by Kim Pritekel
Rachel’s fingers were shaking badly as she tried for the third time to get the rubber band around her head, the clear, plastic mask sliding into place. She noticed the woman across the aisle having trouble with hers, so reached across and helped as best she could, as far as the oxygen chord would allow.
As she sat back down, she met the gaze of the woman sitting in front of her, dark brows creased with terror, which Rachel had no doubt matched her own.
The plane lurched forward, everyone screaming in surprise and fear. Pam Sloan watched as a small, rubber ball rolled down the center aisle toward the cockpit.
“Thomas!” Mandy Ryan grabbed her son by the arm, her cry muffled behind her mask. Her son was crying, his ball flying from his hands, disappearing down the aisle.
Dean Ratliff rolled his eyes. Stupid kid. Sit down! He turned his attention from the young mother and the small boy, still crying about his stupid ball, and instead saw a large man sitting by the window, a small woman nearly sitting in his lap. He was trying to whisper words of comfort into her ear, but it came out as some sort of twisted, macabre murmuring behind the plastic of the mask.
All around him, Dean could hear sniffles and cries, panicked faces on all of his fellow passengers. As it was, he was grabbing onto the armrest with claw-like fingers, feeling his stomach lurch with every harsh movement of the plane. He glanced up as the public address system squawked to life once more.
Denny listened as the captain almost shouted a slew of instructions to his doomed passengers. He no longer cared about trying to keep his load calm, no more time left for that. Blue eyes landed on the two women sitting next to her, both mother and daughter crying, holding onto each other for dear life.
Denny closed her eyes; what she wouldn’t do to have Hannah there right then, holding her, telling her everything would be okay. Suddenly remembering something from Flight 93, she snatched her cell phone, powering it on. The cheery chirp as it came to life seemed like a sick mockery. One signal bar.
“Fuck,” she hissed, tearing the mask from her face as she dialed the number one then send. The phone’s ring was sporadic at best.
“Den... ney?... ought you were... air?”
“Hannah! Hannah, oh god, thank god,” Denny could feel her tears spring to life. “Honey, I love you! Something’s gone wrong!”
“...at? I can’t under... ou. Wha...?”
“I love you! Always know that.”
Dead. The connection went dead.
She didn’t have much time to think about it as her stomach fell about thirteen stories beneath her. She fought the urge to throw up as the plane lurched once more, everyone screaming as the plane tilted dangerously, a man screaming as he flew out of his seat, where he had unbuckled himself. His cries were cut short as he slammed into the wall mere feet in front of and above Denny’s head. She yelped in surprise, unable to take her eyes off the new red splotch left on the oatmeal colored plastic.
Rachel Holt heard an awful thud behind her, but didn’t dare to look. She was too busy trying not to cry as the seatbelt dug dangerously into her midsection. She reached out desperately to the seat in front of her. Damn First Class! The seat ahead of hers was too far away to gain any real purchase. Just when she was about to unbuckle the belt in order to try and take a breath, the plane lurched back, slamming everyone back into their seats. Somewhere in front of her, the unmistakable sounds of someone vomiting, followed by the equally unmistakable smell, made everyone grimace.
Gloria Vinzetti clutched her Rosary, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she said the Lord’s prayer over and over again, her mouth moving soundlessly. She could feel her daughter’s hold tighten on her arm as the plane righted itself. The hot, coppery smell of newly spilt blood rent the air from where the man had hit mere seconds ago.
Mia clung to her mother, knowing Gloria was praying enough for both of them. The girl couldn’t dare look around, too terrified of what she might see. She’d already heard frantic murmurings about fire erupting from one of the engines, black smoke following the plane’s descent into the ocean’s depths.
I don’t want to die like this! Mia’s mind screamed this over and over again, thinking of the things she’d never done, and would never do. Her tears were nearly outdone by the woman sitting with her husband several seats back.
“I’m so sorry, Mel, so sorry,” Michael Dupree whispered over and over again to his wife, both clinging to each other. “God, I’m so sorry.” If only he hadn’t planned this damn trip, they’d be at home watching their new dish television.
