Monstrum

by Ann Christopher

  An, Maggie and I look at each other. We reach to hold each other’s hands. I’m trembling. An’s white-lipped mouth keeps opening and closing, but she can’t seem to make it work.

  “I’m . . . scared,” she finally manages.

  “It’ll be okay,” I say soothingly, like that means anything.

  “No, it won’t,” she says, shaking her head. “Sammy!” she calls.

  Sammy twists at the waist and cranes his neck to see his sister. “What’s up, A?”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. Keep your seat belt on,” An says, tipping up her chin so she can see Sammy over the seat.

  Sammy’s lips twitch with a grin that never quite takes root. “Stop bossing me.”

  “Asshole,” she replies.

  “Love you, witch,” he answers.

  “The Lord is my shepherd.” Next to me, Maggie is sobbing quietly in between a few words of prayer. “The Lord is my—”

  I can’t remember any official prayers, and God would probably laugh at me anyway, because he hasn’t heard from me in a long time. I also can’t seem to manufacture any words of comfort for either An and Maggie, so I glance over at Carter and Gray to see how they’re holding up. Carter is slouched back into his seat with his arm over his eyes, but Gray is watching me.

  For once, I can’t read his expression.

  My hand trembles as I reach for my necklace and hang on to it. “This is pretty messed up, isn’t it?” I ask.

  One corner of Gray’s mouth lifts. “Yeah. I’m kind of wishing we were back on the island counting sea slugs.”

  I make a choked sound that may have been either a laugh or a sob.

  “Bree,” he begins, his face tight and urgent.

  I cut him off, pointing to the galley, where Gordon, Emily and Mr. Hendersen are now maneuvering one of those heavy metal food carts into the aisle in front of the cockpit door. They work together, their faces dark with strain, and it’s as though the last few minutes of crisis have shaped them into a powerful army already.

  All of us kids crane our necks to watch.

  A thin thread of hope winds its way through me. If anyone can save us, they can. That cart is solid, and they’re determined. No cockpit door stands a chance against this battering ram.

  “Please God,” Maggie says, her hands clasped in prayer under her chin. Other than her raspy voice, a hush has fallen over the passengers, and even the random sobbing has stopped. “Please.”

  There’s not much space, but the three adults manage to position themselves behind the cart and lean into it, bracing their feet and locking their knees.

  “On three,” Gordon directs. “One . . . two . . .”

  Without warning, the plane goes into a steep climb. The force of it slams me back into my seat and crushes my chest, emptying all the air out of my lungs. Screaming and breathing are suddenly impossible even though my mouth is open and twisted in a silent shriek. A chorus of shocked gasps and screeches rises up all around me. Several of the overhead bins flap open, spewing bags onto the passengers.

  I hear the crack of hard-sided luggage against skulls . . . piercing cries of pain . . . frenzied pleas for God’s help and protection.

  I don’t have anything to say, though. God, in my experience, doesn’t step in and stop nightmares. He certainly didn’t stop Mona’s cancer nightmare, so why would I bother asking him for anything now?

  All I can do is hang on to the arms of my seat and dissociate myself from the events unfolding around me. I can detach. I’ve had so much practice that it’s second nature for me to pretend that something isn’t happening, or that it’s happening to someone else, or that I will wake up back in Normal and discover that Nightmare doesn’t exist, after all.

  This is not happening . . . This is not happening . . . This is not—

  The plane climbs harder. Its angle gets sharper, heading for ninety degrees as though it’s the space shuttle during liftoff. As though it wants to touch the invisible sun.

  Detachment isn’t protecting me like it should.

  The three adults are now engaged in a death match. Their enemies are gravity and the cart.

  The adults are losing.

  They are still in front of my row, but the plane’s angle means that they are also now above me, and I have to tip my head back to keep them in sight. Their mission has changed. They no longer want to break into the cockpit. They just want to control the cart because otherwise it could become a missile in this confined space.

  The plane banks sharply left, then right, and the cart rolls with it as Emily struggles—and fails—to lock one of the wheels by stepping on it.

