by Ian Bull
The floor opens and the Arab comes at me again, just as the floor levels out under my feet. That means the nose is about to tilt up. If I time this right….
He reaches me and punches me hard in the side, lifting me off the ground and shooting electrical pain up my spine. He rushes me just as the nose tilts up again, creating a sudden downhill slope toward the open rear of the plane. He’s off-balance. I jam my leg into his hip and go into a back roll. I flip him over me and launch him into open air. He disappears without a noise.
I finish my roll and go flat on my stomach with my limbs splayed, grabbing at the floor and trying to find a hold, but I’m sliding out the back. My feet reach open air and I’m about to go out.
I grab a buckle on the wall. The plane levels again and I dart back inside.
Blood pulses down the left side of Ming’s face. His left ear is gone now. The guy in the Dodgers cap has a swollen left arm from a snake bite. They both block kicks coming from the playboy, two wounded fighters losing strength against the one without any wounds. The jet noise drops on the left side. One engine always uses more fuel than the other. If it dies first, we’ll go into a spin and all die.
“Listen! There are three chutes! And five of us! We can all get out!” I scream.
They turn and listen. The still-clean cameras move in their domes, automatically focusing on our movements. The broadcast is happening, and the audience is watching.
“How?” Ming asks. He’s got the survival pack already on him.
“Tandem jump. It’s called a Mr. Bill.”
The playboy looks at me. “No. There are three chutes for three fighters,” he says, and points at himself, Ming, and the guy in the Dodger cap. “You and Crybaby crash with the plane.”
We have less than five minutes. Glancing around, I spot six unopened metal boxes—three bolted against the ceiling, and three more against the floor of the plane in the middle zone near the seats. The remaining chutes are there.
I run for the overhead box. Mr. Playboy tries to intercept me, but the Dodger jumps on his back. Mr. Playboy knocks him off and chases me. The moving floor closes in my favor, and I get to the first overhead box. I pop it open and a chute flies out—right into the playboy’s hands.
He laughs and runs for the back of the plane. Ming is too weak, so he lets him pass and opens another metal box instead. A smoke bomb explodes in his face, knocking him back.
The playboy steps into his leg and shoulder harnesses, clips the belly and the chest straps, adjusts the diamond in his pockets, and then runs toward the back of the plane. He dives into open air in a perfect spread eagle, and his chute opens.
It’s a textbook perfect jump. Asshole.
Ming is groggy from the explosion and the blood loss. The Dodger is on the floor, his arm swollen like a football. The snake venom will take his arm and maybe his life.
I pop open the next two boxes. A snake flies out of one and scurries away. A chute is in another. The plane’s phugoid roller coaster is getting wild, like ocean waves. The floor closes under me as I open another overhead box and the last chute flies out.
I yank the Dodger fan to his feet. He’s in pain, but he steps into the harness. That energizes him, and he uses his one good arm to tighten the harnesses on his legs and shoulders. His right arm is too swollen to throw any deployment chute, though, and he can’t reach the back of the pack with his left hand. I yank him over to Ming, who struggles to his feet.
The nose pitches up again. We dash downhill across the moving floor that’s opening over the rear fight area. We jump to make it over the gap. We fall onto our butts, scrambling to keep from getting sucked out the rear door. Looking down, I can see we’re over land again. We crossed the Sea of Cortez and are over the Baja Peninsula…but not for long.
I grab the Dodgers fan’s left hand and force his fingers under Ming’s GoPro harness. I then yank Ming’s hands and force his fingers under the Dodgers fan’s shoulder harnesses.
“Hang on to each other! Loop your feet together!” I shout into their ears over the wind. “Ming! Get your toes inside his thighs! Stick them in that thigh harness!’
Ming kicks off his shoes and forces his toes up into Rico’s crotch and under the parachute harness around his thighs. They’re frozen like two fighting rock climbers.
“Ming’s got the food and medicine! Dodger’s got the diamonds! Roll when you hit the ground! Three, two, one!”
I pop the deployment chute. It gets sucked out the back. They roll off the back edge and disappear downward as the wind grabs them. Their chute opens, and Ming hangs on.
The engines sputter and moan, but keep going. If one goes out while the other keeps going, we’ll spin and crash. I open another chest and there’s water inside. I grab it and stick it in my sweat pants. I open another and the chute pops out.
The nose tilts down. We’re tumbling downhill the entire length of the plane and slam full-force into the cockpit door. Snow sings to himself on the floor.
I slap his face. “Help me! You have to get this on!”
I hold open the parachute straps. He steps into the harnesses, moving his arms and legs like a boy trying to help his mommy get his pajamas on. He even whines like a little kid who can’t be bothered.
I tighten the leg harnesses, then the shoulder harnesses. I clip the front clasps.
“Where’s Tina?” he asks.
I must find out who Tina is.
He’s secure. I heave him over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry, the kind of carry you reserve for your wounded buddies, and here I am helping the man who tried to kill me. But he knows the names of the well-dressed boss and the curly-haired producer.
