by Nova Rain
“You got it.” I nodded, flipping the two switches on in front of me. “I’ll take this leg. Is that okay with you?”
“Sure, go ahead,” he accepted, picking up another document from the holder. “Takeoff checklist.”
As we went over it, a common phenomenon occurred. I remembered the dozens of times we had done this on a triple-seven. No surprises there. It was instinct. My mind went back to the time when Jake and I were considered two of the hottest pilots in United Airlines. We had the satisfaction of flying thousands of people across the country. We made almost twice the money we were making in our new job and were highly esteemed. Everywhere we went, people would open doors for us and treat us with a lot of respect.
“Swift Cargo 204 fly heading one-six-zero. Cleared for takeoff.”
The transmission from the control tower put an end to reminiscing.
“Roger that, tower,” Jake acknowledged. “Takeoff one-right, Swift Cargo 204.”
With the engines spinning faster, the aircraft rolled towards the exit of the hangar. A layer of thick clouds had settled over New York on that chilly, early-April afternoon. Luckily for us though, the winds that had been plaguing the city for the past thirty-six hours had subsided. The Beluga continued its slow course down the runway, bypassing a 737. A gentle turn had it facing the Catskills mountain range. Greeted by the usual threads of mist, I eased back on the throttle. Just seconds later, I was slammed back into my seat, the number on the airspeed indicator rising.
“90, 95, 100…”
“Max power,” Jake called out, but, at that very moment, I noticed something strange. We were accelerating, but not at the usual rate. The indicator was struggling to get to 110. It took it almost an entire second to rise from that to 112.
“What does your airspeed indicator say?” I asked Jake, tension speeding up my voice.
“It’s not a malfunction,” he responded. “Their readings are identical. V-one,” he called out once more, the indicator reading 115 miles an hour.
“I don’t like this,” I groaned, the nose of the plane lifting from the ground. “Our bird’s never struggled to pick up speed like this. I’m going around.”
“I agree,” Jake nodded, his gaze on the attitude indicator. The miniature aircraft on the artificial horizon wasn’t parallel to the horizon bar. In fact, it was completely absent, a clear sign that the nose had pitched dangerously upwards. “Landing gear down,” he announced, flipping the switch on his left.
“Son of a bitch! We’re too heavy!” I shouted, the miniature aircraft reappearing as I turned the Beluga right. I stole a glance at the altimeter. It read 350ft, and that number was decreasing. I sensed the plane banking to the left, houses beyond the airport filling my gaze.
“Pull up. Terrain.
Pull up. Terrain.”
The annoying warning from the speakers wasn’t of much use. I knew exactly where we were. It tortured my ears, along with the sharp sound of the alarm. My heart pounding against my ribcage, I wondered what to do next. We were still hundreds of yards away from the threshold of the runway, and our altitude was just 170ft.
“Easy. Easy,” Jake attempted a soothing tone, his gaze locked on the yoke. Two seconds afterwards, the stick shaker started to shake in a violent manner, flooding my heart and mind with fear. Yet, I wasn’t going to throw in the towel. I didn’t care whether we landed on dirt or on tarmac. The important thing was to land that plane in one piece. So, I pushed the yoke forward to put the nose down. I felt the bird banking in the opposite direction, the red-and-white control tower heaving into view. For a brief moment, a beacon of hope lit within me. At 80ft above the ground, the grip of gravity around me loosened. I was able to lean forward and take another look at the altimeter.
Fifty feet.
But it was all too little, too late. Gravity might have allowed me a simple move, but it was pulling down our bird faster than it levelled off.
“I’m sorry, buddy,” I gasped out, watching the gray color of the tarmac and the brown of the dirt draw nearer and nearer. “It’s been an honor flying with you.”
“Likewise,” he blurted out as I reached down into my shirt. I yanked out my silver cross and clenched my eyes shut, knowing there was nothing else I could do. I kissed the cold surface, Ava’s smiling face storming into my mind.
