by Jack Porter
Unfortunately, the Starflight 800 was no sparrow. When the landing gear clipped the top of the first tree, we were still going too fast. The plane shuddered, heaved somehow to the left, clipped another treetop, threatened to cartwheel–and I gripped the control wheel, forcing the plane to do what I wanted by my strength alone.
At the same time, I prayed that somehow we would survive this. That the trees would prove gentle enough, and that whatever craziness had driven us here would ease up.
The landing was neither smooth nor painless as the plane struck solid tree after solid tree, with branches and trunks chipping away at her hull and cracking her wings. But when we finally lurched to an ugly stop high in the trees, neither my co-pilot nor I were seriously hurt. And I counted that as a win.
“What happened?” Layla squeaked. Her eyes were clamped shut and her knuckles pinched nearly full white on her control wheel. “Did we make it?”
“We’re safe,” I replied, hoping it was true.
Her whole body sagged into the chair in relief.
“Thank goodness. I’ll go check on the girls,” she said. Standing too quickly, she teetered like she was about to pass out, and I stretched my arms across the space between us to steady her.
“Let me.” I gently placed her back into her seat. “You stay here and recoup as long as you need.”
“Okay,” she said. She shot out a trembling hand, placing it on my bicep. “Dexter, one more thing?”
“Of course.” My voice dipped in concern at her switch to my first name. “What can I do?”
“Forget the coffee, maybe bring back the bottle of wine in my luggage instead.”
I laughed. “Absolutely.”
My mirth died in my throat when I opened the cockpit door. The stench of acrid smoke and burning oil let me know our engine was in a bad way. Not completely confident of the plane’s stability, I carefully pushed past the pantry curtain and witnessed the true severity of the damage.
Gaping holes pockmarked the plane. Small pitter-patter noises of rain were a hushed background to the squeaking and protesting frame of the Starflight 800. One sturdy tree limb with puffs of green leaves still attached had managed to pierce completely through the underbelly of the fuselage.
And the girls. Squaring my shoulders, I looked toward each of them in turn.
Megan Hunter. Unhurt, still in her seat, looking shocked. Hannah Morrison. Fine, but sobbing. Piper Quinn.
“Where’s Piper?” I asked, fear gripping me by the chest and giving a good squeeze. Oh god, let her be safe.
A tall, dark-skinned body uncurled from a crouched, head-between-knees position. She was closest to the jumbled wreckage at the end of the plane, making me think debris had pelted at her as we took our final nose-dive.
Her face was the image of a strong woman with high sharp cheekbones and pillow soft lips that a man could sink into and never come out again.
Not the time, I scolded myself.
Piper seemed okay besides a scrape or two.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked, and was relieved when they each responded that they were.
Well, that’s it then. We’re all here. We’re all safe. Assuming, of course, that we can make it safely to the ground.
Three
Dawn was coming in fast and hot. There was already more light, which meant the damage to the plane was more visible. The wind had picked up as well, causing the vessel to rock and shudder ominously.
Nobody needed to be told how precarious the situation was. A hard gust of wind, a branch snapping, maybe even too much weight in a specific spot, and we might find ourselves crashing to the ground.
With this reality firmly in mind, I made my way carefully to the door and opened it.
Shit.
The door was one of those that was also a set of steps at the same time. Those steps, just three of them, descended out over nothing at all. No handy branches or vines, and whatever trees were holding us up, their trunks were not handily positioned just outside, with neat little steps carved in them to take us to the ground.
Just empty air, a few smatterings of rain, and the ground a disconcertingly long way down.
“It isn’t over yet,” I said to the girls. “We're going to need to get off this plane, and that might not be so easy.”
As if in response to my words, a gust of wind rocked the plane hard enough to set at least a couple of the girls screaming. I had to grab hold of the edge of the entryway to avoid being thrown out.
When it was clear that we weren’t about to all be tipped into the abyss, I turned back to the others to make sure they were calm, and saw that Layla had made her way over to join us.
“Comms are still down,” she said without preamble. “I can’t raise anyone.”
She trailed off as she took in the extent of the damage, her face growing pale. There was uncertainty in her expression, but also something else.
An accusation, almost.
I wondered about that, and wondered if I needed to ask her about it. But if so, that conversation was for later.
Right now, I just needed to get these girls off the plane.
“Number Two, I need rope.”
“On it,” she replied.
I turned to the others. “You know that rule about leaving everything behind if something like this happens? Yeah, forget that. We’re on an uncharted island, and I don’t know how long it might take for anyone to find us. Move carefully. Grab what you can. We might need it.”
As Piper, Hannah, and Megan started to move, I was raiding the medicine cabinet, packing everything I could find into a bag, and Layla was foraging about. After a while, she brought me a humble stash of individually packaged ten-foot-long nylon ropes. Tie-downs, by the look of them.
“This is all we’ve got, Captain.”
I frowned. By my estimate, it was a good twenty-five feet to the ground.
