Eternal Youth

by Julia Crane

  Whether this is true or not, I couldn’t tell you. Metaphor or literal? Meh. But I have a feeling we’ll have just as much luck searching for a snake on this mountain as we would searching for the fountain of youth.

  I think it’s BEYOND time for this charade to end.

  There was something that just didn’t feel safe about smaller planes. The rickety, smaller-sized wings and the cramped cabin did not instill security in a girl.

  Callie had snagged the single seat on the right-hand side of the plane, while her mother and Gran sat opposite her. They were just a little further ahead of her so that she was really between their seats and the seats behind them.

  A girl who appeared to be no older than Callie was sitting behind them. She’d smiled at Callie when she boarded the plane as she had shoved her bright purple duffel bag in the overhead compartment. She was a pretty girl with long ebony hair in lots of tiny braids and mocha-colored skin. Her almond-shaped eyes were black as ink, and her high cheekbones seemed to support them like royalty.

  Bored during take-off without her tablet, Callie passed the time wondering who the dark-haired girl was. She seemed to be traveling alone; Callie wondered if she was going on vacation or if she was returning home to the islands after a visit to the States. Her clothes were nice—a pair of black skinny jeans with an obvious designer label and a silky tank top that draped her torso like a napkin. Callie thought she looked like a model: tall, stick-thin, and gorgeous.

  As they leveled out near the cloud line, Callie pulled out her Kindle to read. The screen blinked on; it looked bright in the dim cabin. She pushed up the cover to her window only to find it was dark gray outside. No help there.

  The plane hit a rough patch and rumbled, like a car over a cobblestone road. Callie’s heart fell into her stomach and she gripped both arms of her chair, squeezing her eyes shut.

  The “fasten seatbelt” sign dinged on above Callie’s head.

  “Ladies and gentleman.” The kind, bland voice from the cockpit crackled to life on the loudspeaker. “We will be experiencing some slight turbulence. Please turn off all electronic devices until we give the all-clear. As you can see, the fasten seatbelt sign is now on. Please remain in your seats with all belongings stowed beneath the chair in front of you. We should clear this pretty quickly, folks.”

  The PA system shut off its slight whine, and the cabin fell into silence. Callie exchanged glances with her Gran, who smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, honey. Turbulence happens all the time.”

  Callie remembered her sensation of trouble back at the airport. She held the button to power off her tablet, then stowed it in her bag. Her heart was pounding too fast to focus on a book, anyway.

  The cabin was stuffy. Callie pulled off her light blue cardigan and shoved it in her backpack, thankful she’d worn a tank top beneath the sweater. Her breath caught in her throat as a wing dipped; her stomach flip-flopped as if she were on a roller coaster.

  A long-fingered, manicured hand touched Callie’s arm, startling her. It was the pretty girl; her fingers were warm and moist on Callie’s bare skin.

  “It’s common in this area,” the girl said with a grin. Her teeth were even and white; a slash of bright in her dark face that made her look otherworldly. Callie couldn’t place exactly what kind of accent the girl had; it certainly sounded like it came from the islands, but her English was perfect.

  Callie turned in her seat and eyed the girl. “Why’s that?”

  The girl turned her palms to the ceiling. “The Bermuda Triangle.”

  Callie burst out laughing and momentarily forgot the turbulence. “Oh, come on. That’s just legend.”

  The girl smiled enigmatically. “Is it?”

  “What’s your name?” Callie asked. She pulled a knee into her seat to give her a little more room to turn around.

  “Nailah. And you?”

  Callie pronounced the unfamiliar name in her head—nigh-EE-luh. “Calista. Are you from Bermuda?”

  Nailah nodded, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she addressed Callie in a low voice. “Born and raised in Bermuda. I moved to the States a couple years ago to live with an aunt. This is my first time returning to see my parents.”

  “Congrats. Are you excited?”

  The girl shrugged again. “I suppose. I had to give up a shoot to come.”

  “A shoot?”

  “I’m a model.” Another white smile.

  “I’m not,” Callie replied dryly.

  “So, what are you doing, Calista? Vacation? School trip?”

