“It’s going to be ok,” I shout to her hoping I am convincing.
With an immediate blow so strong it stuns my body and shakes me to my core, I know the plane has crashed. I gasp at having the wind knocked out of me. A burning pain travels through my spine and neck and I wonder if this is the beginning of the end. And then I regain my senses. My body is immobile though the plane is barreling forward. I was wrong.
We didn’t crash. We landed.
Leaning my head against the window I watch trees and uneven ground race by. The plane struggles to stop as it rolls over the bumpy terrain. Time, which has momentarily ceased to have meaning, rushes by with the movement of the plane until we jerk to a stop. I unbuckle myself and fall to the ground as I start to stand. My entire body is shaking and I have no strength. I push myself up from the floor and onto my knees to look around.
No one is moving. Whatever the other passengers inhaled was obviously not oxygen. What the hell am I going to do? I look to my right and see Breanne unmoving, slumped to the side. Shit!
My eyes trace over her body until I notice a small gash above her left eye that’s bleeding. Looking on the floor I see a laptop exposed from an open bag and determine it must have fallen from the overhead compartment, striking her head on impact. I crawl over to her and kneel by her side. Please be ok! I place my pointer and middle fingers on her neck hoping to find a pulse and sigh in relief when I find it. I’m about to stand and find something for her head when I hear a noise coming from the cockpit.
I lean across Breanne into the aisle to get a better look and see the door to the cockpit start to open. The pilot, who I had my picture taken with before boarding the flight, starts down the aisle towards me. He’s holding a briefcase so tight his knuckles are white. His face is dripping with beads of sweat and he looks scared as hell as he takes in the dead bodies.
We make eye contact as he approaches my row. I open my mouth to ask for help, ask what happened, ask anything, but he looks away and keeps going. I watch him continue down the aisle until he opens the emergency exit. I crawl over to the window and watch, puzzled as the pilot takes off running. Where the fuck is he going?
Perplexed, I look at the surrounding area attempting to figure out where we are. The plane appears to have landed in a clearing of a heavily wooded area. About 20 yards away there are towering trees surround the clearing in all directions as far as I can see.
“Where is he running to?” I ask out loud, though no one is able to answer. I wonder if he is in shock. Why didn’t he stop? We made eye contact but he just kept going. I turn my attention back to the pilot who is quickly approaching the forest and begin to stand, thinking I could run after him. As I start to rise I simultaneously see him fall and the sound of gunfire echoes off the trees.
“What the fuck!” I say to myself and drop to the floor.
My heart is racing and I feel bile rising in my throat. My mind is running rampant. I am on a plane that has just crash landed. Aside from me, everyone is either unconscious or dead. I just saw the pilot who crashed this fucking plane get gunned down. Fuck! My eyes look frantically from side to side, hoping to uncover a solution. Breathe, I tell myself. I need to see what they are doing so I can figure out what to do. Only a few seconds have passed since the pilot was shot but I feel like everything is going in slow motion.
I cautiously pull myself back up to the window, careful to stay as low as possible. To the far left just inside the clearing I see some sort of all-terrain vehicle. Following an invisible line from the vehicle to where I saw the pilot drop, I see two men holding what looks like machine guns and walking towards their prey. One of the gunmen also has a large messenger type bag slung across his body.
I look back to the vehicle and around the clearing again. They appear to be the only ones here. The gunman with the bag looks around while the other one crouches down to the pilot and I assume they are confirming he’s dead. The second gunman stands, holding the pilot’s brief case and the two start talking. They turn towards the plane pointing at something and I swear my heart stops. Shit. They’re coming.
I sink to the floor, desperately trying to think of what to do. They will be here any second. I look at Breanne who is still unconscious and then look at the other passengers lying on the floor or slumped but tightly secured in their seats. Suddenly, I have my plan. I quickly unbuckle Breanne and pull her to the floor and position her on her side with her arm extended over her head to cover her face. I lay next to her so that we are facing each but pull her into my chest and throw my right leg and arm across her protectively. I try hard not to put my full weight on her but realize it will be hard to be still and fake being dead if I do that. I find my baseball cap and loosely put it on the back of my head, then position my forehead so it’s resting on the ground. All I can do now is pray to God she doesn’t come to while they are near us.
I hear the gunmen’s voices as they get closer to the plane but can’t make out what they are saying. I close my eyes, listening intently to the proximity of their voices and footsteps so I’ll know when to start holding my breath. But three more gunshots cause me to gasp. Shit, was that three more passengers from this plane?
I want to look out the window but the sound of the gunmen shouting at each other makes me think better of it. I know they are quickly approaching. I hear one set of footsteps get louder as the gunman closes the gap between our locations, and slightly fade as he passes by. I quietly exhale and draw another breath. He’s coming back.