Just enough here, although they aren’t very thick. I pursed my lips, thinking. Not ideal, but if I wind them together, it should do the job.
“Okay, good,” I said.
Layla hesitated.
“What is it?”
“I’ve got a few things we might need. In my luggage. They were meant to be gifts.” Again, there was a hint of accusation in her voice.
I ignored it. “What sort of things?”
“Camping equipment. In the back.”
I looked at her. “Get it,” I said.
Layla gave a nod and, just as carefully as everyone else, moved toward the rear of the plane. I wasn’t happy with the ongoing smell of something burning, and cast a glance through the windows, some of which had bounced open on impact.
The Starflight 800’s jets were set a little way back from the wings. I couldn’t see much, just a flickering of light. But that told me all I needed to know.
The portside engine was on fire. Not a major blaze or anything, not yet, but enough to be a concern. And if the fuel caught on fire, we’d be blown straight out of the plane and into the neighboring trees, probably in small, unrecognizable pieces.
Cursing inwardly, knowing I might not have much time, I quickly fashioned a section of the rope into a harness, knotting it in the middle and looping it around twice—one for each leg of the person being lowered. I braided the other stretches of rope together until I was sure they would hold every girl’s form securely, then I tied them all together and measured the length by dropping an end out the door, next to the stairs.
The length was perfect.
Now the hard part. Convincing these already frightened women to step inside the harness and dive off the edge.
Scratching a hand through my hair, I beckoned the girls. Each of them had a small bag of luggage, their cabin bags only, meant to last them a few days of travel.
I nodded to myself and addressed them in a calming manner. “Okay. You all know how precariously we’re balanced. On top of that, the port engine looks to be on fire.”
At my words, their eyes widened in shock and the
y glanced uncertainly back and forth. “I don’t want to lie. We may not have much time. This rope will get you ladies safely to the ground, though. As soon as your feet hit the earth, get the harness off so I can reel it back in, okay?”
They all nodded, with Megan visibly gulping, and I added, “Slip on the harness like a pair of shorts and I’ll tighten it to fit each of you properly. After you’re on the ground,” I pointed to one particular knot, “you’ll use this to slip the harness off again. Megan, you’re first. Then Hannah, and Piper. Layla and I will go last.”
The sound of a tree branch snapping underfoot and the unsteady sway of the plane in the wind let me know we were running out of time, just like I’d feared. Fire wasn’t our only problem. The plane groaned in ominous protest, and I saw the ceiling noticeably change shape above my head.
“Layla, five minutes,” I warned, doing what I could to keep my own concern out of my voice.
“Almost done, Captain.”
“You’re going to lower all of us by yourself, Captain?” Hannah asked. Her voice held a touch of skepticism mixed with worry as I helped Megan slip on the harness.
“Easy-peasy,” I answered, pretending that all was well in the world. “And since we’ll be staying here together while we wait for rescue, why don’t you call me Dexter. I’m not one to complain about a little informality.” I winked at Hannah as I parroted her words from earlier, and despite everything, she actually giggled in response.
“Okay Megan, you’re good to go,” I told her. “Walk backward down the steps and then step out.”
Megan shuffled from one foot to the other, glancing from the rope I held in my hands to the jump point. Her eyes were sunburst hazel, nearly matching the flame orange color of her hair in the new light of the sun peeking through the clouds.
“I’m pretty heavy,” she declared. “Are you sure you don’t need help?”
We don’t have time for this, I thought. But all I said was, “If it will put you at ease, back home I bench double what any of you girls weigh.”
I only meant to reassure them, but it seemed to work. Every female eye shifted to take in my height and the bulk of my arms, thighs, and back. I could see they seemed satisfied I spoke the truth.
Good, they trust in me. That will be key in our survival until help comes.
“Once down, stay together. From this moment, we are a team. And teams don’t leave anyone behind, right?”
“Right!” they said together. Not the perfect team-building cheer, but given the circumstances, it was more than I had hoped for.
“Good. Now, don’t wander too far when you get to the bottom, but do get out from under this plane, just in case.”
I grimaced a little at my own lack of tact. The last thing I wanted was for them to worry that the plane might come crashing down on top of them before we were all safely away.
“Loop one arm around the main rope. It will help keep you upright,” I told Megan, checking the security of the knot around her hips to create a taut hold.
Clearing my throat, I focused my sights specifically on the knot, and kept my eyes well away from where the rope presented a tantalizingly defined V shape between her thighs.
This was absolutely the wrong time for that sort of thought. In fact, it was downright irritating that I was having trouble controlling my thoughts. I appreciated the female body as much as any other red-blooded man, but I didn’t usually have trouble focusing during dangerous situations. This was a time for action, not ogling.
I realized Megan hadn’t responded, and I looked her in the eye.
She nodded. “I’ll be fine,” she said, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself.
Seconds later, she took the plunge. My heart swelled with pride when she didn’t make a breath of sound. The rope groaned and bit into where I held it wrapped around my hands, but it held.
“Alright?” I called.