  “I’m not in school, actually. I’m home-schooled. I’m on vacation with my mother and grandmother.” Callie motioned to them as she spoke, and then gripped the seat handles once more as the plane bucked. A significant loss of altitude left her gasping for air. She didn’t even realize Nailah had taken her hand.

  “It’s okay, Calista. It’s over,” Nailah said soothingly.

  Callie needed something—anything—to take her mind off the constant turbulence. Probably a hundred different flights in my lifetime and I’ve never experienced something like this. Swallowing hard, she asked, “So. Bermuda Triangle, huh?”

  Nailah nodded. “Sure. You know about it, correct?”

  “Just that it’s an area of the Atlantic between Bermuda, Puerto Rico, and Florida, and some people think it’s cursed.”

  “It’s not a theory, Calista. It is cursed.” Her solemn declaration was punctuated by another dip in the wingspan, and Callie fought to maintain her cool.

  “It’s all hearsay. Didn’t someone prove it was something to do with the earth’s electromagnetic force?” Callie was pulling from a store of information she’d gathered years before, when she was in elementary school with an actual teacher.

  “Erroneous on the part of an author. There’s a difference between having theories and having proof.” Nailah took a deep breath and tucked one side of her braided hair behind an ear. “There’s a phenomenon spoken of many times—even by Charles Lindburgh—called electronic fog. A mix of cloud and electromagnetic force that clings to aircraft. It sends all the electronics aboard the plane into madness.”

  “So, it can be explained.”

  Nailah shook her head. “The Bermuda Triangle is an enigma that spans much farther back than most people know. Studies began in 1894 and have continued ever since. The area was already well-known for ghost ships—ships adrift without passengers—when it became popularized. And of course, when we began flying, planes began to go missing.”

  Another ten-seconds of the plane dancing jarred Callie’s teeth in her head.

  “The US Coast Guard documents these ships and planes,” Nailah went on in the pause afterwards. “It’s public record. You cannot deny that a 5000-ton ocean liner existed. Last seen entering the Triangle, and then vanished…”

  “Could we not talk about this anymore?” Callie asked, tightening her grip on Nailah’s hand. Her head banged against the seat as they hit another patch. “This turbulence sucks.”

  Nailah glanced at her watch, and then frowned. “What…?” She gently pulled her hand from Callie’s and tapped the face of her watch several times.

  “What?” Callie glanced at her Gran and Mom, who were conversing in low tones.

  “My watch stopped working,” Nailah murmured.

  The plane fell. It wasn’t just a quick dip and an easy righting; Callie screamed at the sensation of free-fall and clutched the seat in front of her. She saw a man at the head of the plane fly from his seat and smash into the ceiling. Cries rang out from the passengers as he tumbled limply to the floor.

  “Callie!” Emma called hysterically. “Callie, are you alright?”

  “No! This is insane!”

  They dipped once more, the nose of the plane tipping downward. Callie turned to look out her window—the fog was pale yellow and so thick that Callie couldn’t see anything. Not even sunshine, and definitely not the ground.

  Another hard jerk sent Callie’s knees into t
he seat in front of her; there was sputtering from the drone of the plane’s engine…

  And then silence.

  There was a collective gasp as everyone in the plane realized what it meant.

  In the split second they hovered, Gran glanced over her shoulder at Callie, her face pained. “I love you, sugar.” Beside her, Emma sobbed.

  Callie heard Nailah moan, and reached a hand across the aisle for her. The girls gripped hands tightly and held on as the plane plummeted.

  Someone yelled out, “Brace yourself!”

  Callie thought of all the drills she had heard on all the flights she had taken in her life. She put her head down to her knees and prayed—something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl—and waited for impact. She couldn’t believe the irony that she was going to die on a plane while going on vacation. Not while roaming the Amazon or climbing Mt. Everest. If she wasn’t so scared, she would have laughed.

  It seemed like they were in free-fall forever. Other passengers screamed and sobbed; Callie listened to the farewells and the rambling while she sobbed uncontrollably. She wondered if there was life after death, and if she would see her father.