I bent my body forward, bringing my head down around me knees. Pushing my feet back, I linked my arms together behind my knees. Our bodies were jerked forward as a loud thud rocked the aircraft. The sound of metal grinding against the ground replaced audio warnings and alarms as the bolts holding my seat in place were sheared off their mountings. A series of clangs was pure torment to the senses. My body was slammed against the dashboard, agony spreading through my arms. Thousands upon thousands of shards of glass and chunks of plastic were hurtled into the cockpit as I found myself trapped under what remained of the dashboard. A horrible clang ripped the cockpit door and panels around it alike. Through the gaping hole, I watched the rows of seats blasting away with the rest of the fuselage, chunks of metal smashing into my face. The sheer force threatened to suck my body out. I felt it grabbing me like a gigantic, invisible hand, pulling at me. I thrust both of my arms up and gripped the edge of the panel above me. In a flash, a thundering bang echoed through the entire airport. Its blast wave sent bits of gravel and aluminum straight into the cockpit as a massive fireball shot up into the sky. Feeling blood dribbling down my forehead, I saw a huge plume of black smoke rising from the fuselage. A white flash spread over my eyes. I blinked once, the cockpit continuing its wild course through the dirt…
Chapter Twenty
Ava
“Twenty-four thousand views on YouTube, two hundred-and-eighty-seven comments and forty-three thousand page views in less than two days. Very good.”
My chest swelled with pride upon hearing Walter’s comment. Of all the people that worked at the Brooklyn Bulletin, I valued his opinion most. My editor had tons of experience. He had been a reporter since I was in diapers.
“Thank you, Walter,” I smiled over at him, taking my eyes off the statistics on the screen. I was more than willing to elaborate about my experience in Ontario, but, before I could offer him anything further, my ears picked up on a commotion from outside. I peeked out my window, only to find some of my colleagues staring at the TV in the corner of the room. In a split second, Penny stormed out of her office and turned right and joined everyone else.
“Excuse me,” I muttered to Walter, waves of worry washing over me. I left my office, wondering what was on that had piqued everyone’s interest. The first images shocked me to my very core. They showed a scene of utter devastation. A plane was lying in ruins on a runway, engulfed by flames. Thick clouds of smoke were rising up as water shot out of the hoses of two firetrucks on either side of the aircraft. Further down the runway, a helicopter was just taking off. The caption at the bottom of the screen read:
“Breaking News Cargo Plane Crashes After Takeoff – Pilots Critical”
A gasp of shock fled my lips as I realized what had transpired. But the impact of the news was much heavier on my friend. Penny’s body swayed forward. She bumped her head into John Ballard’s shoulder. It wasn’t enough to break her fall. She dropped to the floor, her forehead slamming into the hard surface.
“Penny!” I cried out, rushing forward. Our colleague was quick to react. He placed his hands on either of her shoulders and flipped her over as I reached her spot.
“Come on, girl. Wake up,” Ballard urged, giving her gentle slaps. I kept my focus on her, a sea of darkness sweeping through me. All of a sudden, I felt my mouth drying up as if I had been parched for days. I raised my hands up to my temples, my gaze returning to the screen. Nothing had changed. Fire was still consuming what was left of the Beluga. Firefighters were struggling to put it out, a police car driving past their vehicles.
“I just got off the phone with Reynolds,” Walter’s voice rushed into my ears. “They’re being airlifted to
the Metropolitan. It may be far, but it’s better equipped than the local hospital, plus it’s got its own helipad. Get her up and give her some water,” he told Ballard. “We’re leaving.”
“We?”
“I’m coming with you,” he added, his tone calm as our glances met. I looked around me, my mouth agape. The look in my colleagues’ eyes sent my heart into a downward spiral. Unable to utter a word, they stared at the TV. Some of them were holding their foreheads, whereas others shook their heads in sadness. With numb senses, I followed Walter through the room, hoping that Michael would pull through this ordeal.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ava
“Prepare yourselves for a real media circus, ladies.”