  This is bad. It’s not hard to envision the plane tipping higher . . . the cart going airborne . . . the cart nailing people in their heads as it sails past, crushing and possibly decapitating them.

  All three of the adults plant their feet wide and brace their backs against the cart. Which means that I have a clear shot of Emily’s grimacing, sweat-drenched face as she struggles to prevent the cart from careening down the aisle and possibly hitting one of the kids . . . as she weakens . . . as her knees begin to shake . . . as the plane inches toward vertical . . . as she slowly loses her struggle.

  Time freezes.

  Her wild hazel gaze connects with mine, and I feel an excruciating jolt of her desperation.

  And then I feel the moment when that desperation gives way to resignation.

  The men are still grunting and straining, but Emily is out of strength, and it takes all three of them to keep the cart where it is.

  My throat loosens enough for me to scream a single word. “Emily!”

  The plane’s nose tips just an inch higher, and her feet slide out from beneath her.

  The cart wins. Gravity takes over.

  All three of them go airborne and streak toward the back of the plane at something approaching the speed of light. They fly over our heads while the rest of us duck and protect our skulls with our arms.

  The cart goes too, cutting off their screams as it crashes into them at the back of the plane.

  I don’t need to see them to know that they are all dead, but I look anyway.

  The three of them are at the very back of the plane, in a heap of obscenely contorted limbs splattered with blood. I can’t see much of Gordon, but Mr. Hendersen’s body is bent at the waist in an impossible position that has his face pressed to the floor between his ankles. The edge of the now upside-down cart has come to rest on the side of Emily’s battered head. Her eyes are wide open and staring. One of the cart’s wheels spins another time or two, then slows to a stop.

  “Dad!” yells Axel. “Dad! You okay? You answer me! Dad? Daaaaaaaaaad!”

  The plane climbs higher.

  The cabin lights flicker and then die, leaving us in absolute darkness except for the light strips down the aisle.

  Outside our windows, that malignant black void seems to have come alive. It undulates, pulsing against the plane and revealing patches that are lighter than others. Part of it seems to glitter, but I can’t tell if it’s a trick of the dim cabin light or signs of the sun trying to break through.

  I have two frantic thoughts:

  The darkness wants to come into the plane.

  We must not let it come into the plane.

  The speakers chime and the pilot’s voice, cheery over the moaning of the injured men in the cockpit with him, comes over the speakers again. “Folks, I’m experiencing mechanical difficulties up here, but I don’t want you to worry. I’ve got everything under control.”

  The speakers are quiet again.

  Beneath our feet, we feel the unmistakable rumble of the landing gear easing down, into position, as though we’re circling the Atlanta area for our final approach. One astonished beat passes, and then Captain Cummings’s intentions become clear even to our panic-dazed brains.

  The passengers’ terrified uproar fills the cabin.

  With all the commotion, I almost miss the moment when the plane slows and th
e force pressing me back into my seat eases. But suddenly we’re sitting like normal airplane passengers again rather than imitating astronauts on liftoff.

  Resistance drags on the plane for several excruciating beats and it hangs, suspended, for the length of time it takes for my heart to stop. And then it begins to lose altitude.

  My stomach drops and then goes weightless as the plane’s nose levels off and then dips toward the sea. I am paralyzed and numb, buried so deeply inside myself that the chaos all around me is nonexistent.

  “Brace yourself!” roars Carter. He gives his seat belt one last yank to make sure it’s tight, bends at the waist and wraps his hands around his head, watching to make sure the rest of us do the same. “Crash position!”

  “Crash position!” echoes Gray, smacking me on the arm to make sure I’ve got it. “Pass it on!”

  We’ve got it. The mantra rises up all around me, battling with the sobs and Espi’s cries for her mother, and everyone I can see rests their torso on their legs and protects their head.

  I shake with a fear so powerful that my teeth begin to chatter. I cannot make them stop, and when I try to clench my jaw, I catch the inside of my cheek and taste the coppery tang of blood.

