The Survivors

by Dinah McCall

  A long pause followed Evan’s question. It was enough to tie a hard knot in his gut.

  “Mr. O’Ryan, we’ve been trying to locate you for some time. Our information was that you were in the military.”

  “The operative word is ‘was.’ My injuries got me sent stateside.”

  “I see.”

  There was a long pause. Evan thought he heard the man sigh before he continued.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Ryan, but Flight 522 is missing. It went down in the mountains outside Carlisle, Kentucky, just after dark.”

  The shock, followed by a pain worse than any of those that had caused his wounds, sent Evan into a downward spiral as he slid to the floor, his voice breaking as he clutched the phone to his ear.

  “No, no, please God, no.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m terribly sorry.”

  “This can’t be happening. There must be some mistake.”

  “No, sir. I’m truly sorry. There’s no mistake.”

  “Survivors…there must be survivors?”

  The man sighed again. “At this point, we know nothing.”

  “You have to know something,” Evan said, and felt sick. He ducked his head between his knees to keep from losing consciousness, then took a deep breath. “You’ve already organized a search party?”

  “Yes, of course,” the man said.

  “Where?” Evan asked, and then choked on a sob.

  “In the mountains above Carlisle. If you’ll give me the number where you can be contacted, we will keep you informed of ongoing—”

  Bile rose to the back of Evan’s throat. “I’m not waiting for a phone call. I’m going to the crash site, myself. I’ve got to find my son.”

  “Sir, please! You’ll help us most by giving me your phone number. Once we have a headquarters established for the search site, we will—”

  “I’m not waiting,” Evan insisted, and rattled off his cell number, then hung up.

  The silence in the room was frightening.

  “Jesus,” he mumbled, as his vision blurred.

  The knot in his belly was so tight he thought he would throw up. The last time he’d been this scared was the day he’d come home from his wife’s funeral and realized he was going to have to raise their son all alone.

  Now this? He wouldn’t let himself even consider the possibility that Johnny might be dead. God couldn’t be that cruel.

  Then he thought of the phone call from Thorn. God in heaven, Grandpop had been right!

  Suddenly panic set in. He crawled to his knees, then got to his feet and stumbled through the house to his bedroom. He was shoving underclothes into a suitcase when he remembered he needed to book a flight.

  He stopped packing long enough to call the airline. Within minutes, he had a seat on a flight leaving at seven and went back to the chaos he’d made of the clothing on his bed.

  As he circled the bed to get his wristwatch, he glanced down at the picture on the table beside his bed. He sat down with a thump, picked up the photo, then began to cry.

  The picture was of Johnny sitting on Santa’s lap at the Galleria mall during their first Christmas alone. He stared at it until his vision blurred and his hands began to shake, then he put it back on the table, dashed into the bathroom and threw up.

  He was washing his face with cold water when he remembered he’d promised to call Thorn. It was nearly 5:00 a.m. where his grandpop lived. As he dialed the number, he wondered if the old man had gone back to bed. When the call was answered on the first ring, he knew better.

  Thorn’s voice was hesitant, as if he didn’t want to hear what Evan had to say.

  “Hello? Evan?”

  Evan took a deep breath, trying to settle the quaver in his voice, but it was no use.

  “Yeah, Grandpop, it’s me.”

  “What did you find out?” Thorn asked.

  “Johnny was on a plane with the Pollards. It went down in the mountains in Kentucky.”

  Even though Thorn had believed Marcella’s words, he was still shocked to hear them confirmed.

  “Oh, Lord,” he mumbled. “Tell me he’s one of the survivors.”

  “They don’t know anything yet,” Evan said. “I’m on a flight that’s leaving at seven. I’ll let you know more when I get to the crash site.”

  “They won’t let you anywhere near the site and you know it,” Thorn said. “Besides, you’re not in any physical shape to take off on a trip like that by yourself.”

  “I’m not waiting for answers, Grandpop. I can’t. I have to find him. I have to find my son.”

