by G S Eli
Once the dust settled, the teenagers turned rowdy, amped up from their near-death experience. They teased one another, making a game out of who had been the most terrified. The fresh-faced Tyler Murphy leaned across the aisle toward Vivian, waving his brand-new iPhone in her face.
“I got the whole thing on video,” Tyler bragged. “Your pop could use it in a lawsuit.” He raised his eyebrows in a pathetic attempt to look seductive and added, “For a price.”
Without even looking, Vivian slapped the phone out of his hand. Then she turned to look out the window.
Casey didn’t join in the fun. She was still too shaken up. Trying to calm herself, she took a deep breath. It caught in her throat. She thought she detected the faint smell of something. Her blood ran cold, her eyes darting around the cabin and out the window, scanning for signs of a fire. But without her glasses, she could hardly see a thing. None of the other students seemed concerned. In fact, now that the plane was flying smoothly again, they were all having a blast. So maybe she was imagining things, after all. Still, Casey couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Fire or no, she was beginning to think that perhaps this was not going to be the trip of a lifetime, as she had hoped.
Maybe Uncle John and mom were right, Casey thought. Her uncle and mother warned her that it was too dangerous for her to travel unaccompanied. She had never traveled alone before, but at the last minute she convinced them to let her go without Deborah to chaperone her. Now, she was starting to regret it. Deborah wouldn’t have been able to stop the plane from almost crashing, but at least Casey would have had someone to cling to, someone to make her feel safe.
Casey tried to shake her dark mood and convince herself that the harrowing incident was just a bump in the road. These sorts of things happen all the time. The bad part was already over with. The rest of the trip would go smoothly, and she would have the trip of her life, just as wonderful as she had dreamed it would be. Casey had even prepared for it with a new hairstyle. Her dark locks, cut to chin length, were easier to manage than her long hair had been. She had been worried it wouldn’t come out right, but to her joy, the new style was totally badass. With her creamy skin and enchanting blue eyes, she looked like a cooler, teenage version of Snow White. To highlight her baby blues, she normally wore contacts. But she’d decided not to wear them today, fearing that the recycled air on the plane would dry them out. She didn’t want to show up in Austria with her eyes bleary and bloodshot.
The plane climbed out of the clouds, then leveled off above the storm. Feeling better, Casey searched the floor for her sketchbook and eyeglasses.
“Are you guys OK?” asked a voice from the aisle.
Out of the corner of her eye, Casey spotted her classmate Jack Riley. He stood just shy of six feet tall, with sandy-brown hair and gorgeous green eyes. His years of fencing had given him a lean physique and legs ripped with muscle. Casey had admired his calves more than once during PE class.
He wore his usual battered, oversized camouflage jacket. He practically lived in that thing. The look might have worked in public school, but not at Charlton Prep. The girls called him a “Double H” or “Hidden Hottie” behind his back. They said things like, “I would love to just pry him out of that stupid GI Joe getup and put him in some Abercrombie and Fitch.” That wasn’t going to happen, of course. Jack didn’t concern himself with anything as shallow as fashion. He was more interested in burying his nose in a book or getting into debates with Charlton’s best teachers. It wasn’t unusual to see him hanging around after class to discuss the finer points of comparative religion or military history.
Jack noticed a sketchbook lying in the aisle. He picked it up, but before he could open it, Casey snatched it from his hands.
“That’s mine,” she said. “Thanks.”
Jack smiled. “I thought we had a full flight?” he said, gesturing to the empty seat next to Casey.
“It was a last-minute cancellation from one of the chaperones,” she said, with a bit of regret in her voice. Casey found her glasses on the floor. She put them on and looked up at Jack.
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” Jack said.
“I normally don’t, but it’s a long flight,” chuckled Casey. “Thanks again for finding my notebook.”
“Oh, no worries,” Jack answered. He glanced at her cover drawing, instantly recognizing the character’s teased blonde hair, black tights, and trench coat. “Hey, is that Liza Carver?” he asked with enthusiasm. “That’s really good.”
