by Jim Heskett
Micah’s heart vibrated in his chest.
The woman squinted at the seat number on the opposite aisle, then turned back to Micah and slid into the seat next to him.
Welcoming smile that lit up her face like a match in a dark room.
“Hi,” she said. “We’re going to be neighbors for a few hours.”
He cycled through a dozen responses but didn’t like any of them. “Looks like it,” he said, and immediately felt stupid. A cool guy would have probably shrugged and ignored her because that’s what cool guys do.
He seemed to remember being cool once, but that had been a long time ago. Plus, he’d barely spoken to anyone at all for the last week. And that had been the point.
The woman buckled her belt and offered Micah a hand to shake. When she did, her arm pulled the sleeve of her shirt tight, highlighting a muscled shoulder and the pronounced curve of a bicep. Fitness type. Even with the muscles, she still exuded femininity.
“Olivia McDonough.” She had a hint of an accent, something eastern but a bit drawl-y, maybe Virginia or Maryland.
“Micah Reed.” After hearing her accent, he wondered if his grungy Oklahoma twang had come through. He’d done his best to shed the inflections when he’d moved to Denver.
“Well, Micah Reed,” she said, “if you’re not the chatty type, let me know. I don’t want to bug you if you were planning to plug up your ears with headphones and watch a movie.”
He shrugged. “A little conversation wouldn’t bother me at all.”
Micah noticed she’d pivoted in her seat to face him, and was looking him straight in the eye.
“Business or pleasure?” she said.
“Pleasure. I went on a little vacation for my birthday.”
“Oh? Happy birthday.”
“Thank you. I spent the last week camping and hiking in Sequoia National Park and then Yosemite. Just me and the trees and the mountains.”
She sniffed the air near him and smirked. “You don’t smell like you’ve been camping all week.”
He tapped a knowing finger against the side of his nose. “Exactly. That’s why I got a motel last night so I could shower this morning.”
“Hmm. Smart man.”
“What about you, Olivia?”
“I showered last night.”
Micah rolled his eyes but still found himself grinning. This woman was quick-witted and a little feisty. He liked that.
“I have some clients in Fresno. Come out here a couple times a year, in the fall and the spring. I don’t mind it so much. I usually take a day for myself, drive out to Monterey and lounge on the beach. Anything so I can leave my phone in the glove compartment.”
If he hadn’t felt so before, now that she’d said the line about ditching her phone, he was positive this woman was a kindred spirit.
“You live in Denver?” he said.
She shook her head. “Got a couple weeks off work, so I’m going to see some friends. Maybe you can point me to some of your favorite spots? Like a good place to get a drink downtown?”
He felt a shade of blush color his cheeks. “I, uh, don’t drink.”
“Oh,” she said, and he could sense her pulling away. Any time he had to tell someone he didn’t drink, a little divide popped up. Worse, if they asked him why he didn’t drink. Same with telling people he wasn’t on social media. He could see they itched to ask why, but he rarely offered anything further. He couldn’t tell anyone that if a clear picture of him became public and the wrong people saw it, that would be a death sentence for him, and probably his family, too.
“I can recommend some good places to eat, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what to tell you about bars in Denver.”
After a pause, she said, “No problem. I’m sure I can find out what I need on my own.”
CHAPTER THREE
An hour or so into the flight, Micah found himself drifting in and out of sleep. The repetitive whir of the plane engines and the constant forward motion made his eyelids weigh as much as boulders. But every time his head lolled forward or to the side, he caught himself and jerked back awake.
Olivia napped in the seat next to him. She looked hot even while sleeping, something most humans couldn’t pull off. No snoring, no mouth lolling open with drool making her lip shiny. She slept gracefully, with a tiny hint of a smile on her face as she did. Micah wondered what she might be dreaming about. Those clients of hers in Fresno, probably.
His daydreams about Olivia came to a sudden halt when the plane hit a jolt of turbulence, rattling drinks on trays around him. The seatbelt sign lit up, and a pong sound came from above. People murmured as if they’d received a piece of bad news.
Another jolt. Like someone was shaking the plane from the outside. Had put the plane on vibrate. The sudden and sharp nature of it unsettled him. The pilot was supposed to warn them of these things.
A few heads poked up above the seats, necks craned around, as if they could find the source of the turbulence. A scratchy voice came from the overhead speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen,” it said, and then the rest disappeared as another shake rattled the plane.
A woman at the front of economy class who’d been standing outside the bathroom smacked her head on the folding door, then stumbled down the aisle. “Holy crap,” she said, fiercely rubbing her hand against her temple. She wobbled as she tried to find her seat.
A moment later, a man came out of the bathroom, water dripping from his hands and his fly undone. Look of confusion on his face.
Flight attendants dashed down the aisle toward the man, warning him and other standing people to sit and fasten their seat belts. They didn’t seem to have the same cool and calm smiles on their faces they usually wore.
Micah glanced at the back of the plane, and one of the flight attendants was talking into a corded phone. Gravely nodding.
Something was wrong here.
