by Julie Hyzy
“That’s better. Let’s all just stay calm for the rest of the flight. No one moves. Not an inch, do you all understand?” She waited for murmured acquiescence as she worked her mouth. “How much longer do we have before we land?”
Evelyn stared up at her captor, eyes blank.
We all turned as Rudy spoke up. “Six hours,” he said. “That is a long time to hold us in our seats.”
Pinky scrunched up her nose. “And a long time for me to stand. I want to sit.” Contemplating her options as the rest of us anticipated her next move, she began to make puffing noises through pursed lips. Her leg bounced. This was not a woman with a plan; this was a woman who couldn’t figure out what to do next. What scared me most of all was that she expressed no remorse for what she’d done so far, and only the barest hesitation to escalate the situation.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said, raising her voice, though the cabin was as silent as a small plane compartment could possibly be. “I’m going to sit. This woman here”—Pinky pointed at Evelyn with the gun—“will sit in that little side chair.” She indicated the jump seat. Looking around at all of us staring back, she pointed the gun again. “You, the other flight attendant. What’s your name again?”
He raised his chin and his voice. “I am Rudy.”
“Well, Rudy, I’m putting you in charge. You make sure that nobody moves. Got that? And nobody leaves the plane until I get away.” She stopped, considering this. “For at least a half hour.” She waited for him to nod before adding, “Don’t worry. You’ll survive.” With a smirk, she added, “As long as you behave.”
Rudy cleared his throat and half rose from his seat. Pinky’s eyes narrowed. “Evelyn is the primary flight attendant,” he said. “There are important things she must do before we land. If she doesn’t, there will be questions.”
Pinky scratched her chin with the back of her wrist, fingers wrapped around the gun’s grip. I took consolation in the fact that at least her index finger wasn’t on the trigger.
Perhaps sensing the woman’s indecision, Rudy spoke up again. “These tasks are imperative,” he said. “There is no changing that.”
Pinky looked over to me, as though gauging whether to have me and Evelyn change places. Before I could even consider what I’d do if she proposed a switch, Pinky shook her head at Rudy. “You do them.”
Almost completely to his feet now, Rudy said, “But then I must have free access to the front.” He pointed past us to underscore his meaning. “You will allow me?”
“When do you need to do these ‘tasks’?” she asked.
He stared at the back of Evelyn’s seat as though he was hoping the woman would turn around and give him guidance. “An hour before we land,” he said. “Or maybe one half of one hour.”
Pinky’s jaw pulsed, but she relented. “You will not move without my permission. And when you’re up here”—she gestured toward the front of the plane with her head—“I will be watching you. Is that clear?”
Rudy blinked. “Clear. Yes.”
“Now, sit.” She nudged Evelyn up and into the jump seat with the barrel of the gun. As Pinky resumed the front seat, she swiveled so that she could keep us all in her sights. Turning to me with cold resentment on her face, she glanced down at her gun then back up at me. “I actually hope you try something stupid. I really do.”
Chapter 14
I DIDN’T KNOW HOW MUCH TIME TICKED BY. I rarely wore a watch and couldn’t consult my cell phone, which was, in any case, turned off and stowed in my purse. What felt like an hour was probably no more than ten minutes, but I felt every inch of every second, doing my best to quell heart-in-my-throat fear.
We’d come to as much as of a truce as we could have, given the circumstances. Other than Millie’s occasional barks and nuzzling whimpers, not one of us made a sound.
Matthew tried for some leniency. “She has to go,” he said, petting Millie’s head. “Her designated spot is up front. It won’t take more than a minute or two.”
“No,” Pinky said.
She didn’t elaborate, and no one pushed her. The smoke-screen card game long forgotten, Pinky was ensconced in the soft leather chair, Evelyn on the edge of the hard temporary seat. No one spoke.