Walter’s words during the drive to the hospital were a wakeup call. I wasn’t going to visit someone who had been through a car accident. On the contrary, I was going to visit a man that had been involved in a plane crash. Aviation incidents are always sensational. Despite their rarity, they had a way of magnetizing people’s attention. Perhaps it’s the death toll that shocks everyone so much. Whatever the reason for the public’s reaction, I was inclined to agree with my editor. No matter their size, news outlets love to cover such catastrophes.
Much later, on 1st Avenue, his assumption was confirmed. The Bulletin’s van was stuck in a deadlock amid the noise of engines revving and incessant honking. There were three media vans in the lanes ahead of us, and many more behind us.
“That’s it. We’re walking,” I groaned, opening the passenger door.
“I hate it when I’m right,” Walter said, getting out of the cab.
“God, I’m so scared.” Penny’s attempt to confess her feeling was barely audible. I waited for her to catch up before the three of us began to stride through the gaps amongst the stationary cars. With my line of sight full of red taillights, nasty scenarios were swirling in my mind. In one of them, a doctor would announce to us Michael’s death. In another, both of our pilots would succumb to their injuries. My heart dreaded the thought of either of them leaving this world. I hadn’t enjoyed my relationship with Michael for very long. Penny loved Jake more than she loved her own existence. As for any pleasant scenarios? Alas, I couldn’t think of any. Plane crash survivability is very low. It would take a miracle for anyone to make it out of one alive.
To my satisfaction, the entrance of the hospital wasn’t jammed with reporters and photographers. There were TV crews beyond the gate, reporting live, but that was normal. As we closed in, I spotted the figures of two, big security officers at the entrance.
“Let me do all the talking,” Walter suggested, jogging ahead of us. “Good evening, gentlemen. My daughter and her cousin would like to see their fiancés, if that’s okay with you.”
“Go ahead,” one of the security officers murmured, stepping aside.
“Thank you,” Walter gave a nod of appreciation. “Come on, girls.”
“I really appreciate this,” I told him, once we were in the hall of the emergency ward.
“Leave the report to me,” he declared, baffling me. “Don’t worry about writing anything tonight. Your people are fighting for their lives. I can’t ask you to work. It’s inhuman.”
“You’re the best, Walter,” Penny spoke in a shattered voice and kissed him on the cheek.
I lengthened my strides, my heartbeat rising. Two nurses were heading in the opposite direction, one of them holding a binder and pointing at a room on her left. I peeked through the window, but the man in there was much older than Michael or Jake. Suddenly, a sharp noise forced me to bring my gaze back forward. Two orderlies were on either side of a gurney, a man in a lab coat behind him. The large figure of the man they were rushing away from the operating room with was very familiar. It was Michael, with a collar around his neck, and an orderly beside him holding an IV bag up. I didn’t let them get any further. I sprinted off, my stomach twisting into knots.
“Doctor, my name’s Ava Briggs, I’m Mr. Smith’s fiancé. Where are you taking him?” I asked in a trembling voice.
“To the ICU, ma’am,” he answered, his gaze fixed on his patient. “Move, people!”
“Oh God…” I sighed, as the orderlies and doctor shoved the gurney onto the elevator.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I heard Penny’s sweet voice. “Come on. Maybe someone else can tell us more about his condition.”
I didn’t have the courage to speak. Seeing him like that had torn my heart to pieces. I started back down the hall, tears filling my eyes.
“What if…?” Two words escaped me, but when they did, I bit my lower lip, because I didn’t want to finish my phrase.
Another similar noise filled my ears as a tall, young doctor emerged from the operation room.
“Doctor…” Penny said, jogging ahead of me. “I’m Penny Green, this is Ava Briggs. We are the pilots’ fiancés. How are they?”
“Captain Williams got lucky,” he began, an expression of firmness on his face. “He’s got a broken wrist, a fractured ankle, a concussion and some minor bruises and lacerations. Captain Smith…?” He paused. “His condition is much worse I’m afraid. He’s got four broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and he was bleeding internally when he was transported here.”
“Bleeding…?” I gasped out, a tear toppling off the edge.
“Yes,” he affirmed. “The next twenty-four hours are critical. He’s in good hands, though. That much I can guarantee you.”
