The Seat Beside Me

by Nancy Moser

  The woman pulled her back. “Don’t let go! Hold on to the plane. Hold on to the boy.”

  “But my husband—”

  “Hold on!”

  Merry looked around the tail section but only saw the short-haired woman, a woman in a bright pink sweater, a handsome man, and a man with black hair and a beard. Where are the others?

  Suddenly, another woman popped through the surface of the water, gasping for air.

  The cold air both relieved and seared Tina’s lungs. She coughed the water away.

  “Over here!”

  She turned in the water and saw six people clinging to the tail section. But where was—?

  “Mallory! Where’s Mallory?”

  The people ignored her question, leaning out into the water toward her. “Come on. Grab hold!”

  The handsome man got her arm and pulled her close, grimacing as if the action caused him pain. A woman in a pink sweater helped until Tina hooked a hand over the ragged edge of the plane. Icicles hung from the survivors’ hair. Their skin had a bluish cast like the Lladro figurines she coveted but could never afford. The little boy in a life vest appeared to sleep, his head lolling against the vest.

  This was all?

  But Mallory was in the seat beside me. Tina whipped her head, once again looking for the girl. “Mallory!”

  “Save your strength, lady. Help’s coming.”

  She looked to the shore where people scurried around, tying things together, trying to create a makeshift lifeline. They were pitiful extensions across the expanse that separated them from safety. And then Tina knew.

  “We’re going to die.”

  What scared her the most was that no one argued with her.

  He woke to darkness and cold and wet.

  I’m under water!

  The cold constricted every part of George’s body, an icy vise that pushed inward so he couldn’t move. He found himself still in his seat.

  That’s it. Just sit here. You wanted to die, didn’t you?

  He looked toward the light above him. His bursting lungs forced the issue. Not now. Not yet.

  He pushed the button of the seat belt with a leaden finger. It released him to the light. But it wouldn’t be that easy. His left leg hung like a useless rudder. The muscles of his arms burned at the effort. Almost there … almost—

  His hands broke the surface, but his head met opposition. Something was in his way. He scraped at it and jabbed, desperate for air. The block of ice relinquished the space and floated aside. He burst through the surface and gasped. The snow bit his face, feeling like salt in the wound of his frigid skin.

  He frantically grappled for something to hold on to. A suitcase came close, but when he tried to grab it, it sank. He saw the tail section of the plane twenty feet away. He treaded water and made a decision to reach it. But twenty feet … it could have been twenty miles due to the sluggish way his body moved and the dead weight of his injured leg. He had to stay where he was. A piece of the fuselage floated close, and he clung to it.

  Odd how a piece of the very plane that had betrayed him might save him now. A man who had wanted to die, but whom God had chosen to live?

  3:07 P.M.

  Upon getting to work at River Rescue, Floyd Calbert popped the back of his coworker’s head as he passed his chair. “Seems we’re going to be grounded today, eh, Hugh?”

  “Unless you want to play Santa Claus. Hey, maybe we’ll be lucky and have a quiet shift.”

  “Sounds good to—”

  The red phone rang. Hugh reached it first. Floyd watched his face turn ashen. Hugh hung up and stood in the same motion. His face stared out the window at the snow. “A plane’s down. In the river.”

  “Down?” Floyd joined his stare out the window, knowing what they were being asked to do. “But we can’t go—”

  “We’ve got to. They said it’s hard for rescue vehicles to get through. The plane hit a parking garage. The highway next to the river has traffic backed up. They’re trying their best, but we’ve got to do the same. There are survivors in the middle of the river. Even if the rescuers had boats, the ice floes would get in the way. And the current … No one can get to them.”

  Floyd shivered. “Except us.”

  Hugh looked at him, his face pulled with concern—and fear. “Except us.”

  Reporter Dora Roberts knocked and entered the office of the news editor in one motion.

  Her boss looked up. “Hey, I thought you were going to Phoenix.”

  “There’s been a plane crash. It hit a building. It’s in the river.”

  “Go!”

  She went.

  3:27 P.M.

  How long had they been in the water? Henry pried open a frozen eyelid and looked at his watch. Nearly a half hour. How much longer could they last?

  Not long.

  The other male survivor nodded to the shore where dozens of people were scrambling about, getting nowhere. “At least we’re going to die with an audience.”

  Henry wanted to laugh but couldn’t find the energy or the charity. Why hadn’t someone come to help?

  The survivors around him slipped in and out of consciousness, and it took extreme effort for him to remain awake. Yet maybe they had the right idea … just fall asleep and let death take—

  Stay awake.

  He didn’t question the inner urging. Henry suffered a deep breath and willed himself to live.

  At least for now.

  3:28 P.M.

  George heard the sound of a helicopter. He looked up and saw it come closer, a lifeline dangling from its body.

  Thank you, God!

  With all his energy he waved at it, sinking in the water every time he sacrificed a hand from the job of staying afloat. But it moved past him to the tail section.

  They’re not going to see me!

  It would serve him right.

  Floyd could tell that Hugh was having trouble keeping control of the helicopter in the blizzard. Their jobs at the River Rescue usually dealt with rescuing summer boaters. They’d never been out in a blizzard before.