Denny wished so badly she could shut out the horrible screaming of the plane as it cut through the whipping air, the plane once more tilting nose-down. She could feel the plastic covering on the armrest beginning to give way from the iron grip she had on it. That didn’t matter; there was no way she was releasing it. The plane righted itself again, then the brunette was jostled like she never had been before, a loud bang as something hit them from underneath, the sound of screeching metal that seemed to last forever. When it stopped, there was a horrible rushing sound.
Oh, Jesus...
There was a second jolt with a louder bang, coming from much closer beneath them. Suddenly there was an amazing amount of light bleeding through the cabin, followed by a deafening scream, like the day itself was wailing it’s anger, pain and regret.
“They’re gone!” Someone close by yelled, then Denny realized she’d said it. Fingers of ice clenched at her lungs, stealing the very air from them.
The scream was replaced by a whistle that made Rachel Holt’s ears ring, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as she opened her mouth in a soundless scream, her voice stolen with her breath.
Somehow in the back of her mind, all the instructions she’d heard millions of times before during take off, came back to her. The blonde reached under her seat, pulling the tabs she felt there. She was nearly knocked out of her seat as the plane skipped across the water for a third pass, a bit more of the back section flying out into the water.
She was jerked to her left, smacking her head on something hard, her stomach flipping end over end, along with the world, light shining in bright and intense, along with the pain.
Under any other circumstances, Dean would have thought it amusing as he watched a pair of eyeglasses suspended in air, the lady’s hair across from him like it had a life of its own, standing on end. His own loose polo shirt ballooning up around his neck, just for that one perfect instant, everything weightless and at peace.
Pam Sloan screamed as she realized Austin’s seatbelt had given way, the man slamming up against the ceiling of the plane, then flying out of sight. The veterinarian never saw him get sucked out of the missing tail section.
Rachel Holt’s eyes turned to saucers as the cockpit door bulged, then broke free in one terrifying second, the heavy, metal door flying through the cabin, taking the head of an unsuspecting flight attendant with it. The blonde had no time to process this before a flood of water followed, instantly filling the airplane, the immense pressure pinning the author to her seat.
Denny felt around frantically for the seat release, her blue eyes squinting against the cold, salt water, trying desperately to not take a much needed breath, her natural instincts shutting everything down, her fingers working frantically.
The brunette could feel herself thrown forward as the plane began to sink headfirst into the blackening depths. Panic filled her anew as she realized what was happening. Her fingers went back to her seat, working relentlessly to pull the floating device of the cushion free. Damn it! Why the fuck didn’t I pay attention to those instructions?
Oh, god! Oh, Jesus! Hang on, baby! Hang on!
Michael Dupree thrashed wildly as he tried to get Melissa unbuckled, her lifeless body beginning to float up from the seat. The Texan could see where she’d been hit in the head with something as the two halves of the plane had separated.
He could feel his lungs burning as they screamed for air. Michael knew he had to get them out o
f there, and he had to get them out now. With the superhuman strength of the desperate, Michael kicked with everything in him, trying to get them to the surface. He ignored the immense pain in his right arm and shoulder, barely even feeling it. He did feel himself kicking something hard, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered but getting Melissa to the surface.
* * *
Dean Ratliff blinked several times, blinded by the sudden sunlight, gasping and loving air like he never had before. It was in that single moment, pushing through the surface, that he thought that just maybe everything would be okay. Then reality struck him.
The attorney thrashed around in the water, nearly freaking out altogether when he came face to face with a woman who was very much dead, her big, brown eyes staring sightlessly at him. Shivering in disgust and fear, Dean turned away, only to be confronted by a bloody mass.
“Oh god,” he whimpered, blindly pushing through the water, trying to get away from that dead woman, her eyes boring into his very soul. Something else bumped him, but Dean couldn’t look to see what it was. He didn’t want to see that dead woman following him! Not even looking to see where he was swimming off to, Dean muttered to himself, a slight scream escaping his lips now and then as he saw something that traumatized him further. Before he knew it, he was all lone, no bodies, no plane parts, nothing..
