Just then, an odd ripping noise sounded from the tail of the plane. Dillon must’ve heard it, too. He’d glanced behind him. It seemed something hit the side of the plane, jolting it sideways in the sky. Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling compartments above all passengers. The refrigerator door slammed shut.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the pilot’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. Do it now.”
Shannon gripped the restroom doorframe, not sure she could make it back to her seat with the airplane vibrating like it was. She turned up the aisle, staggering like a drunk and hanging onto each seat along the way. The aircraft bucked, nearly throwing her to the ceiling. She gripped the back of Connor’s seat to keep her balance and her feet on the floor. He’d moved to sit with Izza, their heads ducked together. Dillon had already strapped himself into his lonely little drop seat.
The plane jolted, shook like a wet dog, and tossed her sideways. Losing her grip, she fell across Connor’s vacant seat. Adam grabbed her wrist and pulled her down. He had her strapped in and secured before she knew it.
“Prepare for crash landing!” the pilot commanded.
Shannon turned to Adam. “We’re crashing? In the ocean?”
He never got the chance to answer. A loud explosion outside his window drew their attention to the left engine. Sputtering black ribbons of smoke trailed in the wind. Instinctively, she placed her right palm over her stomach. My baby. He’s going to die.
Adam grabbed her left arm up to her wrist. “Hang on!”
The Gulfstream shuddered as it tipped forward into a dizzying spiral. Everything not permanently attached or strapped down flew through the air. Cups. Plates. Magazines. Momentarily suspended as downward motion hesitated, then resumed. The worst rollercoaster ride ever. Straight down.
Shannon straightened her arms, shoving back into her seat. Nauseous fear climbed up her throat. An image of everyone she’d ever loved or cared about flashed before her eyes. Her father. Raul. Connor and Izza’s cute babies. Fun-loving Donavan. Stoic Adam.
He interlaced his fingers with hers on the armrest between them. Their eyes interlocked. A tender warmth reached out to her.
“Are we going to die?” she asked, her heart in her throat and the answer clear as day.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” he admitted, his voice a quiet note of reality in the maelstrom. His fingers tightened around hers.
Someone screamed, “Brace for impact!”
She hung on tight, Adam’s grip in one hand, the armrest in her other. It was happening. She was going down and her unborn child with her. Possibly to drown. Maybe to die. Here. Now. Before her son had the chance to draw a single breath.
So much noise! Howling wind roared through the aircraft. Grinding metal. Shrieking. Whistling. Screaming! Panic stabbed up her entire body like a massive blade until the Gulfstream hit the water, then—
Silence.
Chapter Eight
Darn dog.
Seamus kept licking his lips, like the crazy, persistent mutt he was. Licking. Sucking. Drooling all over Adam’s chin. More licking. More standing on his chest. The beast needed to go on a diet. Had one big paw in the middle of Adam’s ribcage, weighing him down. Felt like concrete.
“Get... off…” Adam batted him away. “Leave. Me. Alone.”
Seamus didn’t take the hint, just kept annoying the living hell out of him. At last, Adam opened one bleary eye, not sure why he couldn’t see out of the other at the moment. A big blur hovered overhead. Through the haze, Seamus almost appeared—human. Too human.
Wait. Shouldn’t he be at Harley’s?
An actual human nose nearly poked Adam’s eye out. Wet dirty blonde. Panting. Who’s licking me? It took another minute or two to sink in. Not Seamus. Oh shit. Connor?
“Get the hell off!” Adam shoved at his buddy’s chest and tried to lift up onto his elbows, but Connor pushed him down. “You good now? You gonna keep breathing?” he asked, his chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.
“I will if you back off and give me some room.” Adam turned his face to avoid the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation that felt a lot like being kissed by a guy. Holy hell. Where am I? Despite the sounds of surf and seagulls overhead, this was not paradise. Damn. We crashed. Now I remember…
Connor gasped into the side of Adam’s face, still breathless. “You’ve got to help me. I can’t find the girls.”
Adam nodded, his head pounding so hard he couldn’t make sense of what Connor wanted. “The girls?” What girls?
Connor looked away, one hand still pressing Adam flat to the beach while he shielded his eyes with the other and stared out at the water. “I can’t find... Izza. She’s gone.”
