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This article, Zombies in the Cabin, is a piece of World War Z fan fiction written by AnselaJonla. All characters, locations, and other things from the original work are the sole property of its creator. If you would like to edit the page, please ask the page's creator first on their Message Wall.


DisclaimerEdit

'World War Z is the property of Max Brooks. No money is made off of this work of fiction derived from his writings. Sorry for any inaccuracies. I am not a pilot, cabin crew or air traffic control. All my knowledge of air-ground communications comes from watching Air Crash Investigation.

SummaryEdit

A transcript of the events on board British Airlines flight 765.

StoryEdit

This cockpit voice recorder from a British Airlines Boeing-777 Heathrow to New York flight was found in the old TSB (the pre-war Transportation Safety Board of Canada) headquarters, where it was taken just prior to the zombie plague really gaining ground in the continental United States. I was lucky enough to have been allowed to listen to the recording and transcribe it.

(Recording opens with the sound of the cockpit lock beeping as its entry code is entered.)

Pond, Melinda (cabin crew): Captain, we have a small problem in business.

Banhoff, Mark (captain): We run out of sick bags again? Been a bit of a rough flight today.

Pond: No, captain. We have a dead passenger.

Hall, James (first officer): Great, just what we need. Quarantine at JFK.

Banhoff: Just act as if he's sleeping, Mel. No need to alarm the other passengers. We've just passed into ATC Moncton's control area (a Canadian air traffic control centre that handles flights heading into or out of American air space), so we'll be on the ground in a couple more hours.

Pond: He's already had a blanket tucked around him. I'll pretend to try and wake him when we land.

(Pond leaves the cockpit. A short time passes with normal chatter, omitted from this transcript for its irrelevance. A couple of gun shots are heard, muffled by the thick door. The internal communications phone rings.)

Hall: Mel? Really, come on. This isn't funny. You sure? What was that? Can't you try and contain him?

Banhoff: James?

Hall: That stiff? He's come back to life and he's lurching around biting people. We did have an SO18 officer (the British equivalent of the Federal Air Marshal Service) on board; he put two in the dead bloke's chest before he got his throat ripped out.

Banhoff: Any chance at all Mel's messing with you?

Hall: You heard those shots as clear as I did.

Banhoff: Yeah. Pan-pan, Pan-pan, Pan-pan (this emergency call was one step below the more well-known “mayday”). All stations, all stations, all stations. We have a situation onboard.

Hall: Mel? Melinda? Come on... answer me?

Howlett, Charles: British Airlines flight 765, this is Air Traffic Control Moncton. Could you give more information on your situation?

Banhoff: I'm not exactly sure, Moncton. Half an hour ago one of the cabin crew reported we had a dead passenger on board. Roughly a minute ago she called the cockpit to report that he had... come back to life, and was biting people.

Howlett: Say again, BA-765?

Banhoff: (Nervous laughter) ATC Moncton, we have a... zombie on board. Maybe more than one. We have lost contact with the cabin crew.

Howlett: BA-765, I... I don't know what to do in this situation. Please hold current heading and altitude while I confer with my supervisor.

Banhoff: Confirm BA-765 holding present heading and altitude and awaiting further instructions.

(Moaning and thumping sounds can be heard on the recording.)

Hall: It's trying to get into the cockpit.

Banhoff: The door's locked, it'll hold. It has to.

(The radio remains silent. There is no chatter in the cockpit, in stark contrast to earlier. The groans and thuds outside of the metal cockpit door continue.)

Howlett: I'm sorry, BA-765. I am so very, very sorry.

Banhoff: Moncton, please ex-

The last sound on the recording is of an explosion. British Airlines flight 765 was shot down by a Royal Canadian Air Force CF-18 Hornet. It crashed between New Glasgow and Truro in Nova Scotia, with no survivors.

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