“Folks, sorry to be tossing you about,” Captain Grant apologized over the loud speaker. “We’ve flown into an unstable pocket. My navigation equipment seems a little cranky. Hold tight and keep your seat belts fastened. I’m going to dodge around it.”
Joss swallowed hard, pulling her bag closer to her chest. She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to her father, pleading to him to keep her safe. The captain started barking coordinates into the radio, several times it seemed, before tossing the mic and grabbing the yoke with both hands. She could see only the back of his head, but nothing about his body language appeared confident.
“Fuck,” the older man across from her blurted. He was holding the seat in front of him, his knuckles white from fear. His reaction, completely reasonable given the circumstances, only served to panic her further.
The plane veered sharply, and Joss let out a tight scream, along with several of the other passengers.
“Jesus Christ,” the captain blurted, desperately trying to right the aircraft, “hold on.”
She assumed he was talking to the plane rather than his frightened passengers, but she grabbed the seat in front of her nevertheless. The aircraft finally straightened up, but continued to jerk them about. She wondered if it would ever end. The storm seemed to be picking up power and Joss feared the worst. She decided right then and there that as soon as the plane landed she was getting off, regardless of the location. She would swim to her resort if she had to. She just wanted to be off the damn plane. She’d never been so frightened in her entire life, and she had done some daring things!
It seemed to Joss like they’d been fighting the weather for at least an hour since the captain last spoke to them, since any of them had spoken. The groaning and rattling of the aircraft was grating on all of their nerves. The other passengers were clearly distressed as well. She was desperate for it to be over. Captain Grant picked up the radio again.
“Mayday, mayday, any station. This is Island Hopper GH-0483. We’ve lost navigation and are flying on one prop,” he croaked, his voice tight with fear. He offered the last known coordinates and waited for acknowledgement, but was only met with lonely static, as though all communication was lost. Joss held her breath, praying for safety, refusing to give up hope. Please, please, someone answer, she quietly begged.
Suddenly everything went silent, as though the little plane had no choice but to surrender, and that was decidedly more terrifying.
“We need to make an emergency landing,” the captain shouted out, “put yer heads down and hold on tight!”
Chapter 7
Joss sat up, mindlessly rubbing the pain over her right eye. It took her a moment or two to process where she was. She must have been knocked unconscious and wondered how long she was out. She heard quiet moans around her, in the pitch black, the small aircraft rocking in the ocean current. With little concern for her own injuries, she felt compelled to check on the others, to assess the situation. She prayed there were no casualties.
“Ryan? Ryan?” she croaked, reaching out to touch him.
He groaned quietly, grasping her hand in the dark, “I’m ok.”
“Are you sure? Any broken bones? Blood?”
“I don’t think so. My heart is racing about 90 miles an hour though,” he sputtered, squeezing her fingers for reassurance.
“Can you move?” she asked, pulling her hand free to unbuckle her seat belt. They didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger, no fire, and no water filling the cabin. At least that was something.
“Ya, I think I can.”
“Good, do you have your cell phone handy? I could use some light.”
“Hang on,” he grunted, as though fishing it out of his pocket. He turned it on, filling the cabin with dim light. Joss saw his face and breathed a sigh of relief. He appeared unharmed. She motioned for him to hold up the light then shimmied out of her seat, shoving her bag on the empty chair in front of her.
“Sir, are you ok?” she called out to the man across from her. He appeared unconscious. Joss moved toward him and cradled his head in her hand, checking for a pulse. She was worried about whip lash, or worse a broken neck, but as soon as she used her thumbs to open his eyelids, he stirred and moved his head on his own accord. She let out a sigh of relief.
“What happened?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching hers.
“We seem to have made an emergency landing. It was hard. What’s your name?”
“Charles ... Reid. Are we sinking?”
“No, I think we’re ok. Do you have any pain?” she asked soberly, checking him all over.