The plane rocked and then sank, and Micah’s stomach dropped, that feeling of the beginning of the descent on a roller coaster. Olivia woke up, grasping her stomach.
“What’s happening?”
“Turbulence,” Micah said.
The plane rocked back and forth, making everything shimmy. A man, two seats over from them, had been watching television on the in-seat screen, but it turned to static.
“I’ve never felt it so bad before,” she said. “This is crazy.”
Micah raised the plastic window cover to find the evening sky outside blanketed with charcoal clouds. Several miles away, a bolt of lightning shot through the sky like a knife scratching paper. He reached into his pocket and gripped the severed head of a Boba Fett action figure. He’d been carrying around this little trinket since high school. A gift from his father.
Olivia leaned over Micah’s lap, gazing out the window. The scent of her shampoo invaded his nostrils. Something fruity. Despite the rumble of fear in his chest, he felt an overpowering urge to lean in and get a good sniff. Imagined himself running his hands through it, putting a finger under her chin to lift her head and meet her lips with his own.
Another jolt hit the plane, and her head smacked him in the collarbone. She sat back, massaging the top of her head. “Ouch. Sorry about that. Are you sure this is just turbulence?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea what’s going on.”
The plane dipped again, and Micah’s lunch rose from his stomach into his throat. A few rows ahead, a pair of hands shot into the air, and a phone went flying. A movie or tv show lit up the phone’s screen. Micah almost recognized the show, but the phone slammed back down into a different aisle. Objects around the cabin of the plane were like tennis balls on a trampoline. Stationary, then suspended in mid-air for a second.
“What the hell is the problem?” a man from several rows forward said. He stepped into the aisle, and then a burst rocked the plane, and he bent to the side, smacking into the passenger across from him. Micah could hear the thunk of their heads colliding. The man stood back up, a dribble of blood now cascading dow
n his forehead. He babbled something about this being unacceptable and then sunk into his seat.
Micah peered out the window again. Another bolt of lightning, this one closer. Now he was starting to feel short of breath. Genuine notion that something was very wrong here. He didn’t know if planes were lightning-proof, but it couldn’t be good news to be struck by lightning.
The turbulence was now rumbling the plane non-stop. Like sitting in a hyperactive massage chair, shaking everything. Micah’s ears and nose itched from the constant jiggling. He pinched Boba’s head so tightly he worried he might crush it.
All around him, people chattered and pressed their call buttons, but no flight attendants were rushing out to help. They were probably strapped into their chairs at the back, not willing to risk being tossed at the cabin ceiling.
The captain’s voice came on again as the plane took another steep dive, but he was interrupted as the outside filled with light. Bright as day.
At the same moment came the sound of something crashing, as if a car had collided with the plane. The cabin lurched and the outside returned to darkness. Out the window, Micah could see one of the engines and a trail of sparks shooting out from it.
“Oh, shit,” he said. “That’s definitely not supposed to happen.” A few passengers were now shouting, but Micah could barely hear what they were saying over the sounds of the storm. Bursts of white scratched the dark outside. Rain streaked the window, making everything hard to see.
Olivia reached into the seat back pocket and yanked out the barf bag. Her skin had become tinged with green. “What? What’s not supposed to happen?”
“I think we just got hit by lightning.”
Micah realized he was strapped in a chair inside a hunk of metal flying through space, and he couldn’t do anything to change that fact. Whatever happened after this moment was entirely out of his hands.
Overhead, the plastic panels above the seats popped open, and the air masks dropped down, like the tentacles of a hundred octopi reaching out to caress each passenger.
That’s when people started screaming. Every person on the plane writhed and fidgeted in their seats, like one big organism strapped down into flying death chairs. Frantic hands snatched at the oxygen masks.
Micah grabbed the mask and slipped the elastic band over the back of his head. His breath pushed steam into the plastic bag, and his rapid inhalations almost matched the pulse of his heart. He couldn’t swallow. Felt like the seatbelt was imprisoning him, and he had an overpowering urge to escape from it and run. But there was nowhere to go.
Olivia clenched his arm. “I don’t want to die,” she said through her mask. At least, that’s what Micah thought she’d said.
He knew he should have probably replied it’s okay, we’re going to be fine, when we get through this we’ll laugh about it, but all he said was, “I don’t either.”
The sparks continued to fly from the engine outside Micah’s window. The captain was still speaking, but Micah couldn’t hear anything over the screams and shouts of the passengers. Babies crying. The woman in the seat ahead of him was praying, but she lost control of the rosary beads in her hand, and they launched ten rows behind her.
Olivia buried her face in Micah’s shoulder. He had a fleeting thought that being in a plane crash was a much better way to get a woman close than watching a horror movie. Guaranteed physical contact. What an odd thing to think at a time like this.
He put his hand on hers, holding her close. She smelled like strawberries, and her skin had a palpable warmth to it. The close contact eased his racing pulse a little, and he tried to normalize his breathing.
She pulled free and looked up at him with frantic eyes. “I’ve cheated on my taxes every year for at least the last ten years. I keep expecting them to audit me, but it doesn’t ever happen. I don’t know why I do it.”
