Days of Fire

by Rebecca Fernfield

  “Alex,” she repeats. “Can you hear me?”

  He grunts and pulls himself to a sitting position.

  “It’s me, Jessie. We crashed. Captain Ridley is here.”

  “Jessie?” Clare calls.

  Another one alive! “I’m here, Clare. Hold on and I’ll get to you in a minute.”

  “I’ll see to her, Lockhart,” Captain Ridley asserts.

  “Yes, sir,” she responds and turns back to Alex.

  “I don’t think I’m hurt, Captain,” she hears Clare say as he reaches her.

  “Do you have pain anywhere?” Jessie asks as she tries to discern Alex’s arms and torso in the grey light. They look normal. As she checks his legs, she sighs with relief; they’re clear of the seat in front. One of her greatest fears whenever she’d imagined herself in a crash scenario, was that the seats would shunt onto her legs.

  “Do you have any pain?” she repeats as he remains quiet.

  “Everywhere,” he groans though he lifts his head to look at her. He doesn’t smile. “But I don’t think I’ve broken anything,” he continues and moves to unbuckle his harness.

  “Take it easy,” she says as he grimaces.

  “Yeah,” he replies but continues to unclip the seatbelt and pulls at the seat in front to stand. He groans again.

  “Are you sure you can stand?”

  “Yes,” he replies. “Just feel like I’ve done ten rounds in the ring.” The wind howls and he shivers. “It’s cold!” he says turning to the rear of the plane. His jaw drops. “It’s gone! But-”

  “Yes,” Jessie replies. The grief that threatens to wash over her is almost unbearable. She pushes it back. She has to remain strong.

  “But … Tom and … Ryan, they were right there!”

  “Once we’ve ascertained our position … got our bearings, we’ll look for them,” Ridley replies.

  Jessie turns to look out of the end of the plane. Through the grey light she can see the outline of trees and a dark line where the rich forest earth has been gouged by the plane. “We’re in a forest.” She leans over to the window and peers down—a black void sits below. She flinches and pulls back.

  A voice calls.

  “What was that?”

  “It didn’t come from inside the cabin.”

  “They’re alive!” Clare shouts.

  “It came from somewhere at the front, I think.”

  Captain Ridley turns and steps towards the cockpit as Jessie steps past Alex to follow him. A screech fills the air and Jessie lurches forwards.

  “What the hell!”

  “Back the other way, Jessie! Quick!” Captain Ridley calls as he takes a step back and knocks into her. She takes a hurried step back and the plane tilts to its previous position. Dread cold washes over Jessie.

  “Are we overhanging something, Captain?” she asks remembering the black void through the window.

  “Ridley!” a voice calls again.

  “It’s definitely from outside!” Alex confirms.

  “It came from the front.”

  The pilot! She’d forgotten about Conrad. Turning towards the front, the cockpit is empty and the windshield broken.

  “Briggs?” Captain Ridley shouts.

  “Help!”

  The cry knots her stomach. She wants to run from the broken aircraft and help, but the plane is unstable. She fights the urge to jump out of the broken cabin and instead stands stock-still.

  “We’re coming Briggs. Lockhart …” Ridley falters as a deep scratching sounds and the plane judders.

  Jessie grabs the top of the seat as the man outside screams.

  “Nobody move!” Captain Ridley insists.

  “I can’t stay here!” Clare shouts.

  “Stay calm, Clare,” Jessie calls as she holds the top of the seat.

  The plane judders again and Clare screams.

  “Shut up!” Jessie snaps and regrets it immediately. “Sorry, Clare! Just stay calm, please!”

  “The plane’s not stable, Captain. I think we’re balanced at the edge of something!”

  “Stay absolutely still,” Captain Ridley commands.

  “But what about Briggs, sir? He shouted when the plane moved—like it hurt him.”

  “Yes, you could be right,” he says and looks out to the trees beyond the window. “Damn! There’s nothing to see. Briggs!” he calls. “What’s your situation.”

