by Alice Reeds
“Everything about Briola is absolutely insane,” I said quietly, while we sat in the back of the bus that would take us from the S1 to the Berlin Tegel airport. “I mean who does something like this, and why?”
“At this point I don’t care anymore. Are they real, are they just some elaborate fake, it’s irrelevant, no? Personally, I don’t want to have anything to do with this anymore.”
“Same. I wish we could just be home already.” Depending on what flight we ended up with, it would take a long time to get home, possibly up to thirty-one hours, even though it had only taken like nine or so to get to Berlin. No private jet and direct route this time. “Do you think our school was scammed somehow?”
“Academy of Fine Education…with a name like that you’d think they’d know how not to be scammed, but alas, here we are. I should have my father sue them for putting us into this kind of danger. Hell knows what else could’ve happened.”
I tried not to look too much into the fact that he said us instead of me. It was probably just something he said without consciously realizing it.
“Can’t sue something that isn’t there,” I pointed out.
“Briola might not be. Our school is, though, and with how much cash they’ve gotten from my family over the years, I expected better.” Was it me or did he just sound truly entitled? It was Miles, so of course he did; hell, he was entitled, a first-class citizen, while I was a mere peasant. No matter how many competitions I’d won so far, that simple fact would likely never change. I doubted anyone in my sport ever managed to win enough money, and get it through sponsorships, to match the Echo fortune. “Also,” he continued, “if a guy can sue Red Bull for not giving him wings, I can sue Briola or whoever approached our school for this project.”
We finally arrived and got off the bus. This airport was much smaller than MIA, though it seemed just as confusing. Inside, the lights were bright, the floors and walls white, and it was full of people pushing carts or pulling their suitcases.
Miles and I made our way to the counters. I sighed with relief, my body relaxing at the thought of just how close we were to getting tickets and going home. Usually I enjoyed being away from home, catching a break from my father, but now I couldn’t imagine a place that would make me happier, even though I’d be alone while I waited for my parents to return. It still made no sense to me that they had just left without telling me anything, without texting. They hadn’t even bothered to read the text I’d sent them earlier today. Did they not care about me at all?
When our turn came, Miles’s expression changed back into the one he usually wore, the flirty, charming smile and eyes, and he postured as if he simply owned this place, like there was nothing he couldn’t get or do.
The lady behind the counter greeted us with a small smile. The moment she noticed Miles, she lit up even more. As much as I wanted to make some snarky remark, if his usual self would get us home, I was willing to let it slide.
Miles asked her for two tickets to Miami, no matter which class. All that mattered was that we get there. The lady looked at her monitor and typed something into the system.
“Unfortunately, all the flights are already booked,” she informed us.
“How about tomorrow, then?”
“The same. The system tells me that all the flights going to your destination are booked until next Monday. It’s high season for these flights right now, which is why people usually reserve their tickets weeks in advance.” She looked like she was genuinely sorry for not being able to help us, her eyes soft and a tiny frown on her lips.
“Are you completely sure? Not even with a transfer?” I sounded way too desperate for my own liking.
“I’m afraid it looks the same,” she said after checking the system again. “I’m really sorry. But you could come back in a couple days, and maybe then the situation will look different. Seats could open up for any of the booked-out flights in the next week and a half.”
“Okay, well, thank you for your help anyway,” Miles said, the happy, flirty tone gone and replaced by disappointment. The smile disappeared from his face; even his shoulders seemed to sag a little.
We made our way to a small waiting area. It was crowded with other passengers waiting for check-ins or arrivals, faces of different nationalities, ages and genders. Some sat with their eyes glued to their phones, others were having conversations or checking the signs far more frequently than necessary. Among them I thought I could see those two men that I’d noticed had watched us at Siemensstadt, but they couldn’t be the same ones. The chances were tiny, barely even a thing. They probably just looked similar to them.
We flopped down on two chairs and just sat there. This was bad, really bad. I let my head fall into my open palms, my elbows resting on my knees.
The more we tried, the more absurd everything became. None of it made any sense—the jet, the hotel, the abandoned factory, Briola disappearing, my parents gone, and Miles’s father not answering his phone, either, and now the sold-out tickets. And Joe’s voicemail.
Trust no one.
Disliking Miles was so much easier than this. Distrust was so much harder to deal with than his snarky comments and our usual back and forth. He was an ass, but at least before this trip I knew what I was getting, knew what I could expect from him. Now, I had mixed signals.
Regardless of whether or not Miles was on my side, we needed a plan and a way to make it through the next couple of days until we’d be able to go home. And I had to stop wondering if those two guys from Siemensstadt were suspiciously watching us, because it wasn’t helping me think.
With a heavy sigh, I looked up and noticed Miles playing around with his phone. His brows were slightly pulled together, his expression focused on the screen. I ran my hands over my face and hair and straightened my back.
“What are you doing?” Please don’t let it be another selfie.
He gave me that cocksure smirk, the one his Instagram followers couldn’t seem to get enough of, and said, “Getting us out of here.”
Chapter Nine
The Island
I sank to my knees and grabbed fistfuls of grass.