“Nothing too serious, I don’t think. A bit nauseous,” he admitted. She wasn’t surprised. The plane was thrashing back and forth in the waves, making her dangerously close to hurling herself.
“Are you a Doctor?” he asked hopefully, as she ran her hands over his limbs. She was checking for fractures.
“No. I have medical training though,” she admitted, hastily brushing her damp hair out of her eyes.
“That’s good enough for me. Can I help?”
“I’m just going to check on the others. If you feel well enough, can you go up front and see how Captain Grant is doing? Maybe check for an emergency kit. A flashlight. First Aid,” she instructed, looking back at Ryan.
“Can you follow me with the light?” she instructed, gesturing for him to follow. He nodded and peeled himself out of his chair. They both helped Charles stand and waited for him to make his way up the aisle.
The next passenger, the fellow she’d likened to Clark Kent, looked up at Joss blankly, as though in shock.
“Hi,” she spoke gently, “I’m Joss. Can you tell me your name?” He nodded his head but offered no reply.
“Are you ok?”
He nodded again and cleared his throat. “I think so. Daniel,” he choked, raising a hand to the back of his head. Joss was surprised by the British accent. She carefully examined him, concerned that he might be in shock. He was shivering uncontrollably. She quickly went back to her seat, balancing herself against the violent motions, and retrieved her wrap, returning to cover him with it.
“We need to get out of here,” he insisted anxiously, pulling the wrap tighter around himself.
“It’s ok, Daniel. We’re ok. Just keep your breathing steady, in and out, nice and slow, okay?”
He nodded at her, his eyes wide with concern, his teeth chattering violently. She would need to check back on him in a few minutes. She wished she could lay him down and elevate his legs, but there just wasn’t any room.
“I’ll be back. Yell out if you feel dizzy or faint,” she instructed, gently massaging his shoulder for reassurance. Ryan stepped out of her way as she continued down the aisle.
“Joss?” Charles called her. He had a flashlight in his hand and shone it down the aisle in her direction. “It’s the captain. He doesn’t look good.”
“Is he breathing?” she choked, anxious to get to the cockpit and assess him herself. “I don’t know. I think so. There’s a lot of blood.”
“Coming,” she called out, turning to Ryan. “Will you check on the man in the front row?”
“Yes, go. I got it,” Ryan assured, urging her down the aisle. Joss went as fast as she safely could, stepping over obstacles blocking her way. She quickly glanced at the large black man in the front row. She couldn’t see clearly, but he appeared to be moving, which made her feel a little better.
She traded places with Charles, to examine the captain herself. He had a large gash on his head and was unconscious. She checked for a pulse. It was weak and thready, and she knew she had to get his feet elevated as soon as possible, before she could deal with the head gash.
“Charles, clear a path, help me lay him down,” Joss barked, wasting no time on pleasantries. He did as she asked without hesitation and they made quick work of attending to him. She raised his feet, hastily looking around for something to cover him. As though anticipating her needs, Charles hurried back to his seat, r
eturning with his suit jacket.
“Will this work?” he asked, handing it to her.
“Perfect. Did you find a first-aid kit?” she enquired, looking up at him with gratitude. She covered her patient, wrapping the jacket around him tightly. He’d still not gained consciousness, but his breathing had become steadier. She felt encouraged by that.
“Yes, it’s here,” he coughed, handing it to her. She looked up at him, suddenly worried about him. She took the tin box from his hand, instructing him to sit down. He sat in the pilot seat, rotating the chair toward her.
“Are you ok, Charles? You’re looking a little unsteady?”
He gave her a thumbs up, as though unwilling to distract her. She returned to the captain and assessed his head wound. It was deep. She looked around for something to clean the wound.
“Hand me that water bottle, over in the cup holder,” she insisted, gesturing toward it. Charles quickly retrieved it and she unscrewed the cap with her teeth, pouring water over the wound to clean it out. She gently put pressure on it with her palm, desperate to stop the bleeding. He needed stitches. Opening the first aid kit, she searched for a suture kit but had to settle for bandages instead.