We waited for one thing: to land. For this nightmare to be over. For all of us to depart with no one getting harmed. We hadn’t discussed Pinky’s planned escape among ourselves at all. What choice did we have? Pinky seemed all too willing to influence us with her seventeen-round weapon. She was going to get away with this.
And yet . . .
I craned my neck to check on Bennett. He sat far back, on the opposite side of the aisle, staring out the windows, probably thinking exactly what I was: There had to be some way to stop her. There had to be a way to find out who wanted Bennett dead.
“Turn around,” Pinky said to me.
I sighed for effect, but complied. “How do you expect to get away?” I asked her. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to worry about that, do you?”
I faced the window.
A short while later, metal scraped against metal: a lock turning. I sat up. Evelyn spun toward the sound. Pinky faced her seat forward and stashed her gun next to her leg as the cockpit door opened.
The co-pilot held up a hand. “Everybody still awake, eh?” Tall and muscular, he had short, curly red hair and what would have been an infectious grin in another life. “Most folks are dead to the world right about now.” He laughed at his own joke. No one joined him.
Confused, he took in our silent, immobile group. “Everything okay back here?” He placed one sturdy hand on the back of my seat, the other on Pinky’s. “You all aren’t worried about that bit of turbulence, are you? It’s going to get worse before it gets better, but there’s nothing dangerous.”
“That’s great,” Pinky said with a tight smile. “Good to know.”
Encouraged by this minimal response, he grinned at the rest of us. “Think of it like a fun roller coaster. A few dips and rises here and there, but everyone gets off the ride in one piece at the end.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” I said.
He gave me a puzzled look. “So you are nervous, huh?”
I ignored Pinky’s glare. “More than you realize.”
“Seriously?” He leaned in closer, patently concerned for my well-being. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I’ve been flying for years and been through much more tense situations than we’re in now.”
Because he faced me, he didn’t see Pinky raise the gun just enough to remind me it was there. Yeah, like I could have forgotten. She pointed it at the back of his head and shot me a look that warned me to shut up.
I nodded. “Thanks,” I said. “That helps.”
He wasn’t about to be dismissed so quickly, and I berated myself for engaging him in conversation. I’d put his life at risk. “You fly chartered jets often?”
It came across like a bad pickup line. “Nuh . . . no, this is only my second time on a charter.”
Behind him, Pinky’s eyes widened. An unambiguous signal to cut this conversation short.
“Well,” he said, straightening and stretching his long arms out on either side of his body. “Smaller planes are my favorite way to fly. There’s nothing else in the world like it. It’s like—I don’t know—like being strapped to a bird.” Chin up, arms out, his face took on a look of pure rapture. He stayed that way for less than five seconds, but it felt like a thousand years.
“Thanks,” I said, breaking his spell.
“You get used to the motion of the plane. You start realizing it’s normal.” He tilted his head, dropped his arms, and regarded me. “Start thinking of it like that and you’ll never be afraid again.”
“I would like to not be afraid.”
“It’s easy.” The grin was back. “My name’s Robert, by the way. But I like Bobby better.” He looked ready to settle in for a chat with an eye toward more. Maybe that had been a pickup line.
When Pinky aimed, with a menacing appraisal of the back of Bobby’s head, I practically screamed at him to leave. I forced myself to adopt a haughty air of disinterest. “That’s great, thanks,” I said, and turned to face the window.
He made a sound like “Humph,” and waited a few beats as though hoping I’d return my attention to him. When I continued ignoring his presence, he shrugged and continued to the back of the plane, where we heard him enter and lock the lavatory.
“What kind of smart-aleck are you?” Pinky shout-whispered.
I pulled my lips in and fought the bile rising in the back of my throat.
Moments later, the washroom door opened, and I studiously avoided making eye contact with co-pilot Bobby. He loped up the aisle to the front of the plane, slowing as he passed my seat. I pretended to sleep and a moment later he was back inside the cockpit; I could practically feel the collective breath of relief we all took when we heard the door latch.
“Don’t try anything like that again,” Pinky said.