Normally, someone admiring her drawings would have embarrassed Casey, but she was too surprised that Jack knew who Liza Carver was. The anti-heroine protagonist of the cult hit Whistleblower was the result of illegal drug experimentation, which left her with super-human intelligence, heightened senses, and incessant hallucinations. She was particularly popular among female readers, many of whom didn’t like to admit that they even read comic books.
“Yes … it is,” Casey answered simply.
“I started reading the Whistleblower series this year,” Jack explained as he sat down next to her. “Carver is easily in my top ten comic characters. I’m up to Volume Three. How about you?”
“Umm … I have all twelve volumes … and the Twentieth Anniversary Edition,” she replied, keeping her voice low. “Also, the unproduced movie script.”
Jack’s eyes widened. “Wow. Can I borrow those sometime?” he asked.
“I guess,” Casey replied.
Jack settled in the luxurious first-class leather seat and tucked a green backpack underneath. One of the teachers on the trip, Mr. Garson, was sitting just a few rows behind Casey and Jack. With her head now bent over her drawing, Casey heard: “Mr. G! Mr. G!” The voice emanated from the next seat over. “I don’t think Mr. Riley is in first class.” It was Vivian. She was never ashamed to point out what class she was in, and, more importantly to her, what class others were not in. There was a rumor that Jack could only afford to attend Charlton Prep because his mother was the school nurse, a rumor Vivian loved to spread.
Mr. Garson, who was sitting just a few rows toward the back, answered, “OK, Miss Levine, leave the seating to the flight crew, all right?” The quintessential history teacher had arranged the whole trip, which was bound first for Vienna, Austria. From there, the class would tour much of Europe, traveling by train to Italy, then France, and of course ending with a stop in Amsterdam to see the famous Rembrandts.
“Hey, Jack, maybe you should head back to your seat before we land, what do you say, Soldier?” Mr. Garson kindly asked Jack. The nickname “Soldier” referred not to his jacket but to their ongoing conversation about the great wars and battles of history.
“It’s an empty seat, Mr. Garson. The chaperone canceled last-minute,” Casey pointed out to the teacher.
Before Mr. Garson could answer, a voice came over the loudspeaker: “Sorry, folks, but we’re heading into some more bad weather. Please fasten your seat belts. There might be turbulence,” the pilot said. Again, he repeated the warning in German.
Just then, the huge plane hit an air pocket, violently dropping a great many feet. Casey’s heart sunk into her belly once again. Grabbing the armrest for balance, she felt Jack’s hand holding on as well.
“Don’t worry. It’s just a little turbulence. We’re above the storm now,” he said in a soothing tone.
“Wow, that was intense,” Casey whispered to herself. She took a look at the students. They all seemed as startled as she was—all except for Tyler, who had fallen into a dead sleep and was drooling with his mouth open.
“So, are you going to art school after graduation?” Jack asked.
“No. I’m not really an artist. I’m not really sure what I am,” Casey told him, clutching her sketchbook tightly in her lap. She added with a hint of sadness, “I guess it’s just a hobby for now.”
“Well, how about you show me the rest of your work?” Jack
reached toward the book but stopped short of grabbing it. Almost instinctively, Casey slapped his hand away.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn’t mean … I mean, I didn’t mean to hit you so hard. S-sorry,” Casey stammered.
“I’ll say,” Jack responded, rubbing his hand. “That was practically a karate chop.”
“Sorry,” Casey repeated, sounding more embarrassed than sympathetic.
“So … let me see your drawings?” Jack asked again.
She paused for a moment, thinking about the request. “Mmm, I don’t know,” she said slowly.
“Come on,” Jack pleaded. “It’s the least you could do. After all, I’m pretty sure you broke my hand.” He stared at her with big puppy dog eyes.
“All right, since I hurt you, I’ll show you. But you better not laugh,” she warned, reluctantly starting to turn the pages of the sketchbook.
“I might,” Jack said with a grin.
Casey slowly opened the cover of the sketchbook. She flipped through several pages that had only a few lines, sketches she’d started and quickly abandoned. At last, she stopped at her first finished drawing. It showed a young girl at the top of a large castle. A dragon hovered over her, its leathery wings threatening to envelop her. The girl stood with fists raised, her look defiant.