  This is it, isn’t it? I am going to be dead five minutes from now. We all will.

  My mind focuses on two things:

  My seat is a flotation device, and there is one row between me and the door.

  We fall and fall. The descent lasts for so long that I can almost convince myself that God has changed his mind and this is not happening after all.

  And then, quite suddenly, someone in the cockpit begins shouting. “Pull up! Pull up!”

  A miracle happens. The plane’s nose tips up. Resistance drags the plane, making it shudder and slow. The engine goes silent. We are gliding. Gliding. Gliding. I think we’ve leveled off and may be about to climb again, and I feel one breathless spasm of hope.

  But the plane’s nose touches down, and I’m a crash-test dummy, my head slamming into the seat ahead of me and my limbs tangling. There’s a backlash as my body tries to keep up with the water’s grip on the plane.

  My brain is a Ping-Pong ball inside my skull.

  The water grabs the plane, slowing it down, and I hear the distant but distinct sound of shattering glass, which means that the water will soon be inside the cabin with us—no. The water is already on its way, lashing my face as it streaks toward the back of the plane. It’s needle-sharp with cold and smells like salt and seaweed, rot and filth.

  It is determined to destroy the plane.

  The plane must have a soul, because it fights back. I feel the shudder of aluminum all around me. The creaking groan as metal bends and twists. The violent pops of failing bolts and rivets.

  And above it all, I hear a noise that my ears don’t recognize. Raw and primitive, it sounds like an enraged elephant has mated with a screeching eagle and spawned a T-Rex.

  Even as I unbuckle my seat belt and try to get my feet beneath me, I know that I don’t want to meet the creature that belongs to that sound any more than I want to stay on this plane while it sinks to the bottom of the ocean.

  My fear has me in a stranglehold, but my anger is stronger. And I am royally pissed off even though I’ve spent years in therapy trying (and often failing) to manage my anger. I’m only seventeen years old. I have a lot more living to do.

  I am not dying on this plane. No, sir. Not today.

  “Maggie!” I call. “An? Answer me!”

  “We’re here.” Maggie touches my leg, and I almost collapse with relief.

  “You okay?”

  I think about that and try to inventory any injuries I may have, but I’m too wired with shock and adrenaline to be able to feel most of my body. My brain, though, feels slow and sludgy, probably because I just banged it on the seat. It feels as though all my neurons have to fight their way through a layer of peanut butter before they can start firing. But, on the other hand, I’m standing up and I can still talk, and that’s probably as good as it’s going to get for the near future.

  “Yeah,” I say. “You?”

  “Yeah.” That’s An. “Sammy?”

  A round of violent coughing comes from Sammy’s direction.

  “Sammy!” cries An.

  “Yo,” answers Sammy hoarsely. “I’m at the door.”

  “Well, OPEN IT!” screeches An.

  “I’m trying,” says Sammy.

  “We have to get out of here,” Maggie mutters, standing beside me.

  “I know,” I say grimly. This is not the time for sitting quietly while we let the adults take charge and formulate a plan. What if they’re too busy trying to keep themselves alive to come for us? No, it’s up to us to save our own butts. And first things first: get out of the plane. Now.

  In the utter darkness, though, it’s not that easy.

  For one thing, the aisle lights are gone even though they’re supposed to glow in emergencies. The exit lights are also gone. I guess they’re only helpful when the plane’s cruising along at thirty-five thousand feet and there’s nothing but sunny skies ahead.

  To make matters worse, icy water is surging up around my ankles now. It’s squelchy and slimy inside my gym shoes and doesn’t want to let go of my feet long enough for me to take a step into the aisle. Not that I could get there anyway. A seething wall of bodies has materialized out of nowhere, blocking me, but I focus on my goal:

  If I can make it to the other side of the row of seats in front of me, to Sammy and the door, I live.

  Maybe.

  My ears are overwhelmed with the sounds of desperation: screaming, sobbing, moaning, the splash of that foul water, praying, pounding, as though someone, somewhere, is trying to open a door.