I didn’t even try to disguise the peevishness in my tone. “I’m tired of your antics. You’ve got control now. Why don’t you just shut up?”
I knew I shouldn’t egg her on, but the tension in the plane, the encroaching claustrophobia, and the very real fear that the co-pilot could have been shot—which would have been my fault for talking with him—sent my nerves spinning.
Rather than react, however, she settled back into her seat, leaning her head against the cushy back, watching Evelyn as though she expected the other woman to leap up and wrestle her for the gun. Evelyn kept her face averted and I thought I noticed small chunks of hair missing from her scalp. I could only imagine how much pain she was in.
Not wanting to cause more, I sighed and looked away. I knew we all fervently wished that we’d land in Charlotte in a hurry.
Over the next hour or so, the turbulence continued, and just as Bobby had predicted, we became accustomed to the bumps and jostles. There were far fewer dips than there had been and, despite the circumstances, despite the rush of adrenaline that zipped up whenever I thought of how close Bennett had come to ingesting the killer drugs, my body craved rest. I’d been up since early this morning, and I knew that hours in this gently rocking plane could easily lull me to sleep.
Behind me, others had already begun to doze. Soft snores came from both sides of the aisle. I turned to see Adam, Rudy, and Bennett still awake but everyone else in various stages of slumber. I felt a prickle of annoyance but realized that when the body is pushed to its limits, something has to give. We’d all been stressed to the max, wreaking havoc on our energy levels. The threat of imminent danger was gone, and so our bodies did what was required to recharge.
I fought the urge to close my eyes, adjusting myself in my chair, blinking and pinching the skin on my forearms and legs to create quick bursts of pain that I hoped could keep me alert. Never again would I criticize a movie or a book where the captives fell asleep. I was discovering, much to my frustration, how difficult it was to remain conscious.
Evelyn stared at me, her eyes wide and her fingers gripping her knees as though to keep them from knocking or her hands from shaking. We knew better than to speak, but I tried my best to communicate support.
Pinky, it seemed, was having difficulty staying awake as well. As her eyes fluttered, her chin lowered, and her jaw began to drop. After as many alcoholic beverages as she’d had, I wasn’t surprised. With a start, she sat up. I turned back to the window before she realized I’d noticed.
Pinky had the gun tucked next to her beside the armrest, where I couldn’t see it. I wasn’t able to tell if she had a finger on the trigger or if she’d let her grip relax. Attempting to disarm her would be a risk—a big one—but what other choices did we have?
I bit my bottom lip. We could let her go, I thought. Give in to her demands and pretend that she’d never threatened any of us.
I didn’t like it.
Pinky’s chin dropped again. This time, however, instead of snorting herself awake, her head lolled to one side, and she began breathing evenly. I watched her for a slow count of ten, then fifteen. Her lips, slack and open, moved as though she were trying to mouth, “Weh weh weh.”
Evelyn watched me intently as I pantomimed sticking a gun at my side and then silently asking her if she could see it.
Her dark eyes were full of terror and determination as she leaned forward ever so slightly to get a better angle. The jump seat creaked and we both froze, but Pinky’s body had relaxed. She was out.
Evelyn pointed to where the gun was, then lifted her hand and extended her fingers in a clear message: Pinky had let go.
Careful not to make a sound, I twisted around to see Adam, Rudy, and Bennett all watching with rapt attention, Rudy on the edge of his seat. He lifted a finger to his lips and shook his head. It was at that moment that I realized the next move was up to me.
I don’t know what I’d hoped—that when the coast was clear one of them would step forward to disarm Pinky? Doing so would cause commotion, wake her up. Evelyn was closer, but her jump seat made too much noise.
I breathed as slowly as I could manage, keeping my mouth open to quiet the sound. Without grasping the armrests—in case they squeaked—I slipped my feet out of my shoes and noiselessly maneuvered myself to a crouching stand.
I would have one shot at the gun. One.
