don't go far," Will instructed, eyeing the crowd warily. Abigail headed off down the more quiet section of the terminal.

  "What's your name?" Will asked the woman.

  "Theresa. Is my son ok?" the woman said.

  "He's ok. Scared, but we all are. Your cut is nasty, but as long as we keep pressure on it I think it will be ok. It looks like you've lost... well, I don't know how much blood you've lost. Let's just try to keep the bleeding under control. Can you push down, here, on your leg, and keep that pressure?" Will asked.

  Theresa nodded as she pressed her hands down on her leg, Brendan wrapping his arms around her waist. Will shivered as he looked up and took stock of the room. Whether it was the adrenaline wearing off or the residual chill from being outside in that incredibly cold weather, he wasn't sure, but a chill ran through him as he looked around.

  TV screens were lit up with newscasters. He caught glimpses of scrolling text...

  "Global temps plummet..."

  "...-50F measured in Miami..."

  "...instantaneous Ice Age..."

  "...power grid overloaded, causing blackouts..."

  It wasn't just the adrenaline. He really felt it now. It was cold. What the hell is going on? Looking out the large glass windows in the terminal he saw frost on the grass between the runways. The air was crystal clear in the cold afternoon air as pandemonium stared back at him. Emergency vehicles scurried between planes, ferrying people back and forth to the terminal. At least a dozen planes were on the ground, some standing on their landing gears, others, like his, belly to the ground.

  He turned as he caught Abigail's reflection in the window.

  "I couldn't find anything, but I didn't want to go too far off on my own," she said.

  Taking stock of the terminal they were in, Will saw the nylon ropes used to form lines for boarding passengers. Grabbing one of the retractable nylon straps, he ripped the end off the black stanchion it was attached to. The top broke apart easily, and he jogged back to Theresa and began wrapping her leg in a makeshift bandage. His fingers fumbled as they were still warming from their brief exposure outside. She winced as he tied it off, but it seemed to slow the bleeding drastically.

  "What's going on?" Theresa asked.

  "I don't know. It's extremely cold. That's probably what forced our plane down along with all the other planes. I'm guessing it's like this all over the place, so I don't know if we'll get help soon." Will fished his cell phone out of his pocket. It was on, but there was no signal. "We're probably stuck here until this storm, or whatever it is, passes. I'm going to see if there is anything open in the food court, or a vending machine or something."

  As Will strode down the hallway toward the more populated area of the terminal, he realized that all the main lights of the fast food stalls were out. The lights in general were dim. It occurred to Will that the airport must be running on backup power of some sort.

  He saw a pretzel shop nearby, with a handful of people standing in front of it. A lone teenage boy stood behind the counter as the small mob of people shouted at him and pointed fingers across the counter.

  As Will jogged up, he raised his hands in front of himself and moved to the front of the group.

  "Hey! Calm down! The kid doesn't know what's going on. We obviously all want food, let's figure out how much there is and we can reasonably figure out how to distribute it."

  "Shut the hell up! It's freezing and we don't know how long we'll be here! I'm not letting my family starve!" someone shouted.

  "Look, I know it's cold and we're in a state of emergency, but I don't think anyone is at risk of starving."

  "How would you know?!" a shout came. Without warning, a plastic water bottle sailed out of the crowd and struck Will on the cheek. As he turned his head away, someone jumped over the counter of the pretzel shop. The boy behind the counter ran out of the door as more people climbed over the counter and began ransacking the establishment.

  Will felt a trickle of blood fall down his cheek as the mob began arguing over the small supply of food behind the counter. Putting himself in this danger wasn't worth the risk. Not when Abigail needed him. As he turned to return to the group, he locked eyes with the boy from behind the counter. That's someone's son, too. He grabbed the boy and pulled him down the hallway, back toward Abigail, Theresa, and Brendan.

  "Dad! You're bleeding! What happened to your face?" Abigail cried as he approached.

  "It's not a big deal. People are starting to get out of hand, though. This kid barely made out of the pretzel shack."

  "I'm Troy. T-thanks for your help back there, sir." the boy stammered, as he pulled a pretzel from his apron. "At least they didn't get everything. I just threw this in my pocket when everything went nuts. I guess I'm fired either way now, huh?"

  "Dad, we need a plan. The temperature's dropping fast, and people are panicking. How long will this last?" Abigail asked.

  "I don't know. It might be a bit, and if people are acting irrationally, it could get dangerous. We might want to move to the far end of the terminal, away from the shops and service desks. The crowd probably won't come down there. I'm worried about the cold, though. I'd like to find something to keep warm. Troy, take Theresa and Brendan down this terminal away from everyone. Abby and I will go look for some blankets or something to keep warm."

  Will and Abigail went back toward the mob where airport security officers were trying to contain the crowds at the service desks. People were yelling at the workers behind the desks.

  On the other side of the hallway were gift shops. Several people were in the shops, but it wasn't quite as loud as the mobs at the service desks. Will and Abigail made their way over to a gift shop and stepped inside.

  "We need warm clothing," Abigail said to the man behind the counter.

  "We've got some hoodies, sweatpants, a couple of hats, but nothing really warm. We switched out for summer inventory months ago," the cashier said.

  Will grabbed as much as he could carry and loaded up Abigail as well.

  "Grab some snacks, too," he said to Abigail. Turning to the cashier, he placed their supplies on the counter. "How much for these?" he asked.

  "Look man, our credit card machine is down. I don't know what's going on. I can't sell you anything right now."

  "Nothing is working right now, and it's getting colder by the minute. Can't you feel it? These clothes don't do any good sitting on a shelf," Will growled, leaning over the counter toward the cashier. He glanced around as the other people in the shop took notice of his hurried conversation.

  "Can't you just take our contact information and we can settle this when everything calms down?" Abigail asked the cashier, placing her hand on her dad's arm.

  The cashier looked at them and looked around the shop, starting to see more and more people quickly gathering clothes.

  "Look, we don't have much time before everyone starts realizing how valuable these clothes are, and you're going to get real popular, real fast. If we don't sort this out now, it's going to get ugly." Will stared down the cashier.

  "Ok, ok man. Write down your information," the cashier said as he slid a paper and pen across the counter and started taking stock of what Will had placed on the counter. Will wrote down his contact information and showed the cashier his driver's license. A line was forming behind them as they stepped out of the store, arms full of clothing.

  "Let's get back to the others. We'll have to hurry before the mob..." Will trailed off as the emergency lights cut off across the airport. The mob silenced, and an eerie quiet fell over the airport, bathed in the long shadows of the afternoon light streaming in through the windows.

  Will saw Abigail's lips tighten and she swallowed hard. He pulled her close to him. "It's going to be ok, Abby. We'll get through this. We'll get home."

  "Dad, it's so quiet," Abigail whispered, barely audible. "It's not just quiet, it's silent. There's no air. Dad, the heat's not on."