The nose goes up again. I stumble down the plane interior, but we fall into the front fighting pit. I heave him out next to the airline chairs. He rolls away. I get up and keep him from falling into the rear fighting area. We wait for the floor to close again.
It does, and I yank him across the closed floor. The left engine sputters. The nose tilts down, and we’re fighting to go uphill again. We reach the rear door. I force Robert’s right hand onto the parachute deployment latch. I scream into his ear. “You feel that?”
I loop my hand deep under the parachute shoulder harnesses and lock my legs tight around his. We are right at the door and over water.
“Pull that lever and throw the chute!” I scream, and roll us out.
We roll out into an eighty-mile-an-hour wind tunnel and start spinning. We’re less than 2,000 feet up, with only ten seconds before we hit. If I reach for the release, the chute will deploy and yank me away. I need to hang on with both hands. The wind sucks the moisture from my eyes. I can barely see. Robert must deploy the chute.
Robert blinks. He’s awake.
I nod at him vigorously.
He flips the lever and tosses the deployment chute.
I tighten my muscles as the solid air opens the chute, grabbing Robert from the back of the neck and yanking him up into the air. The drag wrenches my arms from their shoulder sockets, but I hang on. I lift my dangling legs and position them against Robert’s thighs.
He laughs and tilts his head back. He’s high as a kite, with blood running out of his broken nose and down his face. We’re floating down toward the water. I look back and see the shoreline in the distance. We are a long way out to sea, probably ten miles.
Beyond us, both jet engines stop at the same time. The plane stalls with the nose up and falls from the sky. It slaps the surface hard and breaks behind the wings. There’s no cartwheeling, no spinning, no parts and pieces flying off. It just breaks in two. In ten seconds, the massive blue and gold pieces of plane sink underwater.
And Robert and I are drifting down. The vast Pacific Ocean, which just swallowed a plane, is rushing up to meet us. We’ll be wet in less than two minutes.
Chapter 54
* * *
Julia Travers
Game Day
Outside Cananae, Mexico
The line of five men
walk along the tarmac, examining the runway. They walk three feet and shout if they spot any evidence, and Gorney and Taylor rush over. So far, they’ve found one airplane bolt, gum wrappers, and a Doritos bag.
Sony Pictures is sending the jet for me, but that won’t arrive for at least four hours. I shouldn’t have kept my promise to Steven. I should have turned him in the moment he got back from Hong Kong. He’d be angry, but alive.
“Stop!” Gorney shouts and the line halts. They found more gum wrappers.
No word from the Mexican Air Force, no word from the Air Defense Identification Zone, no word from the FAA. The plane took off from here, but where is it?
Carl and Agent de La Mora are walking toward me. The wind blows their ties all over the place, and their nice dark suits are covered in a thin layer of dust. They are not rushing, which is not a good sign. They even seem to be slowing down.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He takes off his glasses. “They lost radar of the plane. They think it crashed in the deep ocean, thirty miles off the coast of Baja.”
The news washes over me. I look out at the mountains, green and brown in the hot afternoon sun, and try to feel if Steven is still alive. I feel nothing.
Chapter 55
* * *
Robert Snow
Game Day
In the Pacific Ocean
“Stop drinking the water,” Quintana says.
“I’m thirsty. I just need a sip,” I say.
“It’s seawater. It’ll kill you.”
Another swell rolls over us and another cool splash lands in my mouth, so I swallow.
“Who’s Tina?” Quintana asks again. “What’s her last name?”
“Leave me alone,” I say, but he keeps at it.
“Who’s the rich guy? Was he on the yacht in Hong Kong?”
“I told you, I don’t know his name.”
“You must call him something.”
“I called him Boss Man. That’s what he wanted me to call him.”
The sun burns my skin. Where the hell are we? We landed in the water hours ago. The swells are huge, up and down, a dark blue color with white tops.
“What’s Tina’s last name?”
“Tina Swig,” I finally say.
“Where’s she from?” he asks. So many questions.
“She’s from El Paso, Texas. But you’ll never find her. Boss Man will give her and her son new identities.”
Another wave slaps me in the face. I tilt my head back. My hands rest on Quintana’s shoulders as he swims breaststroke for both of us.
“What’s this called again?”
“The tired swimmer’s assist.”
“It’s like you’re trying to screw me.”
“I’m trying to save your life, asshole.”
Another swell rises under us. I raise my head and look around. There’s nothing but ocean. Why are we even trying?
“We’re going to die,” I say.
“How did you find Boss Man?”
“I first met him in a casino in Macao. But he’s from everywhere.”
Quintana’s arm brushes my leg and it feels like sandpaper. “What’s wrong with you?” I shout. “I’m telling you what I know!”
“That wasn’t me, that was a shark. We have to get back to back.”
“What?” I feel it brush past me again.
“Get back to back! Kick at them when they come close!”
“Them? Shit!”