  “Jesus, please,” shrieks a voice from the back. “Don’t let me die like this. Don’t let me—”

  “Mami!” It’s Espi, her voice raw and shrill. “Help me, Mami!”

  “Esperanza.” Her mother’s voice is calm and controlled amid the chaos. “I’m coming. You hang on for me, okay?”

  “Mami!” Espi is choked with sobs. I wonder if she is capable of absorbing her mother’s instructions. “Mami!”

  “Espi!” I shout when her despair overwhelms my ears. Fumbling my hand through the space between the seats, I reach for her shoulder and squeeze it. She’s shaking like she’s been clamped inside one of those paint mixing machines at the hardware store. “Mami’s coming, okay? Right now I need you to get unbuckled and stand up so we can get out of here. I’m not trying to do a Titanic and sink to the bottom of the ocean, okay? Espi!”

  “Okay,” she says weakly, and I feel her body shudder and tighten as she begins to move.

  “Okay.”

  “Macy?” I say.

  A moan answers me. She’s either shocked or has an injury of some sort.

  “Espi!” I bark, and the words come out of me as though I’ve had a long and distinguished career as a drill sergeant. “Get Macy, okay? You’re in charge of her. That’s your job. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Espi answers.

  “Get out of the way!” someone else shouts, and the mass of bodies in the aisle surges, as though a full-fledged stampede is one misplaced elbow away from becoming a reality. “You have to move! You have to move!”

  The plane tips to the left, setting off a new wave of hysteria. It’s unsteady, rising and falling with the ocean’s tempo and doing a very poor job of impersonating a boat.

  Inside me, the repressed panic inches higher. My mouth is open, sucking at the air, but none of it makes its way into my lungs. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. Lack of air is the only thing keeping me from shrieking.

  And the water is now up to my knees.

  “Move, people!” I shout at these faceless fools, losing control and nudging at one of the bodies blocking me. “It’s not that hard! Haven’t we all been trained to walk calmly and quietly in single file since we were in kindergarten?”

  “Bria!” calls a
male voice that sounds like it’s not too far away.

  Oh, thank God. “Gray?” I answer.

  “Hang on. I’m coming.”

  “Where’s Carter?”

  “Here,” Carter says.

  The plane tips again with an ominous creaking of metal, as though something important, like the entire fuselage, is about to give way. I am desperately considering our options and wondering whether we have enough room to climb over the seat and into Espi, Macy and Sammy’s row, where the exits are, when something wonderful happens.

  “Hey!” someone in the aisle yells. “There’re more exits in the back! Let’s try one of those! Come on! Come on!”

  And a big chunk of the group breaks away. Like lemmings, they hurry toward the rear of the plane, opening up just the space I need to work my way into the aisle, with Maggie and An right behind me.

  Someone grabs my arm with the unyielding force of a manacle and yanks me forward.

  “This way,” Gray says.

  I reflexively reach back for Maggie’s hand and tug her along with me.

  “Get An,” I tell her. “Don’t let go.”

  “I won’t,” Maggie says.

  “Wait!” I cry, a snippet of safety info coming back to me just in time. “We need our seat cushions. Grab one! Maggie, An—grab them!”

  We all fumble for the cushions and I keep a hand on Espi’s seat back so we don’t somehow lose our place and get lost in the bowels of the dying plane. Finally, I have my cushion and my arms woven into the straps, and it’s time to move again.

  The plane rocks precariously, and we wobble as a unit, bumping into seats and struggling to keep our footing as we edge up the aisle to the exit. I have the terrible feeling that if one of us goes down, we’ll all go down, and if we all go down, we’ll never get back up. So I keep Maggie’s hand in an iron grip.

  A frantic head count is running inside my head, looping endlessly:

  Maggie, An, Sammy, Gray, Carter, Espi and Macy. I’ve got to do whatever I can to make sure all of us get out of this godforsaken plane. Nobody gets left behind. Maggie, An, Sammy—