“Can I help?”
Joss looked up into a pair of kind, caramel eyes. It was the last passenger, the one she’d bypassed. His tone was reassuringly calm, and he quickly set her at ease.
“Are you afraid of blood?” she asked, shifting over to make room for him. It was a tight squeeze, but she needed the extra pair of hands.
“No, Ma’am,” he assured, crouching beside her. He gently placed his dark hand over hers. She allowed him to take over, slipping out from beneath him.
“Here, put some pressure on it. Like this...” she placed her hand over his and pressed down, showing him how much she was looking for. He looked up at her and nodded, as though he appreciated the brief, reassuring touch. She smiled back, comforted by him as well.
After Joss had the captain bandaged and stable, she finally allowed herself to sit down. She took a long pull off her water and looked at the men around her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. They had huddled together, closer to her, and one another, as though they needed the connection. Although frightened, they all appeared well. She had been so busy taking care of business that she never even considered how lucky they were the plane was still intact, that they were all alive.
“What do we do now?” Ryan asked quietly. She looked up and saw all eyes on her, waiting for her to speak.
“We wait,” she whispered, listening to the rain pelting against the roof of the aircraft. “Someone will come.”
Chapter 8
Their terror finally subsided as the pale light of morning broke through the darkness. It was still storming and the relentless sound of rain pelted against the aircraft, the ocean waves thrashing them around, determined and unforgiving. Joss had not slept at all, and her bladder was screaming at her.
She looked around the cabin, assessing the situation. It was hard to tell how much damage the aircraft had actually endured, but one thing was certain, they were at the mercy of their rescuers. She hoped that someone was out searching for them. Certainly by now their absence would be noted and the calvary would be on their way.
Captain Grant had still not regained consciousness and Joss was worried. She knelt down beside him and checked his vitals. Without proper diagnostic equipment it was impossible to tell the extent of his injuries. She prayed there was no internal bleeding. He must have taken the brunt of the impact and she was concerned about crush injuries. For now he was breathing steadily and his pulse had normalized, so she held on hope to that. She wiped his lips, soaking his tongue with a wet cloth. She knew he needed fluids, but it was too dangerous to feed him water while he was unconscious. He could very easily take fluid into his lungs and aspirate, adding considerably to his troubles.
“Good morning.”
Joss looked up, her eyes following the soft voice that had greeted her.
“Morning,” she whispered, realizing that, in all the chaos, they had not exchanged names .
“How’s he doing?”
“Ok, I think. It’s hard to know for sure,” she admitted, covering her patient. “How are you?”
“I’m doing ok, considering,” he nodded, stifling a yawn. “What’s your name?”
“Joss Stevens. What’s yours?”
“Willie Russell.”
“The basketball player?”
Joss and Willie both turned their heads toward Ryan, who’d just woken up.
“Lakers, right? I’m a huge fan. I had on-court seats during that magical game against the Knicks, the one where you scored a million points. You were unreal, man. A monster,” Ryan gushed. Smiling, Willie dropped his head, humbled by the compliment. Joss found it endearing.
“Yeah, things were really going my way that night,” Willie agreed, waving off any more accolades. Ryan shrugged, as though he didn’t quite understand the modesty.
“And you’re Ryan Watt?” Willie asked quietly, raising a brow. Ryan nodded, and leaned over the seat, offering his hand to shake. Smiling, Willie shook the man’s hand, with obvious respect. Joss cocked her head and took a long look at Ryan, suddenly placing him. He was an actor, she was right.
“Pleasure to meet you, man,” Ryan said, “sorry it’s under such lousy circumstances.”
Joss stood up, her achy bladder pulling in her groin. She needed to relieve herself, and soon. She looked out the window, but the visibility outside was still piss poor. All she could see was grey. Grey sky, grey ocean, and lots and lots of grey rain. It was still very early and she hoped as the dawn gave way to morning, things would become a little more clear. It would be hard for a search party to locate them, but damn near impossible in bad weather.