We get back to back, but I can’t swim like he can. My legs are cramping. I must get out of the water. I must get higher. I climb up on Quintana and push him under. I must get out.
Chapter 56
* * *
Steven Quintana
Game Day
In the Pacific Ocean
Snow is trying to climb on top of me as if my head is dry land. “Stop it! Listen to me!” I scream, but he can’t hear me. Drowning people freak out and gain superpowers, and Snow has turned into the Hulk. If he gets too tight a grip, he’ll drown us both. I turn my back to him, tuck my chin close to my chest, and let him grab me around the head with both arms.
I let myself sink, then find the pressure point under his left elbow. I push up against his elbow with my left hand while pulling his wrist down hard with my right and break his arm. He screams, but lets me go.
I swim away and turn. He lurches at me, super strong with fear, like a man digging a hole with both hands. I drive my hand into his chest and knock the wind out of him, then get behind him and reach my arm over his shoulder, across his chest, and under his armpit. Now I can swim sidestroke with my one free arm, while my other arm holds him tight across the chest.
The sharks keep bumping us, but they’re not biting. They’re still checking us out.
Snow gets his wind back and thrashes. I grab my wrist underwater, locking my arm across his chest, and roll. When he fights toward the right, I roll right. When he fights toward the left, I roll left, until our faces pop out of the water again.
It takes two minutes, but he calms down. I release my grip, tilt his head back, and tow him by his chin, swimming sidestroke. The swells break over his face and he gasps for air. I’m a good swimmer, but he’s drained me. I have to keep this clown alive to find out what he knows, but if something doesn’t happen soon, we’re screwed.
A shark bumps us hard and Snow’s eyes open. “Damn it. That shark ate my leg.”
He must be hallucinating. But when I reach down, his right leg is missing from the knee down. The shark bit his leg clean off and then disappeared.
Snow’s face turns white. I hold his face out of water and he gasps for air. He looks at me.
“I’m good at what I do. She said I was the best.”
“I know you are.”
Another white cap smacks us in the face with a slap of seawater. Snow spits out water and gasps for air. “I’m wide awake now. I can see everything.”
“That’s good.”
He looks up, as if searching for something. “All I see is blue sky.”
“There are no clouds today.”
His face turns from white to gray. His body goes limp and I fight to keep his face out of the water. “She knew Boss Man’s first name. She called him Douglas.”
“Tina Swig did?”
He nods.
I remember the water bottle from the plane that I stuck in my sweat pants, but when I dig in my pocket it’s gone.
His eyes are fluttering. He’s trying to say something, so I tilt him toward me and put my ear next to his mouth.
“Second sight…clairvoyance…second…” he whispers.
Is he seeing the afterlife? I stroke his face, but as his body loses the rest of its blood….
He dies.
I stare at the blue sky and remember my prayers from St. Cecilia’s. “Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace,” I whisper, and let his body drift away.
The hot sun is burning my head, neck and shoulders. I wish I still had my jersey, but it sank with the plane. I pull my sweatpants off underwater, tie the two legs together, then stick my head in the hole between, with the waist tie underwater. Kicking hard, I rise out of the water high enough to scoop air into the pant legs, and then pull the drawstring tight. The pant legs around my head inflate.
I tilt my head back and rest. I have a life vest. Kind of. The air will slowly escape and I’ll have to do it all over again, but I might survive a little while longer.
Chapter 57
* * *
Julia Travers
Game Day
Somewhere over Mexico
Carl wanted to get on the jet, but the pilot wouldn’t let him.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked the pilot.
“All I know is you’re not on the studio’s VIP list,” the pilot said, and I couldn’t convince him either. Carl doesn’t have clout in my world, just like I don’t have clout in his.
Now I’m the only passenger on a
sleek jet, flying into the setting sun over a vast blue ocean, and all I had to do to get it was to promise Sony that I’d do a movie for them within two years. My agency will be very upset when they find out I closed this deal without them.
But I may not have to do it, because no one will want to work with me anyway. No one wants to work with someone who’s had a complete and total nervous breakdown.
“Would you like another cranberry juice?” the flight steward asks.
“Yes, please.”
We’re going to La Paz. Maybe I’ll find something.
But I don’t think we’ll find Steven alive.
I don’t think we’ll find Steven at all.
Chapter 58
* * *
Steven Quintana
Day 16: Sunday
In the Pacific Ocean
Japanese voices shout at me. My eyes and mouth are swollen shut from the sun and salt water. Someone dribbles water into my mouth, and I choke until my swallow reflex kicks in.
They pull at my arms and legs, and I scream as my burned skin peels off. They drag me inside a dark room. A bright light turns the inside of my eyelids pink, but I can’t open my eyes. I feel cotton sheets underneath me, which hurts.
Then ice. That feels nice. Give me lots of ice. Numb me, please.
They cover my legs and my arms and my chest with ice cubes. My skin is shedding, but I can’t feel anything anymore. A voice speaks English with a Japanese accent.
“Are you a man fish?” the voice asks. He touches my forehead. My scales hurt.