“All clear in first class,” one of the gunmen calls to the other.
“What about back there?” he continues as his footsteps trail towards the back of the plane.
“All set back here as well,” shouts the other.
“I’ll make the call.”
I can’t hear the first few words of the conversation but am finally able to make out one of the gunmen talking on the phone.
“Yes,” he says. “All passengers are dead. The pilot was running towards the woods when we arrived, followed by one stewardess and two passengers. Yes, they are all dead. I’ll drag them back to the plane and douse them in gasoline before I set the fire. As soon as fire reaches the fuel tank their bodies and everything else will be charred beyond recognition,” he pauses. “No, I doubt they’ll find the bullets,” he says. “Yes, Major Arnold. We have plenty of time before the authorities arrive, sir. I’m looking at the simulator right now and it shows the plane cruising at the correct altitude,” he continues, and then there is a long pause. “Yes, we’ll be gone in five minutes.”
And with that, the one-sided conversation is over.
My mind is spinning trying to piece together what I just heard. The gunmen are about to set the bodies and the plane on fire, and they’ll be gone in five minutes. Who the hell is Major Arnold? He must be helping the gunmen with whatever it is they are doing. As other questions are surfacing, I hear what sounds like a drill. Relying on just my hearing is not easy but I don’t dare move or open my eyes.
“Let’s do this,” says one of the gunmen. “I’ll make the switch. You get the pilot and drag him back to his seat and douse him in gasoline. And don’t forget to pick up the shell casings while you’re out there. Dosdell will be heading up the investigation and he’ll be pissed if you’re sloppy,” he commands.
Dosdell? Who the fuck is that?
The drilling starts up again and lasts a few minutes, followed by the clanking of metal. The sounds are less crisp, making me think they are in the back of the plane. The drill starts up again and I hear the other gunman’s footsteps closely followed by dragging and heavy breathing. I try hard not to wince as he makes his way towards me. Realizing that my legs stretch into the aisle, it registers that I will feel the weight of at least one lifeless body being pulled over my legs at any second.
I picture the face of the pilot and think how he left the plane on his own feet not too long ago. And now his lifeless body is being dragged back in.
The footsteps gain in pr
oximity but pause before reaching me. There is a kick to my left ankle, and then another. I am fighting to hold my breath. A light scrape pricks the back of my head, followed by a ‘hmm’ sound, before the dragging of the corpse continues.
Minutes go by without significance until I hear one of the gunmen run from the cockpit and yell “let’s move out.” I hear them hollering to each other with enthusiasm. I can’t make out their words, but based on their tone I imagine them high-fiving. I hear their vehicle start and drive off with the sound fading into the distance.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes. I have to get out of here. I look at Breanne still unconscious. Correction, we need to get out of here.
My heart races. I sit up and firmly grasp her shoulders and begin to shake her.
“Breanne. Breanne,” I whisper, getting no response. “Breanne,” I say more forcefully this time and I feel her start to move.
She groans in pain but doesn’t open her eyes. I shake her again and she comes to. She is disoriented and searching my expression for some type of explanation. She groans again and reaches her hand to her head and flinches as she makes contact with her wound.
“Look,” I say. “We need to get out of here. There isn’t a lot of time to explain. When the plane crashed, luggage fell on your head. That’s when you blacked out,” I tell her. “This is so fucked up. Two gunmen just shot the pilot and three others and they’ve set the plane on fire. I have no idea what the fuck is going on but we need to get out of here. NOW!” I exclaim.
“What?” she asks looking confused, and I wonder if she thinks I’m making this up.
“They killed the pilot, a stewardess and two other passengers. They called someone and confirmed everyone was dead. They drilled something in the back of the plane and then set it on fire,” I say in a rush.
Her mouth drops open and she stares into my eyes with intense fear. Some other emotion I can’t identify crosses her face, but she says nothing.
“We have to move now. Grab whatever you can quickly. Your purse, whatever you need, but do it now,” I command.
I stand up and look out the window, and then towards the front of the plane where I see the flames growing. I extend my hand to her and help her up as she slowly starts to move. I watch her grab her purse and stuff in a few water bottles that were lying on the floor. Good idea.
I quickly search for snacks. I grab a few bags of food and a blanket from the guy across the aisle and mentally apologize to him. I look back at Breanne who is staring at me like she needs instructions. I think she must be in shock. Fuck, so am I.
“We’re going to be alright. We’ll find somewhere to think things through and figure out a plan,” I reassure her matter of factly. She nods and I take her hand, pulling her towards the emergency exit that has been closed. I push it open and look outside.