  Thorn felt sick.

  “I know, boy. I know. Where is the crash site located?”

  Evan swallowed past the knot in his throat.

  “In the mountains near a place called Carlisle, in Kentucky. I’ve got to go, Grandpop. I don’t have much time to pack, and I need to ask a favor.”

  “Anything,” Thorn said.

  “Call Dad and Granddad for me, will you? Tell them what’s happened, and that I’ll be in touch when I know something more. Oh, and call Harold Pollard, too, will you?”

  Thorn felt torn about what his call had unleashed. Even though he couldn’t ignore Marcella’s warning, he was unable to ignore Evan’s condition, as well.

  “Evan, son, you need to wait for—”

  “Grandpop, it’s my son we’re talking about. I’m supposed to take care of him, and instead, I’ve been in a damned desert a half a world away, trying to help take care of a mess that will never be resolved. If you were me, would you be willing to wait?”

  Thorn sighed.

  “No.”

  “Okay, then,” Evan said, then added, “I’ll be in Carlisle before noon.”

  “I’ll pray,” Thorn said.

  The muscles in Evan’s throat tightened as Thorn disconnected. He stood for a moment, then walked across the hall into his son’s bedroom and turned on the light.

  A bright red stuffed Elmo sat propped up on the pillows lying on top of Johnny’s Sesame Street bedspread. A Big Bird lamp was on the table beside the bed, and a Cookie Monster rug lay on the floor. Evan was shaking as he walked across the room and picked up Elmo.

  He turned out the lights, then walked back across the hall, tucked Elmo into a corner of his suitcase and finished packing his clothes. He glanced at the clock. It was time to leave for the airport. Then he looked at the photo of his son in Santa’s lap. The fear that had been threatening to undo him was turning into anger and a sense of purpose. Life had kicked him in the balls, but it wasn’t over. It was time to kick back.

  “Hang on, Johnny. Daddy’s coming,” he muttered, then grabbed his suitcase and headed for the door.

  2

  Seven hours earlier: Flight 522

  Molly Cifelli had been trying to sleep ever since she’d boarded the plane in Atlanta. She was flying home for Christmas break, with a brand new master’s degree in child psychology and a job with child welfare to begin after the first of the year. Since her parents’ deaths five years ago, home was no longer home but only a place to be away from school. Now that she’d graduated and was starting a job, she had to decide if she wanted to sell the family home or rent it out. She was leaning toward selling but still hadn’t made up her mind.

  The week of finals had been exhausting, but the satisfaction of knowing that she’d done well was worth all the sleep she’d sacrificed to get where she was today.

  Normally she was able to sleep anywhere, even on a plane. But this time she had the misfortune to be sitting behind two men who’d done nothing but argue since she’d boarded. She’d heard them address each other as Darren and Patrick, and she wondered why they were traveling together, since they obviously didn’t get along. Rarely could she hear what they were actually saying, and then only in bits and pieces. It was the angry tone of their lowered voices that told her their trip together was anything but pleasant. So, since sleep was out of the question, she turned her attention to the family group sitting directly across the aisl
e from her.

  The little boy called the elderly couple Grandad and Gran, and they called him Johnny. When he wasn’t looking, she stole glances, wondering if his father was the reason for his black hair and blue eyes, and if it was his mother who’d given him the dimple in his right cheek.

  Earlier she’d overheard the grandparents telling a flight attendant that the boy’s father was a soldier, and that their daughter, who was Johnny’s mother, had died when he was little more than a baby. When she heard them say that their son-in-law had been in Iraq and that they were taking Johnny home for Christmas, she could only imagine the joy of the father-son reunion.

  Finally she began to tune out the chatter around her as exhaustion claimed her. She sat with her eyes closed, only now and then catching snippets of the conversation across the aisle. She did hear the little boy brag to the attendant about how brave his daddy was, and that his daddy had been hurt but was getting all better. The innocence in his voice brought tears to her eyes. She wondered about the soldier who was also a single father and could only imagine how tough it must have been for him to go to war and leave his son behind.