Joss looked around the plane, and saw that all the men were stirring from their slumber, if they’d slept at all. They were quiet, each of them catching her gaze, assessing her as though she had the answers, held the cards for their survival. Somehow, in the chaos of the crash, they had designated her the leader. She needed to keep her cool, they were depending on it.
“So I have a question,” she asked calmly, a weak smile forming on her lips. “How are you all relieving yourselves, cause this might pose a problem for me?”
Joss was relieved to hear them chuckle, her words received as lightly as she’d intended them. Daniel held up a water bottle, filled with the unmistakeable shade of urine. She’d never been jealous of a penis before, but in this case she made an exception. As awesome as it was to be a woman, multiple orgasms not withstanding, she could never pee standing up. She would need a much larger target. She looked at each of the men, nodding in unison at her, and sighed, wishing the small plane had a lavatory.
“Fuck,” she mumbled, unconcerned with her cursing. She was in too much discomfort for pleasantries.
“May I make a suggestion?” Charles offered, his eyes filled with concern. He seemed to understand the urgency of her problem. She turned to him and nodded, desperate for a solution. If she were alone, she’d probably just drop and pee, but being the only woman on board, she was feeling especially vulnerable, and modesty was winning the argument.
“Please,” she said, half encouraging, half begging him to solve her dilemma.
“How about this Pringles container? We can just dump the chips out, or better yet, we can share them for breakfast,” he offered, holding the can in the air. Sour Cream and Onion.
Joss grinned from ear to ear, and held her hand out. She carefully dumped the chips into Ryan’s baseball cap and handed it to him. Now to find somewhere discreet, she thought, looking anxiously around the aircraft. As though reading her mind, Charles stood up and gestured her toward the back of the plane, where she’d been sitting the night before.
“Crouch back there, we’ll give you privacy, right boys?” he urged.
Joss looked around, receiving their nods of encouragement. She nodded back in agreement and
made her way to the rear of the aircraft, Charles respectfully following behind. There was a small space she could easily tuck into, behind the last row of seats,
“Will this help?” he asked, holding up her wrap. Using it as a makeshift curtain, he tucked the corners of the material beneath the head rests of opposite chairs blocking the opening.
“Yes, thank you,” Joss agreed, appreciating the gesture. She tucked herself behind the curtain and quickly relieved herself, feeling a million times better. She capped the lid of the Pringles can and set it in the corner, safe and sound, for her next visit to the “loo”. Using a tiny bit of water, she wash her hands, wiping them on her shorts before making her way back up the narrow aisle, to where the boys were sharing breakfast.
Charles nodded at her warmly and handed her a healthy share of chips. Joss looked down at the snack in her hand, knowing full well that they needed to take an inventory of food and water and figure out their provisions before eating or drinking anything else, just in case it took a few days for their rescue (or longer, she feared). Their survival depended on it. The rule of three kept echoing in her head like an ear worm, in the same way a catchy tune might.
Three weeks without food, three days without water, three minutes without air.
For the moment they were above the ocean, so breathing wasn’t an issue, but it wouldn’t take long for the lack of food and water to pose a problem.
She ate four chips then wrapped the rest in a tissue that she’d found in her carry on, setting them aside.
“Listen, guys, until we get rescued we have to figure out what we have in this floating tin can that we can use for our survival. We’ll need to sort through all our stuff and clean up the area for our own safety. Does anyone have food? Water?” Joss pressed, as diplomatically as she could. She was used to offering direction to others, and taking charge. She was skilled in diplomacy and knew how to address people to either rally them up or to calm them down, whatever the situation called for.
“There’s a case of water under the front row seats,” Willie offered, “I saw it when I tried to tuck my bag under my chair.” He crouched down and pulled the case up for the others to see. “It probably belongs to the captain. Looks like there are only four missing bottles.”
Stranded Page 4