  The cabin is silent as they wait for his answer.

  “Something’s snagged on my jacket,” he shouts. “I can’t see anything below me.”

  Jessie’s stomach knots.

  “Are you on the ground?”

  “Negative!” he returns. “The plane is overhanging a gorge. I can’t see the bottom—it’s too dark. I think there are trees below but I can’t tell for sure.”

  The plane vibrates again followed by a clattering.

  “Save yourselves! The plane’s going over!” Conrad shouts again, the fear in his voice obvious. Jessie listens with horror.

  “Let’s get out!” Clare shouts.

  “Stop!” the Captain shouts back as she takes a step. “Stay absolutely still. I’m not about to let this plane go over. Didn’t you hear what Briggs said? He’s attached to it. If the plane goes over, then he’ll be taken with it.”

  Clare stares back at the Captain in wide-eyed fright but doesn’t move.

  “Good,” he sighs as Clare remains still. “Jessie, you’re the lightest, so you’re going to have to go outside and see what’s going on.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We’re high in the hills so we could be talking about a significant drop. If we all make our way to the back of the plane it’ll put more weight there and hopefully stabilize it.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Good. Listen,” he says addressing Alex and Clare too, “Make your way to the back of the plane … slowly … and don’t get out. Lockhart is going to step down and then report back as regards Briggs and … us. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” is the unanimous reply.

  Jessie steps down the aisle to the torn back of the plane. As a creak sounds from beneath, she stops, stands still, listens then takes another step. The plane creaks and tilts backwards. Heart pounding, she stops again and waits.

  “Keep moving, Lockhart.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replies.

  Taking a deep breath, she walks down the remainder of the aisle and stands at the edge of the opening. Wind buffets her cheeks and her head stings as the cold air washes over the broken skin. It’s an easy jump to the forest floor, but she hesitates. Will it tip up the plane?

  “Time to step down, Lockhart.” Ridley’s voice is firm, but not unkind.

  Following orders, she steps off the gangway to the forest floor and is relieved when the plane doesn’t shift. She looks back and nods to the others still standing in the aisle.

  Moonlight filters through the tree’s canopy though mist is rolling and low among the ferns that cover the forest floor.

  “I think I see the tail end of the plane,” she calls back and points to a white panel in the distance.

  “We can investigate it later, Lockhart—once we’re secure,” the Captain returns.

  She nods her agreement then steps away from the back of the plane and makes her way to the side. Unable to see clearly, she squints through the grey light. “Briggs!” she calls to the pilot.

  “Here,” he returns. His voice is strained and seems to echo in the dark.

  “I’m coming.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he calls back.

  With the plane to her right she takes small steps forward, careful to move slowly through the poor light. As she takes another step, her foot hits a rock and she stumbles. Putting a foot out to steady herself she slips again. Displaced rocks clatter and fall, and she begins to slide. She yells in shock.

  “Jessie!” Alex calls from inside the plane.

  Below, the falling rocks bounce and smash. Frantic, she grabs at the leaves and
woody stems of the ferns that grow from the rockface. As she slips further, her hand grasps the thin trunk of a sapling. She jolts to a stop then swings to the steep sides of the gorge, her belly pressing hard against a rock. She grunts with pain. Without hesitation she reaches up and grasps the narrow trunk with her other hand.

  “Lockhart!” Briggs calls.

  “I’m here. I’m OK,” she returns as she hangs over the precipice, her hands secured around the sapling.

  Making sure her grip is firm, she scrambles back up the sides then squats next to the tree. A thick mist is hovering over the forest floor and is thicker where the plane overhangs, but through the fog she can see Conrad’s shoulders and head. “I see you,” she calls. Standing, she reaches for a sapling closer to his position. Using her toes to feel for solid ground, she moves towards him. As she reaches the edge where the plane rests, and the tip of its nose disappears into the swirling mist, her belly knots. Briggs, enveloped in the white mist, is suspended at least four feet from the sides of the gorge. A shard of metal ripped and hanging from the plane, disappears into his jacket. Inching closer she can see that the torn metal is all that holds Conrad Briggs above the chasm. As she stares at the hanging man, more rocks shift under the massive weight of the plane and its nose dips. Briggs drops another six inches into the gorge.

