by Chris Pike
The plane lurched violently!
Unprepared for the sudden heave of the plane, Cassie was forcibly rocked in her seat, and fortunately for her since she had tightened the seatbelt, she was kept her from being thrown out of it.
The iPhone flew out of Cassie’s hand, hit the back of the seat in front of her, then lodged under her backpack.
The overhead lights flickered and went dark.
Someone screamed.
Complimentary drinks spilled, ice rolled on the floor. Luggage fell out of an unsecured overhead compartment.
Ryan lurched forward and banged his head on the tray on the seat in front of him. A gash opened on his head and blood trickled down the side of his face.
During the next few seconds, the plane dropped the equivalent of a ten story building. Passengers jolted forward then collectively slammed back into their seats.
A sharp dive followed.
More screams.
After a few seconds of nail-biting tension, the plane leveled off.
“Oh, wow!” Cassie said. “What was that?”
“Probably turbulence or wind shear,” Ryan said. “I don’t think I want to repeat that anytime soon.” He looked at Cassie and Vicky. “You ladies okay?”
“For a moment,” Vicky gasped, “I thought we were goners.” She took a deep breath.
“Don’t worry,” Cassie said, “everything will be okay. Try to relax.” She patted Vicky’s arm.
“No, there’s something wrong, the plane doesn’t feel right. Oh my God, I don’t want to die here.” Vicky buried her head in her hands.
“Really, you’ve got to calm down. Try to think positive thoughts. We’ve only got a few more minutes and we’ll be landing. Can you do that?”
Vicky gave a slight nod of her head.
“We’ll go get gumbo after this, and—”
“Be quiet. Listen,” Ryan interrupted.
“To what?” Vicky asked in annoyance. “I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s my point,” Ryan said.
Without the roar of the engines, the plane was eerily quiet. Only the low murmurings of the passengers and the rush of air gliding over the wings could be heard.
“What’s wrong?” Vicky asked.
“I don’t know,” Cassie said. She looked around pensively. “It’s too quiet,” she whispered. “Oh, God. I think the engines have died.” She put a hand to her mouth. “Ryan, have the engines died?”
“I think so.”
“What? That’s not possible.” Vicky craned her neck, looking out the side window. “You’re right. The engines! There’s no sound! We’re going to crash!” Vicky screamed. “We’re all going to die!” She dug her nails into Cassie’s arm.
“Calm down,” Cassie said, trying to peel Vicky’s fingers from her arm. She wasn’t so sure her friend wasn’t right. Cassie looked nervously around, waiting for instructions from one of the flight attendants.
A woman in front of her started weeping. A man dressed in a suit got out of his seat, opened the overhead bin, and retrieved a backpack.
Another passenger prayed audibly.
More weeping.
“Stay calm,” Ryan said. “Don’t panic. We’ll be okay.”
A thousand thoughts went through Cassie’s mind at warp speed. What was wrong with the plane? Were they going to crash land. Would she survive? What would her dad do?
Dad!
She forgot to tell him she was okay. Cassie scanned for her phone, found it, and brought it up to her ear. “Dad? Are you still there?” Cassie waited for a response. “Dad?” Her voice was desperate. Taking the phone away from her ear she looked at the screen. It was black. She pressed the home button several times.
Nothing.
Still black.
“The phone’s not working.” She looked at Ryan. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. Make sure your seatbelt is on tight.” He reached over and tightened Cassie’s seat belt. “There, that’s about tight as I can get it.”
Cassie stuffed the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. Craning her neck she peered out the window. Murky bayous snaked across the land like a squiggly line a child had drawn. Pockets of marsh grass popped up, a flock of white egrets glided on a hot breeze. Cottony clouds floated, suspended in air. Cassie thought the scene looked deceptively tranquil and—
The plane took another dive, lost more altitude, and Cassie put a hand on the seat in front of her. Feet planted on the floor, she sat stiff-backed, the force pushing her into the seat. Her stomach was almost to her throat.