  The nothingness was killing her. Why hadn’t they hit the ground or water by now? They couldn’t have been that far up. But her wondering was premature.

  She heard the crash before she felt it. A sickening loud scraping of metal just a split second before she was lurched forward in her seat and lost grip of Nailah’s hand. Her stomach felt like it was being crushed against the belt, and then she was roughly slammed back. A searing pain tore through her, briefly immobilizing her. She shook her head and tried to look around for her mother and grandmother, but the plane was still in motion.

  It bounced twice; if Callie hadn’t been wearing her belt, she would have been launched from her seat. As it was, she hit her head on the headrest once more and saw stars.

  The screams were deafening. The wing on her side of the plane ripped away—it left a gaping hole a few seats ahead of her. The passengers who were sitting there were gone. Just gone.

  Finally, after what seemed a lifetime, the plane skidded to a halt nearly upside down. Callie dangled, her body connected to the seat only by her belt. She hurt everywhere, but she was alive.

  I can’t believe it.

  “Mom, Gran, are you okay?” she yelled as panic rushed through her. She undid her belt and fell to the ceiling of the plane, thankful it wasn’t a long fall. She scrambled over to her family.

  The plane was twisted just before her mother’s seat so that her mom and Gran were wedged between the seats and the wall of the plane. Gran’s head was flopped to the side and her eyes were closed. Emma groaned as she tried to push herself off the wall. Blood was pouring from a large gash in her head.

  Callie reached across her grandmother and extended a hand to her mom. She used the seat to anchor her feet and pulled with all her might, but her mother barely budged.

  “I’m stuck, baby,” Emma said, her voice weak.

  The plane had erupted into chaos, but Callie was lost in her own moment; she didn’t care about anything but saving her family. She only half-noticed Nailah as the girl climbed from her seat. She stepped carefully across the edges of the seats and grabbed Callie’s waist. “On count of three, we both pull.”

  Nodding, Callie reached once more for her mom’s hand.

  Nailah’s warmth was comforting, and momentarily shook Callie from her shock. Nailah counted. “1-2-3!”

  They pulled, both of them grunting with the effort, and her mother went flying. They all fell back against the ceiling of the plane; Callie’s mother was draped across Gran, whose eyes were still closed.

  Callie pushed her way forward and reached beneath her mom to feel her grandmother’s neck for a pulse. “She’s alive. Thank god.”

  Black smoke had started to fill the cabin, reducing visibility. Emma pulled herself away from Gran, her body unsteady. “We need to get off this plane. Now!” she screamed over the noise. “Grab your Gran. We’ll have to carry her off. Just keep pushing your way forward, and try not to panic. We’re all trying to get out.”

  Nailah touched Emma’s shoulder and pointed to the gap in the plane where the wing had once been. Survivors were already climbing out. “There.”

  The plane was tilted in such a way that it wouldn’t be difficult for them to get out through the hole, but it would be impossible to get Gran out.

  “Let’s just get her there first,” Emma said. “We’ll just have to find a way to get her out. Whatever way we can.”

  Callie stared wide-eyed at her mom. “We don’t know if she has any neck or back injuries. We could kill her!”

  “It’s the only way, Callie. This plane could blow up any minute.”

  People were scrambling over empty seats to get to the hole in the plane. Some were crawling, their bodies bloody and battered. Callie cringed when she saw a poor woman get trampled on.

  There were unmoving forms in several seats. Callie had to turn away from some of them; it was obvious they were dead, their necks twisted at unnatural angles.

  For once, Callie was relieved to hear a baby crying.

  They let the people behind them stumble past, and then placed Gran on the ceiling. Emma put her arms under Gran’s and pulled her forward, while Nailah and Callie gingerly lifted the woman’s feet.

  “You’re doing great, girls, we’re almost there.” Emma huffed and gave another big pull.

  Callie was so tired. The adrenaline had started to wear off; her legs could barely move. She fell twice against Nailah, who stopped each time and used her shoulder to right Callie.