  “Don’t move!”

  “I’m not,” he calls back as he swings.

  “There’s a tree—its branch is growing out over the gorge. It’s to your left. I’m going to force it towards you.”

  “OK,” he calls.

  Jessie crouches down and shuffles towards the sapling. The curve of the land means that as she gets closer to the edge and to Briggs, there’s less land to stand on and eventually, there’s nothing to her left but a sheer drop. Leaning against the sapling, she forces it to bends towards Briggs.

  “To your left. It’s there. Can you get it?”

  Briggs twists his head to look for the tree, flinches and stops.

  “Put your arm out to the side. I’ll guide you,” Jessie commands, recognising that his movement is compromised by the shard of metal speared through his jacket. He lifts his arm. “That’s it. Bring your hand back.” His fingers grasp at air. The trunk is out of reach. Jessie leans to the left, forcing the branch to the right and closer to Briggs. The plane creaks again. “Don’t move,” she calls. “Reach for it now,” she shouts as the branch brushes against him “Hook your arm over.”

  He attempts to lift his arm and stops. “Aargh,” he grunts.

  Jessie looks at the metal shard sliced through his jacket. Has it sliced into him too? “Wait!” she calls and releases the sapling slowly, then makes her way back to the plane’s torn entrance.

  Chapter 4

  Ridley stares at her as she comes to a halt at the opening.

  “Well?”

  “The plane is balanced over the edge of a gorge. Briggs is hanging over it. A shard from the plane is caught on his jacket—it’s all that’s holding him! I’ve tried to help. There’s a sapling on the edge that I can push down to him, but he’s in pain when he moves. I think it’s the shard cutting into him.”

  Ridley frowns.

  “It’s a sheer drop, Captain. If the plane goes, so will Briggs.”

  Ridley looks back to the windscreen then faces her again. “How many of us can get out without it tipping up?”

  “None. There are loose rocks beneath and the pressure of the plane is forcing them out. Every time some come loose the plane shifts and he falls a little lower.”

  “We’ll have to stand at the edge—keep all our weight at this end until you haul him in,” Alex suggests.

  “Did he tell you to stop when he was reaching for the branch?”

  “No.”

  “Go back and try again then, Lockhart,” Captain Ridley instructs. “I know Conrad; he’ll ride through the pain.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Jessie makes her way back to the edge and sits herself behind the sapling growing out over the gorge. She leans into it and lands it close to his side. “Briggs! Grab the branch.”

  He grunts and twists, then grunts again in pain as he reaches for the branch. He hooks his arm over the sapling and cries out. Rocks displace beneath the plane and clatter down the rockface. Briggs twist and grabs onto the sapling. It bows and Jessie, leaning against its trunk, hangs over the precipice. Briggs pulls at the branch and inches his way closer to Jessie. He grunts with the effort. As his feet anchor to the side of the gorge his hands move up the branch.

  “I’ve got it, Lockhart. You can move back.”

  “No! The metal is still stuck through your jacket. Come forward some more. It might come free.”

  A judder and more stones rattle down the side of the gorge.

  “Hurry!” she calls.

  A screech fills the air and their eyes lock. The plane judders and pulls him back, the metal shard rips against his jacket. He shouts in pain. The plane teeters. It jolts and then the rocks are in free fall as the ground beneath the plane gives way.

  “Hold on!” she screams to Briggs as his eyes widen in horror. The tip of the plane’s nose shunts out across the gorge then tips downwards. The branch rips through Briggs’ hands and the sapling rebounds flinging Jessie backwards. He screams and disappears into the fog as the plane slides back and crashes through the trees that line the gorge’s sides.