Adam groaned. Those girls. Izza and Shannon.
The crash came back to him in bits and pieces. Shannon falling into his arms. It would’ve been perfect it the engine hadn’t failed. The Gulfstream pitched and bucked, but finally nosedived. At the end, it hit a concrete wall of black water. Then sand. Then more water. He thought he’d smelled fire mingled with the suffocating odors of aviation fuel and diesel. Shannon screamed something about... what? A baby? That made no sense. No matter. All at once, she’d stopped screaming.
He craned his neck toward the sound of crashing waves. Sure enough. They’d crash-landed in the middle of the ocean.
Adam pushed Connor’s hand off his chest and rolled to his side, resting on his elbow while he shook off his body-aches and got his bearings. Sand stretched beneath and all around him. Palm trees swayed to his right, making the postcard effect of the island seem surreal. Iridescent turquoise blue water to his left broke the expansive gold floor. The elegant Gulfstream lay scattered in pieces on the beach.
He remembered everything now. His last thoughts had been for Shannon. He’d strapped her into her seatbelt before she hurt herself, but by then, she was scared, and so was he. The aircraft had lost power and they were going down. Somehow the pilot had leveled off just before impact.
Adam shoved off the sand, swaying for a moment and blinking furiously at the crush of pain in his head and chest. He wasn’t bleeding, but every muscle protested. Every bone, too. Standing took more effort than he’d expected. An iron grip stifled his breath. Broken ribs? Punctured lung? He couldn’t tell. One was as bad as the other.
Connor stood beside Adam staring at the ocean, his Hawaiian shirt half-open and his clothing soaked. “I don’t see her. Do you?” He cupped both hands to his mouth. “Izza!” he called to the noisy ocean. “Izza! Where are you?”
Adam took a hard look at his friend. Still panting. Licking his lips. But no sign of the highly-trained and fast-thinking ex-Marine. “Give it a rest. She can’t hear you over the surf, buddy.”
He turned on Adam, tears brimming. “But I have to find her. Don’t you see? She’s lost, and Jamie needs her. Braxton, too. Who’ll read them bedtime stories?”
And you’re hanging on by a thread. Without asking, Adam took hold of Connor’s elbow. “Come on. Let’s go find the others.”
It was then he realized that Connor had no shoes. His flip-flops were missing. Adam stared at his bare feet. Where’s my boots? My socks?
He checked his weapons. Both gone. The holsters, too. Damn. Alex is gonna be pissed. I lost my piece. A SEAL never loses his weapon. It just doesn’t happen…
Adam shrugged off the rambling rant in his head, a sure sign of his own wretched condition. He steered Connor toward the beach at their right. They had work to do. It didn’t take long to locate the copilot, crumpled beneath the broken wing of the craft, both bobbing in the shallow surf. One glance told Adam everything. He’d have to dig a grave.
“He’s dead,” Connor stated the obvious.
“Yeah. I see that.”
Connor’s behavior revealed a man running on fumes. He’d either suffered a brain injury or was in shock. Either way, Adam didn’t trust him alone. He didn’t need another fatality. Still fighting to inhale one good, deep
breath, he pulled Connor along and scanned the beach for the rest of the flight crew, for Shannon, Izza, or Donavan.
Panic began a relentless tapping at his shoulder. Where could they be?
A choking, gagging sound drew their attention to the edge of the jungle where a long scorch mark darkened the sand. Together, they found the young flight attendant still strapped to his seat, leaning against a palm tree like he’d meant to be there. Smoking twisted metallic debris lay next to him. Blood poured down his neck and over his chest. The boy blinked wild green eyes up at Adam and Connor. The desperate fear on his face sucker-punched Adam. He never spoke, but the message in his frightened eyes was clear. Save me. Help me. Don’t let me die.
There wasn’t enough time. The kid had a hole in his throat, and the quick mercy of bleeding out. Within seconds, Adam pressed his fingertips to the young man’s eyes to close them forever. Whoever he was, he never stood a chance.
Panic added a frenzied drum roll up Adam’s spine. Where the hell are they?
“Are you hurt?” Adam asked Connor as he steered him away from this desperate scene.
