get off the ground, car-plane

I dreamt I was escaping zombies with my youngest sister.

the plane was some ramshackle thing, a flight-challenged mix of a station wagon and a Cessna. It did not work well. I had to butter up and adore a large, fat woman because she had the station wagon. when she left to go change her clothes, for a fashion show i convinced her she needed to model for us, she preened and went away and i grabbed my sister and we ran out to the airfield. many pilots in white were there, standing across from us. One of them was supposed to give us a signal, and we were to open a special door and get to our destined plane. But he did not give us any such signal.

My sister and i were almost left behind by the pilots, who were eager to save their own hides. We both barely fit into the plane. We could barely close the hatch. A blonde woman sitting behind me told me in frightened tones that if we should have to get out, we were going to die because we would be suspected as zombies and shot. Yes, she was right.

I turned my head away when a prematurely graying white man said we would have to wait for Comstock, our pilot, and if he was not out within a minute, we would go find him. I did not tell him if we had to do that, I would kick him out of the plane and fly it myself.

I woke up, groggier than when I slid into bed two hours before. It was 8:40 am.