“The gunmen came into the clearing through the woods to the left,” I say pointing in the direction they also left in. “I think we should head into the woods on the other side of the plane. That way we’ll be headed east,” I continue, and point at the compass on my watch. “We’ll run as far as we can to avoid being seen,” I state.
I’m about to make a run with her in tow when I glance down at my bright red jersey and stuff it into her purse.
“Ok, are you ready?” I ask, but I don’t wait for a response. I grab her hand and start to lead her out of the plane.
It’s hard to see outside. I’m surprised at how quickly the fire is moving and the amount of smoke it’s produced. I hear the sound of metal groaning and wonder if the gunman called it. Pushing the emergency door closed I speculate; will everything really be charred beyond recognition? I put one arm protectively around the top of her back cupping her shoulder, and place my other hand on her hip. I need to keep her steady and moving. She must understand what I’m trying to do as she puts her arm around my waist. We look at each other in acknowledgement and take off running.
We round the back of the plane and head towards the woods. I look over my shoulder and then scan the area, looking from side to side. I cannot believe this is happening. I quickly refocus knowing there will be time to digest this once we are further into the woods.
We reach the forest and after a few strides into the coverage we break our hold on one another and try to catch our breath. We are both hunched at the waist with our hands on our knees. Looking back at the wreckage I notice that an area in the clearing where the plane landed was dug up in a wide trench, in which the plane is now nestled. I note the area must have been like this before the plane barreled in.
The fire has picked up steam and the windows start blowing out. I wonder if there will be an explosion once the fire reaches the fuel tank. That is something I don’t want to wait to find out, so I grab Breanne’s hand.
“Let’s go!” I yell, and drag her forward.
Chapter Five
Darkness
Breanne
We run. And run. And run.
I feel as if I’m running through an obstacle course. Jumping over tree stumps, dodging pockets of uneven ground, and ducking under branches. My head is throbbing, which amplifies the sounds of twigs snapping and leaves crunching under my feet as we push forward. Even my own breathing sounds loud.
The coldness of the air shocks my throat and lungs with each shallow breath. The longer we run the more aware I become of my injuries and I begin to take inventory of them from head to toe. Occasionally, I feel a drop of blood trail down the inside corner of my left eye, continuing over my cheek to the corner of my mouth, before falling off my chin. Each time I reflexively lick my lips, leaving the metallic taste of blood in my mouth. The taste of blood on my tongue disgusts me, but it’s a good reminder that I am so thankful to be alive.
The seam of my pants that lines up with my right hipbone chafes the skin with every stride. At this point I can’t tell if the wound is deep or superficial, but it burns with pain and irritation. I feel blisters forming on my heels and toes. I’m somewhat thankful I made the decision to wear flats but make a mental note to wear some form of sock or stockings with any type of shoe in the future. If I have a future. I recall my earlier thoughts from when I first saw Drew and inwardly mocked his attire. Now I find myself jealous that I’m not the one in running shoes. The burden placed on my shoulder by my purse is minimal but every few strides it slides down my arm and I have to heave it back into place. Overall, my entire body aches.
If Drew wasn’t grasping my hand so tightly and pulling me forward I’m not sure I’d be able to keep moving. I work out a few times a week when I can but I am hardly an athlete. While I am panting like a dog he hardly seems phased. And that’s when I start discerning that I don’t think I can go much further. The adrenaline is wearing off and the metallic taste in my mouth is making my nauseous.
“I can’t,” I say breathlessly, pulling my hand back and trying to slow my pace. “Stop. I can’t. I can’t run any further. Please Drew,” I manage to get out.
“We can’t stop,” he exclaims panting. “We’ve only gone two miles at most,” he continues yelling over his shoulder, his face etched with concern.
I succeed in pulling my hand free and slow my pace to a stop. A few steps later he slows down before turning to come back, stopping a couple of feet in front of me. Hunched over at the waist with our arms supporting our weight on our knees, we stare at each other trying to catch our breath. Seconds pass by and neither of us says a word. Sweat is beading on his forehead and I wonder if it’s just from the physical exertion or if he’s as scared as I am.
His eyes give nothing away but his face looks so determined. I continue looking into his eyes and wonder what he’s thinking and feeling. I’m not sure exactly how I feel right now but several words come to mind. Fear. Exhaustion. Desperation. Dizziness. Confusion. Longing. I want to be home. I want to hold my children. My kids! I start thinking about everything that has happened and the tears form in my eyes. The only thoughts in my mind at this moment are of my family. Oh my
God. My kids! Saliva floods my mouth as the nausea slowly spreads. I look up at him, my eyes pleading.
Curveball Page 7