“Wow, that’s cool,” Jack said.
“It’s a nightmare I had as a kid,” Casey explained.
“You draw dreams?”
“Not just dreams. Memories, mostly, and some stuff from my imagination.”
He noticed a strip of tape with little raised bumps. The tape was attached to the bottom of the sketch. “What’s this for? It looks like Braille.”
“It is Braille. I learned it when I was a kid. It describes the images.”
“That’s cool. Why?” Jack asked.
“For my mom. She’s blind,” Casey replied tersely.
Jack paused. “Oh … I’m sorry,” he said.
As if thinking the same thing, they both reached to turn the page at the same time. Their hands touched. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment.
The plane began to shake.
Jack and Casey grabbed their armrests a second time as the plane dipped in midair once again. A swooshing sound filled the cabin as wind buffeted the fuselage. The ‘Fasten Seat Belt’ sign came on with a ding! ding! Students screamed as they were thrown back in their seats.
Tyler abruptly woke from his stupor. He sat up straight and glanced out the window. “Oh my God!” he screamed, “We’re going down!”
“Shut up! You’re gonna scare people!” Jack yelled back at him.
Casey smelled smoke again. Stronger this time. She was sure of it. The bad feeling came back, only worse. In her mind’s eye, she saw that horrible, blinding flash of lightning that had struck just before the plane lost control. She was overcome with an unshakable sense that something had gone terribly wrong.
She heard a low clacking sound from outside. She looked out the window, saw a thin wisp of smoke seeping from the wing. Isn’t that the engine?
A giant plume of flames burst from the wing.
“Oh my God! The engine’s on fire!” Casey screamed.
The aircraft angled sharply. It arched to the left, and the resulting G-force pushed everyone to the right. Casey felt Jack take her hand. She instinctively grabbed his arm with her other hand and held on tight.
The plane thrashed back and forth wildly throwing the book and Jack’s backpack into the air as it tried desperately to stabilize. The pitch and roll of the aircraft were disorienting. Casey’s stomach did somersaults. All around them people were screaming, their cries clashing with the sickening death rattle of the engine.
Oxygen masks dropped. Casey let go of Jack and tried to snatch hers, but she was too dizzy to get a hold of it. Jack grabbed it for her and helped her put it on. She noticed that he already had his mask on.
“Passengers and crew: we are making an emergency landing,” a voice announced over the intercom. “Passengers and crew, assume crash position.”
This cannot be happening, Casey thought in total panic. Once more, she saw scenes from her life, saw her uncle and mother waving goodbye as she boarded the plane, saw their anxious expressions, as if deep down they had known. She froze, unable to think or move. Then she felt a strong arm across her shoulders.
“Like this!” Jack shouted over the other passengers’ screams. He put his head against the seat in front of them and gently guided Casey to do the same. He protectively placed his arms over his head, showing Casey the position for bracing against a crash.
Casey wrapped her arms around her head as he had done. Please, God! Please, God! she silently prayed, over and over.
The plane pitched forward, then dipped. For a moment, Casey felt herself floating, lighter than air.
Her weight returned as the aircraft leveled off.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have clearance to make an emergency landing at Tegel Airport. Please remain calm. We will be on the ground shortly,” the voice on the intercom said. The plane started to descend toward the Earth, the red overhead light still ringing. “Please remain seated with your seat belts on.”
Terrified and confused, Casey turned to Jack. “Where the hell is Tegel Airport?” she asked.
“Berlin,” Jack answered.
IV
The Proclamation
“Whoa! Slow down, Mila!” Rosa yelled, holding his waist tight as he throttled his motorcycle. Mila could barely hear her over the awesome roar of his bike’s powerful engine. It was a cloudy morning in the heart of Berlin. The two teens were racing toward the city’s central train station. Mila had a promise to fulfill. He had vowed to his Uncle Lolo that he would “guard” the hated painting called The Proclamation. Mila and Rosa planned to team up with their friends to get that job done. Mila was also flat broke. He needed to make some money, and singing on the subway lines was the best way he and Stephan knew how.