  Eventually the flight attendant left, and for a few minutes, the area was quiet. Molly had just drifted off when, once again, the men sitting in front of her began to quarrel. She woke with a frown and caught herself holding her breath as the drama, all too audible in the otherwise silent plane, played out in grunts and whispers.

  “Damn it, Darren, I’ve already given you my final word. I’m not doing it, and that’s that.”

  “This is my life we’re talking about,” Darren said. “It’s just one vote for you. One simple ‘nay’ and the bill will die.”

  “And when word gets out that Senator Patrick Finn voted against a bill supporting the tobacco industry, it will be the vote that ends my career. I’m not responsible for your problems, and I’d appreciate it if you’d quit trying to make all this my fault. I’m not the one who gambles. I’m not the one who owes the mob. How much is it, anyway?”

  “How much is what?” Darren asked.

  “Your debt. What do you owe them? I’m curious, because I’ve always wondered what the true cost of betrayal might be.”

  “I’m not betraying anyone,” Darren said angrily.

  “Just the people who voted for you,” Patrick said. “Now, if you don’t stop this harassment, I’ll ask the attendant for another seat.”

  Molly held her breath. What on earth? It sounded as if the two men were politicians, but she couldn’t figure out what they were arguing about.

  Then the man called Patrick fired a last warning shot.

  “I’m sorry, Darren, but you’re mixed up with organized crime and I cannot stand aside and let you sell out our nation in the interests of the mob.”

  “What are you talking about?” Darren asked.

  “I’m talking about turning you in when the House goes back into session.”

  “You can’t!” Darren begged.

  “I can and I will,” Patrick said. “You’ve left me no choice.”

  “If you do that, they’ll kill me for sure.”

  Molly heard Patrick sigh, then heard the seat squeak in front of her. She was afraid to look up for fear they would be looking at her—that they’d realized she’d heard everything.

  Still, it shouldn’t have mattered. It wasn’t as if they could do anything to her right here on the plane, but she felt uneasy.

  “You should have thought of that before you sold your soul to the devil,” Patrick said at last. “Now, shut up and leave me alone. This discussion is over.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Molly thought the discussion was over, and then she heard Darren fire back a chilling response.

  “Don’t count on it, Patrick. Santa Fe is a long way from the airport. Anything can happen.”

  Patrick cursed. “Don’t threaten me, Darren. You don’t have the balls to do anything about it.”

  Now the silence between them was long and angry. Molly kept quiet and was glad she did, because Darren suddenly stood up and walked back toward the bathrooms. She imagined his gaze on her face, judging to make sure she was asleep. She felt threatened by what she’d overheard and prayed for a swift flight.

  A few minutes later she heard the man return to his seat, followed by a second series of short, angry whispers that she tried to ignore.

  Across the aisle, the little boy and his grandparents were blissfully unaware of the drama. She could hear them talking to one another, the grandparents laughing at the child’s comments and assuring him that Daddy’s wounds would soon heal.

  A short while later the attendants began serving beverages in the cabin, and the ongoing drama between the two men went silent. She pretended to awaken as the flight attendant offered her a cold drink. She busied herself with opening her package of salted pretzels and was chewing her first bite when it sounded as if something exploded beneath her feet. She felt the floor vibrating, immediately followed by a loud roar. When the oxygen masks suddenly dropped out of their overhead compartments and began dangling and swaying like airborne jellyfish, there was a collective gasp. As the plane dipped nose down and began to plunge toward earth, the screaming began. One by one the overhead storage compartments popped open, shopping bags, coats and carry-ons spilling out into the aisles and the passengers’ laps.

  The flight attendants valiantly pulled themselves up the aisle, fighting against gravity, shouting for the passengers to put their heads down and assume crash position. The scent of burning rubber and electrical wiring quickly filled the cabin, along with the first faint wisps of smoke.