Eyes huge, Dean swished around to look all around him- he was completely alone.
“Oh fuck.”
* * *
With a sputter, Michael Dupree emerged from the cold depths, clutching Melissa to his chest, doing his damndest to hold her head above water. Her head wound began to bleed anew, turning pink as it mixed with the water they bobbed in.
“Hold on, baby,” he gasped, looking around them, trying to get his bearings. “Gonna be okay, Mel. Gonna be okay.” Michael saw a piece of the wing bobbing not far away, the metal glinting in the harsh overhead sun. “Almost there, baby. Almost.”
The mechanic tried his best to not let the gore around him get to him. He had a singular mission, and that was to get himself and Melissa out of the water. Growing up in the Gulf, Michael knew all too well the dangers they faced, like sitting ducks in a world foreign to them.
“Okay,” he panted, the exertion and injuries he’d sustained sapping his energy. “Up ye go, babydoll.” With a grunt, Michael heaved Melissa’s body onto the makeshift raft, then tugged is own body weight to lie next to her, flopping down on his back, wincing as his arm and shoulder injury made itself known once more.
* * *
Blinking slowly, then squinting against the harsh glare, Mia groaned softly, her head pounding. As she opened her eyes, her stomach lurched, spewing her breakfast to splash in the water.
“Hold tight, honey. You took quite a hit to your head.”
The girl groaned again, her stomach finally starting to ease up. She began to get a feel for where she was, and realized she was on something that was squeaking gently under her. Yellow. Slippery.
“What happened?” she turned over onto her back, realizing she was bobbing in the middle of the ocean on a raft. Something occurred to her. She sucked in a frantic breath, looking around. “My mom. Where’s my mom?” She met concerned brown eyes.
“We’ll deal with that later. Let me see your head.” The woman pushed the girl’s long, wet hair out of her face, focusing on the long, deep gash above her left eyebrow. Dr. Pam Sloan looked around, nothing useful. She looked down at herself, then ripped a long piece of her shirt off waded it up. “Hold this to your head, honey. We need to get the bleeding stopped.”
Pam laid back, taking several breaths as she tried to come down from the intense adrenalin rush. She needed her wits to try and get her and the girl out of this. As it was, things didn’t look too promising. Bits and pieces of luggage and debris floated around them, along with the bodies of those who had drowned, or been thrown from the wreck. From every direction, all there was to be seen was water, as far as the eye could see.
“I think there’s someone over there,” the girl said, her voice soft.
The veterinarian followed where the girl was looking. There in the water, barely hanging on to a large, wooden suitcase, was a slumped figure, who seemed to be loosing her grip.
“I’ll be right back.” The doctor slid back into the water, quickly swimming over to the small blonde. “I got you,” she whispered, taking the woman into her arms. “Paddle,” she instructed, feeling the woman’s feeble attempts at helping. Finally reaching the raft, which was the inflated emergency ramp, inflating during impact, Mia helped both women out of the water.
Rachel coughed, her stomach hurting with each movement. Finally she was able to lay back in the raft and catch her breath. It took everything she had to pull in a full lungful of breath without crying out. She could feel her heart pounding, mind trying to reconcile with where she should be, and where she was. Finally green eyes opened, taking in her surroundings.
“Thank you,” she finally managed, pushing herself up so she was sitting against the hard edge of the raft. She looked at her fellow passengers, noting a terrified, and bleeding, young girl, and an older woman, maybe in her fifties, who was contemplating the cut on the girl’s head. That woman nodded, glancing briefly over at the small blonde, brushing wet hair out of her eyes.
“Crazy day, huh?”
“Yeah.” Rachel ran her hands over her hair, pushing it all out of her face and tucking it behind her ears. She just prayed her stomach held out; the thought of throwing up made her stomach hurt that much worse. She stared up at the sky, bright blue with a few floating bits of cotton. It was a beautiful day, and felt like they were being mocked because of it.