She replied with a breathy faint, yes, and I lowered her the rest of the way to the ground, doing my best to ignore the way the plane seemed to be groaning and shifting about in the wind.
The end of the rope remained a comfortable weight the entire way. When it went slack, she gave an, “Okay!” from the ground to let me know she was out of the harness, and I pulled it back up.
Hannah didn’t go down quite as gracefully, despite being lighter than Megan. She squealed and squawked the whole way down, but not as if she was scared. It was more like she was enjoying the ride, and she made such a performance that I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
Or maybe I was trying to keep my mind off the way the plane had started to feel.
There was something wrong with it. The deformation in the ceiling—it just felt as if something bad was going to happen.
I ignored it and tried to move with fluid efficiency.
Two down.
Piper, with all her lean muscle and height, was the heaviest to lower. Knowing this, she gave me an apologetic smile before she stepped backward and off the plane. However, the rope didn’t strain any more than it had with the other girls, and I had no trouble keeping my pace steady while I lowered her down.
As I did so, Layla crossed back to me, as carefully as if she were walking on eggshells. In her hands were three large bags of supplies with the drawstrings pulled tight and knotted.
“Good job. I appreciate it, Layla,” I said, meaning it.
Her stony silence was like a wall between us.
Three down.
I gritted my teeth as I pulled the harness back up and handed it to her. The plane was on fire and being buffeted by a wind that threatened to send us all to the ground. In addition, that deformation in the ceiling was getting worse. I just knew the outer hull of the plane, on the other side of that panel, was slowly tearing itself apart.
I didn’t have time for this. I didn’t know for sure how much time I had at all.
But it seemed I didn’t have a choice. I needed to nip this in the bud, as early as possible.
Perhaps I could address whatever this was without slowing us down.
“Did I do something to upset you?” I asked as my second made quick work of climbing into the harness.
She sighed and I could see her struggling to keep her complaints in.
“You can speak freely. For the time we are on the island, at least, we are friends first, coworkers second.”
That seemed to shock her a moment, and a glimmer of hope settled over her face, but she hid it again. She tightened the harness around herself as she spoke.
“If you’d been in the cockpit when the storm began, we wouldn’t have crashed,” she growled.
Ah, I understand now. She blames me.
Maybe she needed to do so, to keep herself going.
“I could have been there faster,” I admitted. “One of the girls couldn’t sleep and used the signal to call me away.”
Layla’s eyes narrowed. “Which one?”
I shook my head. No way I was going to let one of the other girls become her new target. “Doesn’t matter. It was my choice to stay and chat. Now, quickly, wrap the rope around your arm to steady yourself.”
Layla’s eyes glowed with righteousness. She snorted and replied, “I’m ready.”
I smiled. “Good. I’ve got you. I promise.”
That softened her expression a little, and she stepped out. Knowing she could handle it, I lowered her a little quicker.
It was done. All four were safely away.
Now for my own predicament. I’d been planning to tie the end of the rope somewhere and simply lower myself down, but just when I pulled the harness back up, the plane gave a sudden lurch that made me reevaluate.
It groaned like a living thing, and I felt the floor drop down by at least a foot.
Shit.
Time had run out. Any second now, I was certain, the plane would finish ripping itself apart and tumble to the ground.
I had only moments left. No time to tie on, no time to lower myself down. No time for an
ything much at all.
Except for two things.
I shoved the bags Layla hadn’t been able to take down with her out the door, hoping that whatever was in them would survive the fall.
Then I threw myself out after them, placing one foot on the final step and launching myself into the air even as the plane gave one last shudder and split apart behind me.
Four
Freefalling through the air, I didn’t have time to see my life flash before my eyes.
The thick tree limbs, brown bark, and leaves floating on the wind as I hurtled by them did plenty of “flashing” anyway. Below I could make out thick bushes full of some sort of berry and startling green grass before the ground rapidly rose to meet me.
It all passed by in less than two seconds.
But I’d kicked out as hard as I could when I left the plane, intending not to crash straight to the ground, but to catch myself as best I could in a larger bush, hoping to cushion my fall.
And it worked, to a point.
I tried to grab that larger bush with everything I had, reaching for branches that bent and snapped, ignoring the sting and slap of twigs tearing at my skin, doing everything I could to slow my descent.
I knew before jumping that it was a huge risk, that someone my size didn’t float gently down to the ground. But I’d had no choice, and it was far, far too late to change my mind now.
Despite my efforts, I tumbled downward through the bush, breaking branches all around me, until finally, I was down.
I hit the ground hard.
Harder than I imagined someone could and still live, and with more pain than I’d anticipated. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and pain exploded behind my eyes as my head hit something solid.
For long moments, I saw nothing but stars. Then my sight cleared and I found myself looking up at the front half of the plane, which seemed to be getting bigger as it sailed through the air with surprising grace.
It was heading right for me.
“Move!” I yelled at myself. Or at least, I tried to, but with no air in my lungs, I barely managed a sound.