Departure(4)

“This man died of blunt force trauma to the head,” the doctor says, her voice low. “He was bludgeoned by the seatback in front of him and the bulkhead to the side. He was buckled in tight, but the chairs in the business section aren’t as far apart as those in first class. The whipping motion of the descent and crash was deadly for the weaker and taller passengers, anyone whose head could connect with the seat in front. He’s one of three fatalities.” She motions to the rest of business class, where seven people are still seated. “We’ve got four who’re alive but unconscious. I’m not optimistic about them. One, I wouldn’t want to move. Three are pretty banged up, but they might be okay if we could get them to a hospital.”

“Okay. Thanks, doc.”

“Sabrina.”

“Nick Stone.” We shake, and Jillian and Harper introduce themselves.

“I wanted to show you this,” Sabrina says, “because we’ve all likely suffered some head trauma. It’s imperative that all the survivors keep their blood pressure within a normal range. Any of us might have asymptomatic head trauma, which could result in stroke or cerebral hemorrhaging if we’re excited or exert ourselves.”

“That’s good to know.” Now what? The three women are looking at me expectantly, waiting for guidance.

My first thought is of the main section of the plane. If business class fared this poorly, I can’t imagine what economy is like, where the seats are closer together and the whiplash as the plane broke up and crashed would have been far more deadly. If there’s anyone still alive in the back half of the plane, they’re going to need a lot of help.

“We need to find the rest of the plane.”

Blank stares.

I focus on Jillian. “Is there any way we could contact the people back there?”

She shakes her head, looking confused. “Phone’s dead.”

Phone. “What about your cell phone? Do you know the staff at the rear? Their numbers?”

“I do.” Jillian pulls out her phone and turns it on. “No signal.”

No luck with my phone either.

“I live in Heidelberg,” Sabrina says. “Maybe . . . no, I’ve got no service either.”

“I’m on EE,” Harper says, but she too has no service.

“All right,” I say. “I’m going to go look for them.”

“I’ll join you,” Harper says.

Jillian volunteers as well, but we decide that she should stay with the remaining passengers until help arrives. While Harper gathers supplies, I notice an Asian man, young, maybe late twenties, seated in business class, hunched over a glowing laptop screen that shines bright in the otherwise dark cabin.

“Hey.”

He looks up, scans my face quickly, then resumes typing.

“You need to get off the plane.”

“Why?” He doesn’t bother to look up.

I lower my voice and squat to look him in the eye. “It’s safer on the ground. The plane feels stable, but it’s propped up by trees that could give way at any time. We could roll or drop quickly.” I motion to the torn metal behind him, where there are still intermittent sparks. “And there may be a risk of fire. We’re not sure.”

“There’s no risk of fire,” he says, still typing, his eyes moving quickly side to side. “I need to finish this.”

I have a feeling his work can wait, but Harper is at my side now, handing me a bottle of water, and I decide to fight the battles I can win.

“Remember,” Sabrina says, “any excess exertion could be fatal. You may not be in pain, but your life could be in danger.”

“Got it.”

As we leave, Sabrina moves to the young Asian man and begins speaking quietly. By the time we reach the exit, they’re practically shouting at each other. Not a doctor-patient relationship. They know each other. Something about the scene doesn’t quite sit right with me, but I can’t think about that now.

At the bottom of the chute, three people are hunched over on the ground or leaning against trees, holding their heads. But I saw at least two dozen people exit. Where is everyone? I stare into the woods.

Slowly I start to make out glowing lights bobbing in the forest, moving away from the plane—a stream of people spread out in the darkness, a few running. The light must come from flashlight apps on their phones.

“Where’re they going?” I ask no one in particular.

“Can’t you hear it?” says a woman sitting on the ground right next to the chute, though she doesn’t lift her head from her knees.

I stand still, listening. And then, in the distance, I hear it. Screams. People crying out for help.





4





The dense English forest is dark, lit only by the dim crescent moon hanging above and the smattering of cell phone lights through the trees ahead. The beady white lights thrash back and forth in the hands of runners, their twinkling loosely synchronized with the snap of branches underfoot.

My legs are burning, and my lower abdomen and pelvis send waves of pain through my body every time my feet hit the ground. The words stroke and hemorrhage run through my mind, along with the doctor’s warning: Any excess exertion could be fatal.

I have to stop. I’m holding Nick back, I know it. Without a word I let up and put my hands on my knees, trying desperately to catch my breath.