My fist came up to my mouth as I fought down my rising panic. It didn’t help to note how badly I was shaking. Freedom could be two steps away. All I needed to do was cross the aisle, reach down, and grab the gun. Could I do it smoothly enough? What if it was jammed too tightly against her leg?
Three steps, I decided. I’d take three. That would put me that much closer. Give me better leverage from above. I might be able to slip it out without her noticing.
My breaths came shallow and fast.
Evelyn shook her head, her eyes wide. I didn’t know what she was trying to communicate, but her fear was palpable. I pointed to her then spread my hands, asking an inaudible question, “Do you want to get the gun?”
She shook her head, violently. Put her hands up, as though begging me to sit down again.
I turned to the three men watching me. Matthew was awake now, too. Millie had gotten to her feet and was prancing and panting, clearly hoping someone would finally let her relieve herself. I held up a hand, hoping that would keep the girl quiet, but the alert look in those dark brown eyes told me she was ready to bark.
Now or never.
One.
I took a step forward. The quiet hum of the plane masked the sound of my movement. Pinky’s breathing deepened, slipping into soft snores.
Two. Another step forward. I could see the gun. I glanced back at Matthew, who was furiously petting Millie, rubbing her face and nuzzling her snout, doing his best to keep her quiet.
This was it. I took a deep breath and froze as Evelyn let out a gurgle of fear. Her face crumpled, and her hands came up next to her head. She clenched her eyes and let out a low moan. I stopped in my tracks, holding my breath. Pinky didn’t move, but Evelyn stared up at me with wild eyes. It was clear the tension had taken her to the breaking point. She wasn’t going to last another second at this rate. She was going to explode. I had to act.
The minute I leaned into Pinky’s chair to reach for the gun, Evelyn screamed and leapt to her feet, smacking me backward. I landed, double-thump, hitting the side of my chair before ending up on the floor.
“I can’t take it! I can’t take it!” With me out of her way now, Evelyn grabbed for the gun.
Pinky, almost forgotten in the sudden frenzy, woke up with a shriek, becomin
g immediately aware of Evelyn’s attack. Evelyn had gotten to the firearm first and the two women struggled, grappling and fighting for control.
I scrambled to my feet, aware of the men doing the same. Just as I got both hands around Pinky’s upper arm, she twisted the gun’s barrel downward, into Evelyn’s face. In panic, or the sudden comprehension of the situation, Evelyn went rigid. Her eyes wide, she let go of the weapon, both hands flying up in surrender.
Evelyn’s abdication was lost on Pinky. Hot in the throes of the battle, she thrust herself backward. In the space of two heartbeats, I watched the knuckles on her gun hand go white. Her arm extended, her face contorted, and she squeezed.
The blast knocked me sideways. All my senses dulled at once. I knew I’d fallen against the chair’s armrest, knew I’d clenched my eyes. With hands wrapped around my head, I realized I couldn’t hear.
My hip had bounced against the floor and my head smacked the side of my seat. I blinked, trying to see.
With effort, I pulled myself up, still unable to hear much, still unable to make sense of the activity around me. Occasional bursts—screams—broke through the overwhelming pounding in my ears. Disoriented, I got to my feet, gripping the side of the seat.
Mouth hanging open, Pinky stared. But not at me.
I followed her gaze to the floor but couldn’t hear my own scream. “Evelyn!”
She was slumped on the floor, with her back against a seat, her legs spread like a rag doll’s. Her head lolled sideways and her eyes widened and narrowed, as though she were trying to keep herself awake. One hand clutched at the neckline of her uniform, grasping at the fabric even as blood leaked between her fingers.
“What did you do?” Still unable to hear myself, I dropped to my knees next to Evelyn. I cradled her head, trying desperately to remember whether it would be better to lay her down or keep her upright. Down, I thought, as I wrapped an arm around the back of her neck. I tried to convince myself that it was a flesh wound. Maybe Pinky had hit Evelyn’s shoulder.