  Floyd yelled at Hugh from the open door, his body craning to see through the snow. “I see a kid. Go after the kid!”

  “Roger.”

  Hugh brought the helicopter over the tail section, angling the open door toward the child. It fell next to a man with a beard. He looked up at them expectantly, but instead of wrapping it around himself, he passed it to a woman with blond hair, the one holding on to the child. At his nudging, she took it. He helped her wrap it around her torso, looping it under her arms. Then she pulled the boy to her chest. He seemed to come to and weakly lifted his arms around her neck. The man said a few words to the woman, she nodded, then he looked up to the chopper and waved.

  “Go! Go!” Floyd said.

  Hugh pulled up and they watched as the man guided the woman and boy away from the twisted fuselage into the air. The two appeared to be glued together. Floyd prayed they stayed that way. The helicopter raced to shore. “Hold on, you two … we’re almost there.”

  The wind and snow stung Floyd’s face, and he couldn’t imagine how cold the survivors must be. And they won’t be survivors much longer if you don’t hurry and get them out.

  As they neared the shore, Floyd was relieved to see so many people ready to take hold of the woman and the boy. Everyone wanted to help. But their actions were agonizingly slow in the slippery snow and cold, and the coordination of so many was awkward.

  Floyd cupped his hands. “Come on. There’s more out there. Give me back the line.”

  Someone looked up and dedicated himself to getting the line free.

  “Clear!”

  George heard the helicopter come close again. Was he getting a second chance?

  He waved furiously. Come on, see me, see me! I’m all alone out here.

  The helicopter hesitated from its flight toward the tail section and turned toward him. His heart raced with appreciation.

  George grabbed the line, th
e roughness of the rope cutting his brittle skin. He held on to it, but the man standing in the open chopper shook his head and waved his arms. “No! Around. Put it around yourself.”

  A glimmer of logic entered his brain, and George realized he had to move into the hoop of the lifeline. Once he did so, he nodded he was ready.

  “We gotcha.”

  George felt himself being lifted, and the river sucked at him, trying to get him back. Help me, God.

  The blizzard swirled around him, the wind caused by their movement freezing his skin on contact. The pain intensified as his arms and shoulders rejected being asked to use frozen muscles.

  Hurry, hurry, hurry. I can’t hold—

  He heard shouts all around him, reminding him of his football days. Voices of support, urging him on.

  “You’re almost there!”

  “Hang on!”

  “Come on, come on, you can do it.”

  He tried to see the source of encouragement, but his eyelids had frozen shut. Then the words of comfort became action, and he felt arms encircle his legs, then his body. And his weight was lifted up and held strong and fast.

  “Let go. You can let go now.”

  He told his hands to let go of the rope’s loop, but they would not respond. Someone pulled the lifeline away and he was free of it. Free of the bitter wind, the greedy water, the traitorous plane.

  His saviors hurried him to an ambulance, the jostling of their running sending jolts of pain through his body. But he didn’t care. He could take the pain now.

  Voices yelled directions. George let himself slip away to a quieter place. He didn’t need to listen.

  Not anymore.

  Three down. As they made their way back to the tail, Floyd had an idea. “I’m adding another line.”

  Hugh glanced back. “But the weight. We’re only meant for five under normal conditions and the weight of the wet—”

  “I know, I know … but time’s running out. We’ve got to try.”

  Hugh shrugged and nodded at the same time. Floyd knew the brunt of it would be on his shoulders. To maneuver in these conditions with two dragging weights was dangerous. The odds of them crashing into the river themselves.

  Floyd shook such considerations away. The people had been in the water nearly an hour. That they were even alive was a miracle. He hoped God had a few more miracles in His pocket.

  Anthony Thorgood had had enough. This rescue was ridiculous. From what he could see, there were only eight of them. Surely the helicopter could move a little faster to get them out. He looked around the tail section at the remaining survivors—such as they were. A man and three women, including that Belinda person. They were all drawing into themselves, their shoulders at their ears. They wouldn’t last long, and who knew? Even if they got out of the water, they probably wouldn’t survive.

  But he would. He was not going to die.

  Take your chance!

  He mentally nodded at the order and planned to do exactly that.

  The helicopter positioned itself overhead and dropped the line to the other man. Why do they keep giving it to him? But as the man caught the rope, he handed it to the woman with bloody short hair.

  Idiot! Now’s not the time to be a fool.

  The woman took it, and Anthony felt a surge of disappointment. But then, suddenly from the sky, another lifeline fell. The man caught it and again handed it toward the others. But it was caught by the wind and bobbled over their heads, landing in Belinda’s range. She reached for it. But when she fumbled the line, when it moved past her to the space within Anthony’s grasp, he grabbed hold.

  There was a moment’s hesitation as Belinda looked at him, her hand extended, wanting the line back. But Anthony quickly looked away and placed the rope around his body.

  His adrenaline surged. “Go!”

  The chopper rescuer seemed to hesitate a moment, but then Anthony felt himself being lifted. He did not look down at the water where he’d been. He did not look down at Belinda.

  He was alive. That’s all that mattered.

  I should dump him in the river.