The pilot was dead. Hopelessness licked at the edges of my sanity, dug its claws into my mind. I wanted to beg anyone I could think of to help us, save us, but the Marvel heroes weren’t real, couldn’t do anything for us.
“Fiona,” Miles said cautiously. “There’s another chance, even without him.”
“What’s that? Unless you found another plane and another pilot, we’re done.”
“No, we’re not.”
At that I finally looked up, met his eyes, and found a strange type of confidence in them. “What are you talking about?”
“The plane’s computer board,” he said and smiled a little.
“And you think it’s that damn easy to use?” Did he actually think that could work? It took pilots months to learn how to control planes, how to even as much as have a basic understanding of the computers they ran with, why did he think he’d be able to just wing it with no prior knowledge whatsoever. If he said he actually took lessons, I would punch him in the face, except if he managed to get that computer board thing, then maybe I would do it only very lightly.
“Not everything has to be complicated.”
“Spare me your Zen Yoda philosophy,” I said and got back up onto my feet.
“If I get it running, I can access its flight records and find out exactly what happened.” He paused, and I could hear the inevitable but.
“What’s the problem?”
“But first we have to get the body out so I have room to work.”
Touching a dead body was better than being dead, but that didn’t make the idea any less appalling. I went back to the side of the plane and held out my hands toward him. His grip was confident and strong, two things I wished I felt inside myself, and he pulled me up.
My nose was assaulted by the stench of dried blood and dead human the second I got close to the shattered f
ront windows. It was like a mix of salt and metal, sugary sweetness, a strong note of cigarette smoke and dog shit that’d been lying in the blazing sun all day long.
“You still think that it’s a good idea?” I asked Miles, whose face had gone green. I had a feeling mine didn’t look much better. Not with the somersaults my stomach was doing.
“We don’t have a choice, not if we want that computer.”
I braced myself for the view that would meet me. I’d never seen a corpse outside of books and movies.
The pilot was still in his seat, his head thrown back, eyes toward the ceiling, and his white dress shirt stained in dried red. Something was sticking out of his chest. Glass? Metal? My heart raced and slammed against my chest. I cursed again. Own your fear; don’t let it own you.
“For me to get at the computer, we have to take him out,” Miles said. “One of us has to go in and take off his seat belt, push him toward the window, and the other has to pull him out. Which job do you want?”
I was going to let him be the brave one and go inside, but his face was paler than when we’d first crashed. No matter how much he always played the brave one, I was the stronger one. Much as I hated how my dad pushed me, the years of training had taught me to keep my cool. Ignore pain, push through, and still win.
“I’ll go in,” I said. “You pull him out.” My stomach flipped at the prospect of getting closer to the pilot, but I’d made my choice.
“You don’t have to do that,” Miles said.
“Too late.”
Before he could stop me, I took in one last breath and went in. The smell inside was ten times worse than outside. I used all my mental strength not to throw up while I moved past the second seat. Glass crunched underneath my feet, and I was thankful I’d chosen to wear relatively thick-soled Chuck Taylors for our flight. Not really ideal for any of our activities so far, but at least they were comfortable.
From behind, I unfastened the pilot’s seat belt and let out a small yelp as I noticed his wide-open eyes staring at me—well, technically the ceiling. Was he…? No. He was dead. A quick gulp of air corrupted my nose with a fresh wave of stench. I swallowed. Definitely dead.
“You all right?” Miles called.
“Yes.” I pushed the pilot’s eyes shut, which wasn’t as easy as they made it seem on TV, though I cringed at the feeling of his skin against mine. It felt oddly greasy, an inexplicable shade of cold despite the temperature around us, and stiff, as though the pilot’s body had turned into something like stone.
I held his legs while Miles held his arms. God, the smell was even worse now. I’d noticed it before, but the longer I was there, the more intense the smell of cigarettes seemed to be, like the stench of death wasn’t bad enough itself. My chest clenched. The guy must have smoked like a chimney.
We left the plane with the dead man hanging between us. He was awfully heavy. But I’d powered through worse, and I wasn’t about to let Miles see me slow down. We carried the pilot across the clearing and then an additional couple of feet into the jungle.
Miles wiped his forehead with his right arm and leaned against a tree. My breathing was going fast and heavy, my muscles impossibly sore. That smell. I’d thought it would get better outside the plane, but it was just as bad.
“We need to bury him,” I finally said between two gasps of breath.
“Are you crazy? We need to get back up there and get the computer.”
“We can’t just leave him like this. No one deserves to just be left to get eaten by that beast or some other animal,” I argued. “You go work your magic, and I’ll do this.”
“Are you sure?”
“We don’t have much time. Just go. I’ll be fine.”
For a moment he didn’t move, but then he finally nodded and walked off. In some twisted way, I wished he’d stayed.
I wasn’t a weak girl. I trained for years in hellholes worse than this, but moving even a single muscle right now was the hardest thing I had done in my entire life. Each movement sent a wave of pain through me.
The pilot’s grave wouldn’t be six feet deep. No way would I manage to do that with my bare hands. It would be shallow and pathetic. I wished I could do more. No one deserved this, any of it.
