"Here come a couple! Look at 'em, boy!"
The low rumbling came out of the west, as of angry bees.
Twin pinpoints of black appeared on the distant white ribbon. Louder and louder the rumbling. Larger and larger the dots. To Tom, the sterile Jetway was transformed into a home of horror, an amphitheatre of death.
Louder and larger—
Brooommmmmm.
Gone.
"Hey, how'ja like that, boy? They're gonna crack the sonic barrier or my name's not Harry Hayden!"
Tom's white-knuckled hands grasped a railing for support. Christ, I'm going to be sick. I'm going to vomit.
"But wait'll five o'clock or nine in the morning. That's when you see the traffic. That's when you really do some Driving!"
Tom gulped. "Is—is there a rest room here?"