“No, I... It’s just that I...” Connor seemed at a loss for how to answer.
“Come on.” Adam clutched his buddy’s arm tighter, determined to find survivors, damn it. “The girls are here somewhere. We’ll find them.”
“Do you really think so?” Connor asked, his question curiously child-like.
“Yes.” Adam pulled him farther down the beach, fighting his own fear. “I’m sure of it. We’ll find Donavan, too. Can you run?”
“Yes.” Connor pulled away as if he was going to do that, just run.
“With me.” Adam didn’t release his buddy’s arm. “Run with me. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Connor answered quickly.
“Come on then. Let’s find our guys. Let’s build a camp for the night. Let’s catch something for supper. Got that, sailor?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Connor’s head bobbed. “But I just want Izza.”
“She’s not the only one missing.”
“I know. I know.” But Adam doubted Connor knew much at the moment. Together, they ran the beach. It made sense. He and Connor had washed ashore. The girls should have, too. Right? God, I hope so.
Adam searched the edge of the water, but came up with nothing but airplane parts and debris. “Let’s go back the other way.”
“Why?” Connor asked.
Adam couldn’t answer. Strength faded with every step. He steered Connor in a quick turn about-face, and they headed back toward the other side of the crash zone. Facing into the sun made it harder to see. Sweat poured into his eyes, stinging and blurring his vision. He had to be seriously hurt or his body wouldn’t weigh more with every step. Too soon, rest wouldn’t be an option. He’d collapse. He couldn’t let that happen before he found every last survivor.
“Look. I see... I see...” Connor pointed to where a lone seagull hopped along the edge of the beach. Something lay half out of the water. The nasty bird pecked at it. Connor jerked out of Adam’s grasp, running pell-mell to the bird and the human body beneath its clawed feet. “Izza!”
Adam had never heard more pain infused into a single word. Connor dropped to his knees in the sand to pull his dead wife into his arms. “Aw, Izza,” he cried. “Not you, too.”
God, no.
She must’ve lain there a while. Probably washed ashore. One of her pant legs was torn open from the hip down. The ugly gash below her knee had been washed clean by the water. Her long ponytail lay in the sand, stark contrast to her white, lifeless face. Again, her boots were gone, somehow lost in the force of the crash-landing.
Connor buried his face in her chest, sobbing, “No, no, no. Baby, not you. I can’t live without you.”
Adam looked away, fighting the godawful hopelessness of their situation. Tears brimmed. Damn it to hell. Izza was the tough one, the one who had more reason to live than him. Why her? She had kids. He had a dog. Why the hell her?
He choked back his grief, needing to be strong for Connor. This would kill him. Shit, it was killing him. Adam cast his gaze to the whitecaps rolling ashore, lapping against the far side of the Gulfstream. Rocking it. Shannon baby. Talk to me. Where are you?
Suddenly, Izza sputtered. She smacked at Connor with a very limp hand. “Damn it, get off me. What you trying to do, kill me?” she muttered weakly.
He cradled her like a baby, rocking forward and backward too quickly for her injuries. “Oh, God. You’re alive. Izza. We crashed. The copilot’s dead. We can’t find anyone else.”
“How bad?” Adam knelt alongside her, scrubbing a hand over his face in relief.
“That you, Adam?” She squinted into the sun. “Man, I need a drink.”
Adam shifted to shade her with his shadow. “I’ll get you some fresh water as soon as I can, just tell me. Can you wiggle your toes? Your fingers? How bad are you hurt?”
“Been wiggling them a while now,” she said weakly. “That damned bird kept trying to eat me. Pretty sure there’s nothing broken. Back hurts though. Just can’t move too fast.”
“Whiplash.” Adam hoped he was right. That would explain his body aches, too. They’d all been run over by a freaking Gulfstream. He glanced around for some kind of shelter to retreat to. Izza needed shade and relief from the gull’s incessant pecking. Even now, it hadn’t moved far. Spotting several palm trees close to shore, he thumped Connor’s shoulder, pointing to their next destination. “Let’s move her out of the sun.”
Connor lifted his face, his eyes filled with grief and shock. “I can’t live without her.”
“I know that, but can you carry her?”