“Is there a chapel around here?” I posed the question, holding in a sniffle.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s on the third floor,” he informed me and turned away, leaving me in a state of despair.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Penny whispered, leaning closer.
“No,” I croaked, waving my hand in front of my face. “Go see Jake. I’ll see you later.”
Without waiting for her reply, I turned around. My friend had almost lost the most important thing she had on this earth. She had to be with him. Burdening her with what I had in mind would be selfish of me. Besides, I needed some time on my own.
The elevator doors opened at the third floor, revealing its rather peaceful halls. It was well after 9pm; most of the staff had left for the day. With Michael’s warm voice echoing in my brain, I strolled into the chapel. I looked at the numerous icons around me, chills creeping up and down my spine. I seated myself in the first pew, facing a large icon of the baby Jesus in His mother’s embrace.
“My God…” I whispered, interlocking my fingers over my knees. “You know me. I haven’t spoken to you since my mother died. Recently, I…” I pressed my lips together. “I started seeing someone. I was a little skeptical at first. You see, I’ve been betrayed. But this man was…” I regretted my last word. “Sorry. This man is just what I needed. He pulled me out the dark place I was in. He made me laugh. A lot. He helped me believe in myself again. Now…” I faltered, more tears blurring my vision. “His life hangs by a thread. So, I’m asking you, please, don’t summon him to heaven just yet. He’s got so much left to do.”
Sorrow surged within me, taking away my will to say anything else. I let it pour out of my eyes and hung my head, recalling the kindness in Michael’s heart. Because what I’d told to Penny had been true. He never hid from me. On my first visit to Lake Huron, he hadn’t held back. He had given me a shoulder to cry on, even after I’d rejected his advances.
As tears streamed down my cheeks, a fuzzy sensation took me by surprise. A thin arm in a purple sweater was wrapped around my neck. It belonged to Penny. She eased me into her and caressed the back of my head as my tears soaked the fabric on her shoulder.
“I can’t lose him,” I sniffled, closing my eyes.
“I know,” she spoke, her voice but a whisper. “Jake woke up ten minutes ago. I figured you’d want to talk to him.”
“No, let him rest.” I shook my head in denial. “He’s been through enough.”
“Trust me, a five-minute conversation won’t hurt him,” she insi
sted, getting back up on her feet. “Let’s go.”
I threw one last glance at baby Jesus and decided to take her advice. I wiped my tears off, starting to wonder what good would come out of a conversation with Jake. Okay, his life wasn’t in danger, but he had been through one of the worst ordeals imaginable. Still, talking to Michael’s friend would provide some valuable insight on what had gone so horribly wrong on that flight.
When I laid eyes on Penny’s boyfriend though, I got a taste of what had happened to Michael, and it froze the blood in my veins. Jake had a large bandage on his head, covering even his eyebrows. His left cheekbone was swollen and bruised. His wrist and his ankle were in a cast, and his eyes were shrunken and reddened. The deep cuts along his arms were the least of his problems.
“Hey,” he uttered in a drowsy voice, his gaze following me. “Do I look that bad?”
“You’re alive.” Penny saved me the trouble of having to respond to that. “That’s all that matters. Listen, do you remember anything?”
“That’s the problem. I remember everything,” he continued, lowering his eyes. “We didn’t stand a chance out there.”
“Why do you say that?” I wondered, halting at the foot of his bed.
“We were too heavy. We never should have taken off in the first place,” Jake said, his voice continuing to lose its nerve. “By the time we realized that, we’d reached decision speed. It’s what pilots call ‘the point of no return,’ because it’s not safe for us to stop. As soon as we were in the air, Michael tried to turn around and land again, but…” He swallowed hard. “Our bird was unstable. It went into a stall. He tried to recover from it, but we just didn’t have enough altitude.”
“Jake, I’m confused,” I protested, keeping my voice down. “You knew you had taken on more weight than you should have, and you still took off? Why?”
“We didn’t know, Ava,” he answered, lifting his gaze up to mine. “According to the manifest, we could have taken on another fifteen thousand pounds without any issues.”