  Molly’s screams froze in the back of her throat as she looked straight into the panicked gaze of a flight attendant. Her expression seemed to mirror what Molly felt. At the same time, Molly was saddened as a sense of inevitability swept over her. She thought of her parents. It seemed that she would be joining them far sooner than she would have imagined. She thought of the five long years she’d spent at college to become competent in a profession she would never get to practice.

  Then, just as suddenly as the plane had nosed down, it began to level off. There was a communal cry of thanksgiving from the passengers that ended when the windows began popping out of their openings. A wild rush of air flowed through the cabin, sucking the breath from Molly’s lungs so fast that screaming became impossible. In the fraction of a second before the plane hit solid ground, she thought she saw a winter forest of dead trees and green pines. Then an exit door flew off the hinges and everything went black.

  She never knew when her seat belt snapped, or when she was thrown out into the aisle on top of the carry-on luggage. Pain shattered her briefly into awareness as she landed facedown on the corner of someone’s briefcase. Before she could give voice to the pain, she lost consciousness again.

  Molly woke up to an intense blast of cold air in her face and an absolute silence. The quiet was surreal after the screams and the unending sounds of buckling metal and shattering timber. Her head was pounding, and as she lifted shaky hands to her forehead, she felt something wet running down the side of her face. She touched the spot, winced, and then shivered as her fingers came away covered in blood.

  When she tried to focus on something other than her injuries, she became disoriented all over again. It took a few moments for her to realize that the plane had come to rest on its side, then a few more seconds to see that no one else was moving.

  Her heartbeat skipped, then slammed against her rib cage with a panicked thud. Without moving, she could see the flight attendant who’d served her drink and pretzels, now wedged beneath some seats with her head lying at an awkward angle to the rest of her body. Her eyes were open, her mouth frozen in a scream of horror.

  An Asian businessman was still clutching the briefcase he’d had in his lap, although the entire right side of his head appeared to have been mashed inward.

  Molly stared until tears blurred her vision and her heart felt as if it would fly out of
her chest. She had a moment of overwhelming sorrow for what had happened, for what she was seeing, as well as guilty joy that she was still alive.

  She took a slow, unsteady breath and started to call out for help, hoping—praying—that someone besides herself had survived the wreck, and then she heard a man groan.

  “Darren…help me…I can’t feel my legs.”

  “My head…it’s killing me,” Darren said.

  She stifled a gasp. It was the two men who’d been arguing.

  At that point something fell; then the hull of the plane seemed to groan as it settled. The air was full of smoke, but the plane had yet to burst into flames.

  “Help me,” Patrick said again.

  “I’ll help you,” Darren said as he pulled himself up off the floor and loomed over Patrick, who was still strapped in his seat. “I’ll help you straight to hell.”

  Molly stifled a gasp. From where she was lying, she could see Darren as he got up. His head and nose were bloody, and he seemed to be dragging one leg, but he was mobile enough to put his hands around Patrick’s throat and end his life.

  Patrick’s struggles were weak. It took less than a minute for him to die.

  At that point Molly closed her eyes and began to pray. There was no one to come to their aid—no one to hear—and the cold, passionless expression she’d seen on the killer’s face was horrifying. When she heard footsteps moving toward her, her heart skipped a beat. Breathing as shallowly as she possibly could, she lay still—as still as the dead around her. When she heard the footsteps stop, her heart followed suit. When they finally moved away, she went weak with relief.

  Only when she could no longer hear anything but the wind, did she chance a peek. No one was moving inside the demolished cabin. Darren was gone.

  Before she could think what to do next, she heard someone crying, then the faint voice of a child.

  “Gramps…Gran…wake up. Please wake up.”

  The child! Dear God, the child was alive.

  Ignoring the pain that shot suddenly up her back, she crawled to her feet. Within seconds, a wave of nausea sent her reeling. It was all she could do to stagger through the bodies and debris to get to the little boy.