So this was confession time. The thought occurred to him to reveal to her that his name wasn’t actually Micah, but he couldn’t do it. He’d told too many people his secret already.
“That’s okay,” he said. “Most everybody does.”
She smiled and wrapped her arms around his waist. Struck Micah how crazy it was that they were in a plane minus an engine, hurtling toward the earth, and he was so smitten with this woman that being next to her almost made it okay. Here lies Micah Reed - at the end, he died cuddling with a hot chick, so he had that going for him.
The bumps from the turbulence came rattling so fast that little objects flew around the plane. A package of pretzels. A plastic cup. In the darkened cabin, people’s phones and tablets danced in the air like shooting stars.
He could feel the plane tilting. He leaned forward in his seat, involuntarily. They were headed for the ground. They were going to crash, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
Micah held Olivia tight, and she wept against his shoulder. He peered out the window again, and the sparks had stopped streaking from the engine, but the plane was still diving. Through a break in the clouds, he could see the jagged lines of the mountains west of Denver, some still with late-spring snow capping their peaks.
He’d been excited to see his adopted home again, but not like this.
The descent picked up speed. Micah felt faint as gravity increased. His eyes wanted to shut. His brain ordered him to sleep, pulling him down into blackness. He couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the plane, the constant rattling of the tray tables, and the babbling din of the terrified passengers.
Micah closed his eyes and let sleep take him since he didn’t think he could resist any longer. As his head lolled forward, the oxygen mask around his face loosened.
And then it stopped.
The plane leveled off, and the roar dimmed back to the normal volume. The ground stayed at an even pace below.
People around Micah started to poke their heads above the seats again. Some laughed. Some clapped. Some shouted about how they were going to sue the airline into bankruptcy. Within ten seconds, talk of a class action suit had already inserted itself into the conversation.
Olivia, who had succumbed to the force of gravity and nodded off, pried open her eyelids and looked up at Micah. “What happened?”
He brushed her hair back from her head. The way she gazed at him, the question in her eyes, made him feel like a protector. Made him feel like he’d done something worthwhile, when all he’d done was not piss his pants.
“It’s over.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Olivia sat in Denver International Airport, waiting to return to normal. It hadn’t happened yet. Her hands wouldn’t stop trembling. She’d been close to death on more than one occasion, but never when she hadn’t done something to warrant being in that situation. A bolt of lightning decides to strike in a randomly specific location, and that’s it. The plane goes down. Everyone is dead.
Or, the plane almost goes down. She was still alive.
She watched Micah step onto the escalator. When she’d first sat down next to him on the flight, he hadn’t seemed cute, but he’d grown on her quickly. That unintentional sort of charm that comes from a lack of sophistication. Not the same kind of unsophistication as an unshaven cowboy in a dive bar might have, but more like the type of guy who doesn’t know he’s attractive and has no hidden agenda. A refreshing change from the guys she was accustomed to flirting with. The ones who looked at her and saw a collection of pretty holes to violate.
But she also knew how dangerous Micah was.
He turned and gave her one last wink, and she waved back. He held up the little slip of paper on which she’d written her phone number.
It wasn’t a real phone number, of course. But it was the only thing she had thought of at the time. She’d had a plan before getting on the flight, and then everything went straight to shit. The plane wasn’t supposed to almost crash. That had been a truck-sized wrench in the works. She’d barely been able to speak to Micah at all because of that chaos, and barely able to keep herself together. Hadn’
t extracted any of the information she’d planned to learn.
Her neck ached from the constant tension of that episode. Admitting the thing about cheating on her taxes had been dumb, but in the heat of the moment, she could have said a lot worse. She could have given away her real purpose for being on that flight.
She stood up from the seat at gate 43 and ran a hand through her hair to pull it back into a ponytail. Across the building at gate 44, a little girl was standing below her mother, trying to reach up and take the mother’s phone from her hands. The toddler couldn’t have been more than three years old. At that age, so helpless against the world. The mother swatted at those tiny hands, and the girl pouted. Stuck out her lower lip and crossed her arms. She stopped short of stomping her feet, but that would probably come next.
Olivia felt her food swimming in her stomach. She’d only not thrown up through some miracle. Divine intervention, or something like that. If only she had the time to seek out a five-star masseuse in Denver and indulge in a couple of hours of recuperation. It might take someone that long just to work the knots out of her shoulders.
The phone in her purse vibrated, and she dug it out.
“I just heard about the flight,” a male voice said. “Are you okay?”
She used her free hand to pinch her shoulder as she sauntered back toward the terminal. Glanced back at the mother and daughter. The mother had given the phone to the child eventually, of course.
“Olivia?”
The urgency and worry in his voice annoyed her, but she didn’t know why. “It’s fine, Jeremy. No one was injured, and the plane landed without any problems. NTSB was here, running around like chickens with their heads cut off. They got my info for a follow-up interview.”
He mumbled something about keeping a low profile, but she couldn’t hear him clearly.
“Apparently,” she said, “planes don’t need all of the engines, which makes me wonder why they bother having all of them in the first place. Where are you?”