Frightened beyond belief, Vicky trembled, her eyes wide open. She grabbed Cassie’s arm, holding it tight.
Adrenaline was pumping so fast through Cassie, she didn’t feel Vicky’s fingernails digging into her arm.
The plane shook and shuddered, sending violent vibrations along the fuselage.
Cassie bounced, keeping to the rhythm of the disabled plane.
Vicky hyperventilated, the back of her head mashed into the head rest mumbling, “We’re going to crash. We’re going to crash.”
Think! Cassie’s mind spun trying to think what she could do. The book! What had her dad said? Count the rows to the nearest exit.
“Put your head down between your knees, and put your arms over your head,” Ryan said. “Prepare for a crash landing.”
A chorus of flight attendants shouted, “Brace! Brace! Brace!”
Cassie did as she was told, put her head down, and wrenched her arm away from Vicky.
Seconds that seemed like hours passed, the plane torpedoing to the ground.
Count the rows to the nearest exit.
Cassie popped her head up and scanned the plane’s exits, surmising the closest exit was three rows back.
“When the plane crashes, get out of the plane as fast as you can. Go to the exit behind us. It’s three rows back,” Cassie said to both Ryan and Vicky.
“What?” Vicky whimpered. “Oh my God it’s about to happen. We’re going to die. We’re going to crash!” Terrified and panicking, Vicky unbuckled her seatbelt and stood up. “I have to get out of here.”
“Stop!” Cassie screamed. “Get back in your seat!” She struggled with Vicky, trying to force her back into her seat. “Sit down, now!” Once Cassie managed to get Vicky to sit down, she helped her with the seatbelt. “Remember, three rows. Once the plane has come to a stop, count three rows and run!” Cassie shook Vicky. “Can you do that?”
“I’ll try.”
“Get your head down!”
The plane vibrated so violently, Cassie thought it would disintegrate in mid-air. Something slapped the belly of the plane, hard. Terrified screams followed.
Ryan said, “Keep breathing.”
Cassie tilted her head to the side, catching glimpses of the land. Patches of green whizzed by, trees, swatches of murky water, swaying marsh grass. Closer the ground came, and Cassie steeled herself for the inevitable.
There was a violent shudder then a foreign creaking sound of metal bending and twisting.
Sitting stiff-backed, her hands gripping the hand rests, Cassie lowered her head and prepared for the worst.
Chapter 4
“Cassie? Calista?” Dillon yelled into the phone. “Are you there? Can you hear me?” He paused and waited for an answer, perplexed regarding the strange noises he heard. “If you can still hear me I’ve decided to visit you next week. Okay? Call me back if you can in the next few minutes. The judge called a short recess.”
He looked at the dark phone and cursed under his breath at the amount of dropped calls. Next week, he’d sign up for another cell phone provider.
Dillon put the phone in the inside pocket of his jacket and tugged on his tie. The damn thing felt like it was choking him. As Assistant District Attorney, he was required to dress a certain way for high profile cases. His suit was starting to feel mighty claustrophobic and he couldn’t wait to get home, throw on some jogging clothes, and hit the trail with Buster.
He had been a standout high school running back and was slated for a big scholarship when he blew out his knee during his senior year in high school. Fast forward four years when he met Amy during college, married her, and a few years later he had a baby to support. Duty called, though, and he joined the military. There were bad guys to take down, and Dillon was the man for the job because he never shied away from responsibilities or controversies.
Getting back to civilian life was a challenge, and he found it difficult to get a good job until he decided to go back to school to get a law degree. Amy supported his decision and they made it through. Dillon worked odd jobs during the day, and at night, he went to school.
After a brief stint researching cases for a big law firm, he decided to do something more meaningful. Taking down bad guys was the thing for him to do. If he couldn’t do it with brawn, he’d do it with his brain.
