To The Center Of The Earth

by Greig Beck

  There was a clattering sound outside Bill’s window and a loud bang. Before he could look outside, the plane dropped and angled downward. The passengers all cried out and screamed.

  Bill clutched his stomach as it lurched up. The drop was so sudden, it felt as if he’d left his soul somewhere above him. Bian grabbed his arm and screamed. The pilot came on the intercom issuing instructions, but the tinny voice was drowned out by the din of panic in the cabin. Oxygen masks dropped down from the ceiling.

  Bill snatched his out of the air and quickly strapped it to his face. He turned to his right to find Bian unconscious. He grabbed her mask and slipped it onto her face, securing it as best he could.

  The plane lurched and bucked in the air, still dropping altitude rapidly. The flight attendants were shouting something about assuming the crash position, and then strapped in.

  Bill leaned Bian forward, and he leaned forward himself. His mind raced with many horrible permutations of what was coming. If they were crashing into the ocean, he would grab the vest from under his seat cushion, and the cushion itself would serve as a flotation device. Once he was set, he would attend to Bian. If they were crashing on land, there was nothing he could do except hope he survived the impact.

  All the times he flew a plane, and nothing like this had happened before. His mind succumbed to panic in concert with his stomach. He wanted to grab onto something to steady himself. Anything.

  The plane leveled out a bit, preparing for landing. There was a loud bang as the ground rushed up to meet the descending metal cylinder. Bill’s mind jarred and everything went black. There was a flicker of the cabin being torn apart. He briefly felt rain on his face, and his eyes were bleached by a flashing light. Then blackness.

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