“Who?” he asked tearfully, but that sad off-the-wall question activated Izza.
“Get me out of the ocean, Connor,” she ordered. “Move it. I’m not dead, and you’re making me mad. Jesus Christ, what’s the matter with you?”
Connor eased her into his arms, and Adam was thankful for all that martial arts, muscle-training Connor had apparently received from his kickboxing wife. Even befuddled, he seemed to understand he’d better act upon Izza’s orders or risk her ire. She found herself resting in the shade in no time.
“You seen Shannon or Donavan?” Adam asked.
“Uh-uh,” Izza grunted as she made friends with the hard palm tree behind her. “You guys are the first. Ah. That feels better.”
“Can I leave Connor with you?” he asked quietly, his head reverberating with flashing lights at every move. There was still time. Shannon was out there, Donavan and the pilot, too.
“I got no problem keeping Connor while you look for the rest of us,” Izza said with her eyes full of tears. She stretched a hand to her bewildered husband, still looking out to sea and now wringing his hands. “I’m cold, Connor. Come keep me warm.”
His eyes narrowed as he sank to her side. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, clinging to her hand like a lost child. The minute she pulled him into her arms, he choked, and Adam looked away. He’d have cried too if he’d had the time, but he didn’t. Connor was no help. Izza neither. Damn it, Shannon. Where are you?
“I’ll be back,” he muttered as he stood and walked away. Returning to where they’d found Izza, he scanned the shoreline. The annoying gull was gone. The ocean stretched, its endless blue now punctuated with smoldering wreckage and a far-reaching oil slick. The reality of a plane going down in the Pacific was a damned hard fact. He might never find the pilot, Shannon or Donavan. They might have already washed out to sea. Or worse.
Every sailor knew the gruesome history of the USS Indianapolis, the flagship of the Fifth Fleet. Torpedoed by the Japanese Imperial Fleet on July 30, 1945, it went down with three hundred crewmen. But those guys died fast compared to the nine hundred survivors left topside to face dehydration, exposure, delirium, and—sharks.
By the time Lieutenant Wilbur “Chuck” Gwinn and his copilot spotted the survivors from their fighter plane three and a half days later, only thre
e hundred and twenty-one men were left, all of them in wretched condition.
Adam scanned the waves for signs of dorsal fins, his gut filled with acid. Izza’s blood, maybe Shannon’s and Donavan’s, had already scented the water. It wouldn’t take long before the ocean’s clean-up crew showed up. Time was running out.
He turned back to the crash site. The bright red Reagan Airlines logo didn’t look so proud anymore, not with the aircraft’s smoking guts strewn up and down the sand. Sparks flashed from the nose of the plane, its port side leaning hard onto the beach. The passenger door was still closed. Adam stared at the wreck, trying to make sense of it. How’d we get out? How are we even alive?
He saw the pilot then, dead at the stick, still strapped to his seat. The gaping hole on the starboard side of the cockpit explained how the copilot got out, and why he died elsewhere. It possibly explained how the rest of them had gotten out as well. Adam’s brain strived to fit the puzzle pieces of this awful disaster. Engine failure? Bird strike? Lightning? What could’ve brought down such a well-designed aircraft? The explosion off the port side flashed back to his mind. Yeah. That would do it.
The pilot almost looked asleep at the wheel except for the staring eyes of a dead man.
“Where are they?” Adam asked stupidly, as if the corpse would tell.
A faint “Help me…” drifted over the waves.
He jerked around, sure he’d heard her. “Shannon!” he called. “Where are you?”
“Adam… Here...” It was so soft, he couldn’t tell where it came from. Too much pain and ocean noise vied for the last of his energy.
“Shannon!” he yelled louder this time.
Nothing. No whisper. Was it an illusion? Shock? Hope? A gull floated overhead, its plaintive cry oddly human-sounding. That could’ve been all he’d heard. Not Shannon. Adam dropped to one knee, near to passing out and his head reeling. He stared at the lying bird. “You’re wrong. She’s not dead. Not... not yet.”
Struggling back to his feet, he faced the pilot again. “She has to be close to the plane. I just heard her,” he declared to the corpse. And now I’m losing my mind like Connor. I’m talking to a dead man. Shit!
Adam Page 8