Years went by, Cassie grew up, and as future empty nesters, Dillon and Amy were planning for an early retirement, deciding to leave the fast lane for a slower pace. Plans were coming along and life was looking good until Amy died suddenly of a brain aneurism.
He had become a widower and an empty nester all within the span of a few months. He dreaded going home to an empty house. At least he had Buster.
Dillon headed back to the courtroom as the lights in the courthouse hallway flickered and went off. He stopped and looked around, waiting for the lights to come back on. These things happened all the time and he was used to it.
“Mr. Stockdale, come quick!”
Dillon turned around. It was the bailiff, Marcus Williams.
The big guy, close to retirement age, was a fixture at the courthouse. Normally he was all business with a baritone voice that was deep and steady. Dillon sensed something was seriously wrong by the tone of Marcus’s voice tinged with a quaver he hadn’t detected before.
“The elevator is stuck, and people are yelling for help. I think we’ve lost power.”
“Elevators have a backup system, right?” Dillon asked.
“Not sure. This building is as old as the hills and I don’t trust these elevators.”
Dillon silently agreed. It was one of the reasons he was in good shape. He chose to walk up and down four flights of stairs several times a day instead of trusting the elevators. The time he was stuck in one of them when it dropped a floor gave him the willies thinking about it.
“Come on,” Dillon said. “Let’s see what we can do.” Dillon sprinted down the shiny marble floors leading to the elevator, Marcus racing right behind him.
Dillon pressed the call buttons several times and waited for them to light up. People were milling about in the hallway, some looking at their cell phones, while others were huddled around the windows. Dillon pressed his ear to the elevator door, straining to listen.
“We’re stuck!” a muffled voice yelled. “Can anybody hear us? Get us out of here!” The voice echoed in the elevator tunnel.
Dillon shouted into the space where the elevator doors came together. “Hang on. Don’t move.” He turned his attention to Marcus. “Do you have anything we can use to pry open these doors with?”
“Don’t think so,” Marcus said, thinking. “Maybe you can use my baton?”
“Worth a try,” Dillon said. He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to Marcus. “Hold this for a second.”
“Help!” the voice echoed from inside the elevator shaft. “Help us!”
“We’re coming!” Dillon yelled back.
“I can call maintenance…” Marcus stopped in mid-sentence realizing his phone didn’t work either. He jerked his head to the people milling around the window. “Maybe someone over there has something we could use. In the meantime, see if my baton will work.”
He handed the baton to Dillon, who immediately tried prying open the elevator doors.
A few strides later, Marcus came up to the window. Towering over the people, he glanced at the scene unfolding: Cars and trucks on the freeway had stopped moving. A motorcyclist had pushed his bike to the side of the freeway. Eighteen wheelers had stalled too, which was strange because it wasn’t like it was a pileup and the traffic was bumper to bumper.
It was like they had all glided to a coast and stopped.
People had gotten out of their cars or trucks and were milling around. In the middle of the freeway, an old 1974 Gran Torino sputtered along like nothing had happened. Marcus recognized the car because he used to drive one.
“Something weird is going on,” Marcus commented to nobody in particular. He ran to the opposite side of the hall to the view overlooking downtown. The scene was the same on the street grid. Buses, cars, delivery trucks, all stopped. Traffic lights had gone black. “Hey, Dillon, come see—”
Marcus was interrupted in mid-sentence when a collective gasp came from the people gawking around the window. He turned just as a woman broke from the crowd and raced to the opposite side of the hallway. Prospective jurors, attorneys, visitors, scattered like children’s jacks being thrown on a slick floor.
Someone dropped a folder and an older woman stumbled and fell down.
Inside the courtroom, the occupants oblivious to the commotion in the hallway, Holly Hudson decided to take a break, too and check on why the lights were still out. She left Cole Cassel strict instructions not to move a muscle. He huffed his understanding, all the while formulating his escape plan.