  Callie couldn’t help but think they wouldn’t get out. She’d survived the crash only to be burned alive. The smoke was so thick and black; it got into her lungs and choked her. There was no way they were going to get Gran up to the hole; the slant was too much.

  When they got closer to the scar in the plane, Callie was relieved to find a couple of men working to help people get out. Their strong arms reached through over and over, grasping anyone who grabbed on and tugging them into the daylight. One older man with a head full of gray hair—covered in blood—poked his head inside and saw them struggling.

  “Oy! Men! Hop in there and help these ladies!” he called over his shoulder. Almost immediately, two large men jumped through the hole and nimbly stepped across the seats to where the women still held Gran.

  Callie wanted to burst into tears. We’re going to be okay.

  One of the men crouched and pushed Emma aside. “We got her. Get yourselves out, and we’ll be right behind you.”

  More hands were offered, and Emma waited until both Nailah and Callie had been pulled to safety before she let someone help her out.

  “Just slide down the side of the plane,” one man barked, giving Callie a gentle push.

  She followed his orders, hurrying across the slippery metal. The plane rested in the middle of a clearing surrounded on all sides by tree line. Callie could see heavy, black smoke billowing from the back of the plane. It spurred her on. She came to the edge, sat on her bottom, and pushed off.

  The fall shook her to her core. It reminded her of the crash: that unstoppable sensation of free-fall. She hit the ground hard on her feet and cried out as pain knifed up her leg. She fell forward to her hands and knees just a moment before Nailah landed next to her.

  The other girl gripped Callie around the waist and pulled her to her feet. “We need to get away from the plane,” Nailah told her. She took Callie’s arm and pulled it around her thin shoulders. “You’re hurt. Lean on me.”

  “But, Gran!” Callie cried.

  “The men have her, Calista.” Nailah didn’t release her grip as she helped Callie hobble quickly through the trees.

  A group of survivors waited just beyond the tree line. Some stood, staring numbly at the wreckage in the clearing, while some sat or lay on the ground, unmoving and pale. There was blood everywhere: on faces, on the ground. The shar
p nub of a bone poked through one man’s arm. The sight made Callie retch.

  When Emma stumbled across the field with the men carrying Gran right behind her, Callie fell to her knees. She sat and waited, the grass soft beneath her fingers, the dirt cool. Earth is beautiful, Callie thought, so aware of the stable, steady ground beneath her that she almost felt spiritual.

  Emma fell to the ground beside her daughter. She had one hand pressed tightly to the place where her scalp still bled. Her eyes were a little unfocused, and Callie worried she might be concussed.

  Callie threw her arms around her mother; she couldn’t even cry. She was probably in shock. “Mom, your head. You need a doctor.”

  “I’m fine. Head wounds always bleed a lot.”

  Nailah crouched beside them and put a hand to Callie’s back as the men gently placed Gran on the ground nearby.

  “Is she with you?” The voice came from a kindly older woman with her gray hair falling limply from what was once a pristine bun. “I’m a registered nurse. I’d like to help.”

  “Yes, please,” Emma said, her voice cracking.

  Callie gripped her mother’s hand tightly as the woman knelt next to Gran.

  “Callie, your grandmother has to be okay. I can’t handle anymore loss.” Her mom’s voice was weak.

  “Gran’s strong,” Callie told her.

  Callie had no idea how long the entire ordeal lasted. The last group of people to cross the field were the six men who had helped everyone escape. They came to a stop before the ragged group of survivors.

  “How many are accounted for?” the older man—who had seemed to take charge—asked, his voice out of place in the noises of the forest. Callie was only beginning to notice the chirp of the birds and the warm, salty breeze that rushed through the trees.

  A young, skinny man with bright red hair stepped forward to count. Everyone was still as he did. “Twenty-five.”

  “How many were aboard the plane, Miss?” the older man turned his gaze to the stewardess.

  Only one of the two flight attendants had survived. She looked shell-shocked, seated on the ground in her blue airline uniform with her golden blonde hair in disarray. She had to clear her throat several times before she could speak. “Fifty. Not including myself and the pilot and co-pilot.” She paused before she choked out, “And the other flight attendant.”