  Floyd tried to calm his anger with the man who’d taken the line from the woman. He knew the survival instinct was strong—by necessity—but to witness such a blatant act of selfishness made his heart pump in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the moment.

  You’ll get yours, buddy. People saw what you did. They saw.

  Henry closed his eyes. The cold lured him toward sleep. But he couldn’t give in. Such sleep would be eternal. And there were two more people to save.

  To save?

  The thought shocked Henry into wakefulness. Save? He needed saving too!

  This is my way; walk in it.

  The words came to him so clearly that for a moment, he wondered if they had been audible. Then he knew: They weren’t words for all to hear. They were words for him alone. Words from God.

  Henry sucked in a breath, ignoring the pain that came with it. In this one moment everything was clear. This was his purpose. This was his destiny. This was the road God had been leading him toward. The road of a plane crash. The road of man against nature. The road of life against death. The road of sacrifice.

  But he still had a choice. God wouldn’t force him to do it. God was big on free will. He gave opportunities; He gave chances for excellence. He gave encouragement for goodness. But God did not push. He offered.

  This is the way … will you walk in it?

  It was odd to hear the words formed as a question. A slice of pain shot up Henry’s arm, urging him to think of himself. Don’t do it, Henry. You have a right to live as much as any of these other people do. You don’t know them. You don’t owe them a thing.

  The whap-whap of the helicopter cut through the air. The rotors made the wind and water blast Henry’s body as it hovered above them. A lifeline was thrown. And then a second one.

  Henry caught the first one.

  I don’t owe them, but I do owe Him.

  And with a clutch to his throat, knowing full well what he was doing, once again Henry Smith handed the lifeline to the woman who should have gone the last time; the woman who had the line stolen from her.

  With a look of shock she nodded her thanks and placed it around herself.

  The second lifeline brushed past Henry, grabable, takeable, but he let it go, directing it toward the young woman who’d called out to Mallory. She took the line weakly.

  The helicopter moved away with two people holding on to two lifelines.

  Henry watched as it left him alone.

  But not alone. He smiled. Never, ever alone.

  “No! No!”

  Floyd watched in horror as one of the women lost her grip and slipped away as she was dragged over an ice floe. The helicopter couldn’t gain much altitude with the weight of two, and the victims were being towed through the water. He couldn’t imagine their pain. He didn’t want to imagine their pain.

  “We lost one!”

  And then, within seconds, the woman in pink on the other lifeline lost her grip and fell back into the water. Both lines bobbed free and useless.

  “What do you want me to do?” Hugh asked.

  Floyd had to make a split-second decision. One was on top of an ice floe; the other was in the water. “Back to the one in the water.”

  As soon as they reached her, Floyd could see she wasn’t going to be much help. She lay nearly dead in the water, weakly gripping a seat cushion that had floated by.

  “Go lower. I’ve got to put the loop around her.”

  “Put it …?”

  “No choice.” Floyd positioned himself in the open door, setting his feet on the skids. Please God, please let me get her.

  As they neared the top of the water, the woman opened her eyes and her eyes met Floyd’s. She nodded. There was life there. And a will to live.

  Floyd held the loop of the lifeline over her, as if he were attempting a ring toss. “You have to get this,” he yelled above the whi
r of the rotors. “Put your arms through.”

  He thought he saw a flash of understanding. The helicopter was only five feet above the water. Floyd balanced on the skid and tossed the line. It landed perfectly over her head. She awkwardly put one arm through, then the other, the seat cushion bobbing away. Floyd took up the slack as much as he could.

  Hugh was struggling to keep control. The skid dipped toward the water, then raised. They had to go. Now. The woman looked ready, but was she?

  “Okay, Hugh. Go. But go slow.”

  As they moved through the icy air, Floyd locked on to the woman’s eyes. “Look at me! Look at me. We’re almost there. Hold on.”

  As they got to within a few feet of the shore, she could hold on no longer and plunged into the water. Rescuers on shore waded in and pulled her to safety.

  It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.

  Floyd called to Hugh. “Get to the woman on the floe.”

  When they reached her, the woman appeared dead. She lay on her stomach, gripping the chunk of ice like a person sprawled face first on a mattress. She appeared to be asleep.

  Is she dead? “Hey! Lady!” She stirred and managed to turn her face enough to see him. “It’s your turn. I’m throwing you the line.”

  He was shocked when she actually turned over to receive it, but her actions were the stilted movements of an old, old woman. The ice floe teetered dangerously. Floyd threw her the line, and she caught it.

  “Yes!”

  She slipped the loop around her torso and they pulled her up. The ice floe broke in two beneath her. They were about thirty feet from shore. “Come on; you’re almost there …”

  Warily, the helicopter made its way back to the shore. As they got close enough for their success to be imminent, Floyd let his thoughts race back to the one last survivor still in the wreckage. He could hardly wait to meet the man who’d handed over the lifeline three times. He had never, ever witnessed such selflessness—

  Once the line was free he said, “Clear! Let’s go get him.”

  In the far corners of his mind, Henry could hear voices, sirens, and even the helicopter. But they were of no use to him anymore. They were not of the world where he was going.