“Where do you think we are?” the older woman asked, her voice almost shrill in the stillness of the day, only the lapping waves broke the complete silence. Rachel shook her head, her voice shaky as she responded.
“I don’t have any clue.” Rachel could feel her shock slowly oozing to mortal fear. She curled up against the side of the raft, her arms wrapping around her folded legs, forehead resting on her knees. We’re dead.
* * *
A cheek twitched as a tiny sand crab scurried across the sand, through wet strands of black hair. Long fingers clawed into the hard-packed shore, then released.
PART 2
HANNAH DONNELLY KEPT the phone to her ear, even as she knew the signal had long gone dead. Fear gripped her insides like nothing she’d ever experienced. That had been the weirdest phone call she’d ever received, and didn’t fully understand it. Hell, she could barely understand what Denny was saying. The only thing she’d gotten out of it all was that Denny loved her.
The cordless phone slid off her ear, and was tossed to the couch next to her, her brain numb. As though electricity jolted through her, the brunette was on her feet, scrambling for the remote control, hurriedly flipping through the channels to find some news. She had the feeling something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. When there was nothing to be found, she grabbed the phone book, looking up airlines.
* * *
“Conrad! Get back in here and finish your dinner.” Meredith Adams sighed heavily. This was going to be a long couple weeks with her precocious twelve year old grandson. “Conrad! Get-“ she cut herself off when her husband of forty-two years plowed into the kitchen, frantically pulling open drawers in the kitchen desk. “Walter, what are you doing? You’re making a mess.”
Walter, breathing hard, looked around the kitchen, praying what he was looking for would suddenly stand up and announce itself. Running a hand through salt and pepper hair, he finally met his wife’s eyes, once angry, now slowly melting into mild fear.
”Where’s Melissa and Mike’s flight information?” he asked, his heart pounding.
“Why?”
“Damn it, woman, where is it?!”
The way her husband’s voice roared startled the plump woman into action. She hurried over to the phone cubby, where she kept all her phone numbers, addresses and incoming bil
ls. Tugging out the folded computer print out, she handed it to him. Walter took it, fingers trembling as he tried to unfold the paper.
“Walter!” Meredith rushed over to her fallen husband.
* * *
“What am I?”
Brad Schuester looked up at his boss, standing in his suite, arms straight up over his head, hands clasped, his body slowly lilting to the right.
“Uhhh, crazy?”
“No! The leaning tower of Pisa!” the blonde man exclaimed, slapping Brad playfully on the shoulder. His assistant shook his head with a slight chuckle.
“You’re wanting to rub this in more an more, aren’t you, Will?”
“Absolutely.” The architect grinned big. He clapped his hands, grabbing his suit jacket from where he’d tossed it onto a nearby chair. “I’m out of his, Brad. Have a good couple of weeks with Whitley, and I’ll bring you back something good.”
“You better!” Brad called after his boss, chuckling to himself at Will’s enthusiasm.
Will Ash whistled happily as he left the firm he worked for in downtown Manhattan. He would head back to the home he shared with his partner, Dean, shower and change, then off he’d be. He couldn’t wait to see Dean in Milan the following night. The architect grinned, thinking of the new toy he’d picked up for them to use, hoping Dean would play along and not throw a fit as he usually did with something new. He also hoped that the airport people wouldn’t think he had a snake packed in his bags.
Chuckling at his own thoughts, Will hailed a taxi, trying to juggle his briefcase while he grabbed the cell phone out of his inside jacket pocket, the vibration making his left nipple tingle.
“Hello?” he said into the tiny mouthpiece as he climbed into the backseat of the waiting yellow cab.
“Will?”
“Naomi? Hey, sweetie. How are you? What’s the matter?” Will sat back against the smelly bench seat, crossing one finely pressed leg over another. He could hear something was terribly wrong in Dean’s sister’s voice.