Page 3 of Shielding Instinct

There were, in fact, psychological studies that supported the theory that the way you woke up determined the way the day lay ahead. Those first moments imposed a rudimentary lens through which the brain saw things unfold.

It was a survival filter.

On sunny, happy days, the brain relaxed. On high-stress days, the brain agitated the waters to see what hidden awfulness lay beneath.

After all, it was the brain’s job to keep its body alive.

And since Petra woke up to a shit show, a shit show today would be.

Tomorrow, she’d wake up to a glorious sunrise, and life would be golden.

Right?

Chapter Two

Petra

In her fatigue, Petra swayed back and forth, her backpack hanging heavily from her shoulders. There were zero chairs available in the waiting area, but once seated on the plane, she reminded herself, it would be noise-canceling earmuffs, a blackout eye mask, and some much-anticipated sleep.

She looked around the room at the other passengers, many of whom had decided to wear pajamas for the flight. They must have the same strategy in mind.

With a glance at her phone, Petra realized it was only half an hour until loading. She slid a foil packet from her pocket, tore it open, and extracted the film with the medicated patch that helped with travel sickness. Peeling off the backing, Petra stuck it behind her ear, then squirted hand sanitizer on her hands and wiped them with a tissue.

Petra found the medication to be an overall boon to flying. It relieved any nausea; it took the edge off any unease during turbulence, and it did a great job keeping her just fuzzy enough—like a couple of cocktails without the inebriation and the day-after effects—to rest if not sleep – the whole way to her destination.

Just a few minutes more, an anxious moment of disorganization as people settled into their places, an announcement from the flight crew, and she’d be asleep.

That sounded so good.

On today’s flight, humanity would be packed in tightly. The attendant had already begged the travelers to come forward and let ground crew check in roller bags for free. There wasn’tgoing to be enough room in the cabin. If things weren’t sorted voluntarily, they’d just stop folks at the door.

Some people dragged their bags toward the desk.

Petra had learned long ago to keep two days of supplies in her backpack and send a prayer to the gods of flight that her suitcase arrived at the same time she did. But wrangling a roller bag onto a plane jumbled her nerves, and Petra didn’t like that sensation.

She hoped that even though she was in a bottom-scraper of a seat, there would be space in the overhead bin. In a window seat, she wouldn’t be able to wrangle the depth of her backpack properly under the seat in front of her.

Patting over her heavy winter coat—an absolute necessity for today’s Washington D.C. December weather, but something that she wouldn’t touch once she was down in St Croix with its steady daily temperatures in the mid-eighties—Petra was considering the deep pockets. Could she move items from the backpack so that she had a better chance of keeping her bag with her? She was loathe to hand it off to anyone since her laptop was stowed inside.

The attendant lifted the microphone to her mouth. It looked like she’d been dealing with peoples’ feelings all damned day long.

It was only eight thirty.

Petra braced for news about delays, but instead, she heard, “Hermione Armstrong, please see the desk attendant.”

Petra blinked.

It was unexpected that her legal name be called out—and Petra didn’t like it. It felt like a violation of privacy. She moved forward quickly lest the woman call her name a second time and maybe throw in her middle name like a child summoned to the principal’s office.

Was she getting bumped? Par for the damned course. If shewerebumped, that would be her sign that she should go home and stay there with her cozy bed and new book.

“Hermione Armstrong?” the woman staffing the desk asked.

“That’s me.”

“We have an unusual situation. Your name was chosen for an upgrade. Your points allow us to upgrade you to our comfort designation with the added benefit of bulkhead space.” A little too cheerful, a little too smiley, this woman was trying to sell something to Petra.

As her mind sprinted around looking for a reason that an upgrade would need a sales pitch, the only thing Petra could land on was an article she read about a couple that had to fly next to a corpse because the man in their aisle seat had suddenly died on their flight.

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