Holly strolled down the narrow isle of the courtroom, pulled out her cell phone, and using her shoulder she pushed open the door. Without looking up, she swiped the lock bar and proceeded to punch in the code when her concentration was interrupted as a man ran past her, almost knocking her down.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going.” Holly scowled at the man she recognized as a juror.
“Get away from the windows!” another juror yelled. He bolted past her, screaming, “Take the stairs!”
Holly’s first instinct was to run, recalling what her daddy had said about his time working as a roughneck on an oil rig. If you see someone running, don’t stop to ask what for. You run as if your life depends on it.
“Dillon? What’s going on? Why is everybody running?” Holly asked.
“I’m not sure.”
The expression on the jury foreman’s face was pure terror. “The plane! It’s heading straight for us! It’s 9/11 all over again!”
Chapter 5
The 737 shuddered violently.
Cassie had her head down between her knees, hands clasped behind her head. Her teeth clattered. The plane was going too fast this close to the ground, and the wind pummeled the plane, rocking it wildly.
The belly of the plane was so close to the ground, Cassie swore she could smell the swamp.
The plane dropped further, clipping a massive five hundred year old oak tree, shearing off a branch like it was a piece of brittle uncooked spaghetti.
Treetops slapped the smooth underbelly.
Marsh grass swayed and whipped in the hot backflow.
The nose of the plane hit the ground first, tearing the cockpit off. It rocketed across the swamp, gouging the land like a plow over soft dirt.
The plane somersaulted once, effortlessly. A wing sheared off, spilling fuel.
A row of seats along with the belted passengers was torn out and heaved into air.
A detached bloody arm with a recent manicure of shiny blue nails flew about the cabin. The fingers were still curled like a claw as if its owner had been clutching at something. The arm slammed into the roof of the cabin and left a bloody smear.
Cassie felt neither panic nor dread, and she let her body flow with the movement of the plane. It was like her consciousness had disconnected from her body, and she watched in suspended animation at the terror unfolding around her.
&n
bsp; There was no fear. No dread. No screams—only the surreal sound of metal creaking and bending as the plane disintegrated into a metal pretzel.
Then it stopped.
When Cassie came to, she opened her eyes and took a difficult breath. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious. A plethora of wires and jagged pieces of metal appeared where the cabin had met the fuselage.
The air inside the cabin looked gray. Particles of insulation and carpet exploded when the fuselage was ripped apart. Lavatory doors hung open. Blue toilet water dripped into the aisle.
It was quiet sans the mutterings of the plane, moaning like a surgery patient fighting for consciousness after an operation.
When the carnage came to an end, Cassie sat stunned in her seat, still belted in. She brushed away the hair in her eyes trying to make sense out of the scene. The ceiling of the plane should be above her, yet all she saw was a crystalline blue sky with wispy cirrus clouds ribboning the horizon.
A marshy breeze came through carrying a salty scent. A heron flew by, wings flapping slowly, and Cassie followed the flight of the bird, mesmerized at the simplicity.
A jumbled heap of personal effects, a dented laptop, purses, clothes, blankets, a drink cart, and what looked to be pieces of bodies were scattered about the plane. Cassie couldn’t understand why there wasn’t a ceiling.
She looked to her right where Vicky should have been sitting. There was a hole in the side of the airplane, and Vicky’s window seat was gone.
For a moment Cassie couldn’t understand the meaning of the empty space where her friend since elementary school had been sitting. Then it dawned on her what had happened.
Dread welled up in her as she realized that if she hadn’t let Vicky take the window seat, she would had been sucked out of the plane instead of Vicky. A shudder captured Cassie.
So, she was still alive. She forced herself to think, wondering what to do next. Injuries. Yes, that was it. Check if she was injured. She ran her hands over her arms and legs, feeling for injuries or broken bones. Putting a hand to her head, she felt a minor bump on her scalp. Her eyes could still focus, so a concussion was unlikely. Something was missing, though.