I walked over to the plane and searched for a metal piece of a good size that I could use to dig. I found one half sticking out of the ground, then pulled it out, walked back to the pilot, and began to dig.
The hole wasn’t nearly deep enough, but it was the best I could do. I needed to leave myself enough energy to run if that thing came after us again. I was thankful for those bananas we’d eaten on our way, though thinking about food made me feel sicker than I already did. I put the metal aside and pulled the pilot into the grave. His body was stiff. Rigor mortis had already kicked in. It only made everything so much harder. I slipped twice, once landing on my ass and then almost inside the hole along with the body. Once I finally managed to get it inside without accidentally joining it, I covered it with dirt as fast as I could.
After everything was done, I jogged back to the bottom of the plane to check on Miles. I wondered if he truly had any kind of computer knowledge to get this task done, or if he’d just said it to give us hope. I couldn’t hate him if he had.
“Did you find it?” I asked, looking up.
Miles poked his head out of the broken cockpit. He opened his mouth to speak, and I held on to a little piece of hope that he’d say he had good news.
“I’ve got it. But there’s no power. And it looks like it might have been damaged in the crash.”
“Well, can you fix it?”
“Yeah, I think so. But it’ll take—”
A roar shook the plane. Hell, it shook me.
The beast was close, way too close. We looked at each other, wide eyed.
“That sound like a boar to you?” I challenged.
“Shit,” he muttered, and disappeared back into the cockpit.
“Miles, what the hell? We have to go!”
But he didn’t come back out. Seconds passed that felt like an eternity. The beast wasn’t here. Not yet. But if we didn’t run…
Miles finally exited the cockpit and jumped back down beside me. The computer board was in his hands now, a strange piece of tech I’d never seen before, not much bigger than the palm of my hand.
“We leave without this,” he said, “and that whole thing was a waste. Now, let’s go!”
Chapter Ten
Berlin
“What do you mean you’re getting us out of here?” I said, not even hiding my suspicion.
He went back to his phone. “I’m booking us a hotel room—with two beds this time.” I was about to argue, simply because I was so used to it, but he spoke again before I could. “It’ll be less expensive than taking two separate rooms.” Of course he was right. I hated that. “The place isn’t anything fancy. But it’s pretty cheap and near the airport.”
When we arrived, the hotel, or rather motel, wasn’t anything special. The building was a couple stories high and kind of washed out and dirty on the outside, nothing like our previous hotel, the facade seemingly made up of rectangular concrete plates with ridges between them. Inside, the lobby had odd-colored walls, something between white, cream, and gray, and cheap laminate flooring. I wondered how Miles would survive this.
Our room was on the third floor. The elevator squeaked louder the higher it went, and the flooring was soft, almost squishy. I got out the second the doors slid open.
The room was tiny, despite the fact that it was a double. The floor was covered by worn carpet, the walls a weird cream color, and the furniture cheap. There were two beds on opposite sides of the room, with two small tables next to them. The only window was between our beds.
I placed my suitcase and bag against the foot of a bed and sat down on it. The mattress must have been made of stone.
“We should try contacting our school and friends…anyone, really,” I suggested sometime later. Someone was bound to a
nswer. They had to.
“Good idea,” Miles said, and actually sounded like he meant it.
I called home first but got the same message as before, then I tried my father’s and my mom’s cell phones. Both went straight to voicemail. I listened to both, even if only to hear their voices for a moment, my mom’s cheerful instruction for people to leave their number and reason for calling after the beep, and my father’s stern tone that almost seemed annoyed.
Next, I tried Melany. She’d been my best friend ever since I moved to Miami. On my first day of freshman year, our English teacher had Melany and me work on something together and we just clicked, inseparable ever since. She was completely different than the people I grew up with, or my kickboxing friends and acquaintances—cute and sweet, funny, kind, and just the best friend I could ever imagine having. Could anyone blame me for totally having something like a crush on her during the summer that we’d spent at her aunt’s in Palm Beach between sophomore and junior year? It had taken me until about half a year later to ever bring it up—my crush on her long gone by that time, even more so since I’d realized we were way better off as friends.
I closed my eyes as I listened to the rings and waited for her to pick up her cell, calculating the time difference in my head. She was in L.A. for her internship. If I remembered correctly L.A. was nine hours behind Berlin, so she had to be awake and able to pick up. But she didn’t. My heart sunk, squeezed painfully. I tried again but got the same result. Then I tried Jacky, Melany’s internship partner, but she didn’t pick up, either. Maybe they were somewhere that required them to silence their phones.
My hands lightly trembled as I typed a text, asked Melany to get back to me, telling her that things were bad, that I needed to talk to her, hoping that the urgency of the situation would show through my words. I tapped send and then texted Jacky, asking her to tell Melany to text me.
After a while, both texts remained delivered but unread. Come on.
It didn’t seem like Miles was having much success, either, his mouth a pressed, straight line, a frown crinkling his forehead, his eyes staring daggers at his phone. He swiped and tapped around on his screen, then typed something, swiped again, and then held the phone to his ear. The look of frustration and annoyance on his face only deepened the longer I watched him.