“Hold on loosely, and lean into the turns!” Mila yelled back at Rosa just before taking another curve in the road at high speed. Rosa screamed again, her olive-toned skin turning pale, the bright scarf that tied her dark hair back nearly flying off her head.
A few exhilarating minutes later, Mila pulled the bike to a stop outside the bustling main entrance of the Hauptbahnhof, Berlin’s main railroad station. Rosa jumped from her seat before Mila had even turned off the engine.
“I am never getting on that thing again! Are you trying to kill me before my wedding?” she said, her face red with anger.
“Of course not, Rosa,” Mila said with a big smile. “Then I’d need to help Stephan find a new fiancée, and with his big nose that wouldn’t be easy,” he joked.
“Shut up!” Rosa snapped.
Mila still couldn’t believe that Rosa and Stephan were getting married. It seemed like only yesterday they were just little kids playing together. He wondered what would happen after the wedding. Would Stephan and Rosa even have time for him anymore?
Just then, a group of rowdy teenagers walked past Mila and Rosa, then stopped in front of the train station’s entrance. The teenagers in the group huddled together, and a man in a tweed jacket started lecturing them in English.
“Now please try and stay together. Berlin was not on our schedule until next week. However, we’ve tried to put together an itinerary on short notice,” the man in the tweed jacket told the group. Many paid no attention to him; they were too busy talking to one another and concentrating on looking at their shiny new iPhones.
It was a busy summer day, and people were everywhere. For Mila and Rosa, it was not unusual to see American students in the train station. Mila began chaining his bike to the metal rack in front of the massive glass entrance of the Hauptbahnhof.
One of the American students in design
er jeans approached Mila. The boy did a slight wave of his hand and said, “I am Tyler, A-mer-ic-an,” speaking loudly with exaggerated slowness as if somehow that would translate better. Tyler then put two fingers to his lips in a V, as if smoking. Mila stared back at him blankly.
“Smoky-smoky? Ganja? Mary Jane?” Tyler asked. “Where. Can. Buy?”
But before Mila or Rosa could tell him they didn’t know, Mr. Garson snatched Tyler from behind and pulled him back toward the rest of the class. As he pulled Tyler away, he spoke to Mila and Rosa. “Kein geld! Kein geld!”—No money! No money!” Mr. Garson said, relying on the few words of German he knew.
Ignoring them, Mila finished locking up his bike. Rosa smiled at the American, then turned to her fiancé’s cousin. “Like we are the criminals?” Mila complained, “We’re not the ones looking to buy drugs.”
“Forget about them,” Rosa said as they approached the entrance of the train station, which was now blocked by the group of students. As Mila and Rosa moved to the side to try and go around them, they couldn’t help overhearing the teacher’s warnings.
“Before you all go, Tyler just reminded me of something you all have to know while traveling in Europe. I need to warn you about the Gypsies,” Mr. Garson began.
A few students cocked their heads. To them, the word “Gypsies” was something out of a fairy tale, not real life. The racist tone of the speaker grabbed Mila’s and Rosa’s attention. They slowed their steps in order to hear him.
“You all probably think that Gypsies just steal chickens from farmers—” Mr. Garson said.
“But really … they turn people into vampires!” Tyler interrupted. Everyone rolled their eyes at the stoner’s stupid joke, including Mila and Rosa.
“Tyler, that’s enough,” the teacher snapped.
“Sorry, Mr. Garson,” the fresh-faced teenager said.
“Now, you may have seen a few rather odd-looking people wandering on the streets on our way in,” Mr. Garson continued. “Those are Gypsies. You can generally recognize them by their costumes. The women wear bright headscarves, and they all wear bright colors. They travel in packs, usually with lots of small, unkempt children. They don’t go to school; their only education is practicing thievery and petty theft. The kids may look cute, but beware. These people will try to steal from you. Some might try to lure you into alleys. Kidnappings by Gypsies are very common. The bottom line is to stay away as best you can. If they approach you, walk away. If they get close, keep a firm hand on your bags. Never look them in the eye. I cannot stress enough that these are dangerous people. I want you all to stay safe.”