  “No!” Jessie screams as she lands with a thud on the forest floor. Recovering quickly, she crawls on hands and knees to the edge. “Briggs!” she shouts into the mist, her voice drowned out by the noise of the plane’s descent. She stares into the swirling fog, the terror in Conrad’s eyes as he realised his fate is vivid and searing in her mind.

  “Jessie!”

  She ignores the voice, her gaze fixed to the white mist.

  “Jessie,” Alex repeats and his hand presses down on her shoulder.

  “He’s gone!” she gasps struggling to comprehend the enormity of the disaster that has just played out before her eyes. “Briggs is gone! He … his eyes … he was looking at me as he dropped.” A surge of horror sweeps over her as she sees his face again in her memory, a face that was full of life and then despair.

  “Do you think … Could he be alive?”

  “I don’t know, but Ridley-”

  “Ridley?” she asks turning to face him. His eyes meet hers. “No!” she cries looking down again into the dark. He can’t be down there!

  “When the plane started tipping he shouted at me to jump and then … then he pushed me … He went down with the plane.”

  Ridley dead? No! He can’t be. “We have to go down, Alex. We have to find them.”

  “Yes, but-”

  “He could be alive!” She stands and the rocks crumble at the edge. Alex grabs at her sleeve and pulls her to him. As his arm slips around her torso, she leans into him. “He can’t be dead, Alex. He can’t be.”

  “Shh.”

  “But he just can’t be!”

  “It’s too dark to do anything now.”

  She pushes away from him. “We’ll go down at first light.”

  “Yes,” Alex agrees.

  “What about Clare?” Jessie asks looking over his shoulder to where the plane had sat.

  “I’m here,” she says stepping up behind Alex.

  A stone seems to sink in Jessie’s belly. Without the Captain to guide them what were they going to do? He was their leader—a trained survivalist. The one man who could help them get out of here.

  Noise, perhaps a shout, and Jessie tenses.

  “What was that?”

  “Shh!” Jessie raises a finger to her lips. She stands in silence and listens for the noise, steeling herself against the horror: she wants to hear Ridley and Briggs calling, but doesn’t want to hear their pain. As the minutes wear on, and the noise doesn’t return, she turns to Alex. “In the morning—we’ll have to look for them in the morning.” Nothing else seems to matter.

  A dark patch across Jess
ie’s forehead catches Alex’s attention as she turns to him, her face written with grief.

  “Jessie,” he says resting his hand on her shoulder. “You’re hurt. You should sit down.” He guides her away from the edge of the gorge.

  “I’m OK,” she says though her voice doesn’t carry conviction.

  “No, Jess. You’ve got a head injury. You should let me check it out.”

  She raises her hand to her forehead and presses there. Her fingers come away dark at the tips.

  “See, you’re bleeding.”

  “Yes,” she replies.

  “Do you have a torch in your bag of tricks?”

  “Yeah,” she replies and hands it to him. “It’s in the front pouch—a small metal cylinder.”

  “Good,” he replies, relieved that she’s co-operating, and unzips the bag then pulls out the torch. Despite being battered by the ‘landing’ he’s fine and Clare shows no sign of damage, but Jessie’s head needs attention. He presses the button.

  “Ow!” Jessie complains as a sharp, white light shines into her eyes.

  “Sorry! Well, at least your pupils contract no problem.”

  “Thanks for that!” She screws up her eyes and throws her hand up to the light.

  “Sorry!”

  “It’s OK,” she replies though her face looks pale.

  “Close your eyes and let me have a look.”

  Her eyes close and he shines the torch at her head. Blood is smeared across her forehead and has dripped down her cheek and onto her top, but there’s no sign of a wound there. He trains the light on her head. Blood is caked in her dark, thick hair and there’s a gash across her scalp, exposing the pink flesh. He holds his breath and his comment.

  “And?” she questions.

  “The skin’s broken, and perhaps needs stitches, but it’s not too bad,” he replies, playing down the mess he’s looking at. “Head wounds bleed.”

  “They do.”

  “There’s a fair bit of blood, so I reckon it just looks worse than it is.”