The Last Resort(4)

The tannoy screeches. ‘Please remain calm. We’re currently experiencing a temporary drop in cabin pressure . . .’

The little door opens and the oxygen mask drops in front of her face.

Behind her she can hear the sounds of chaos and confusion. Whimpers of fear mingling with the excited squeals of Man-bun, who still thinks this is part of the adventure. ‘This is so cool,’ he says.

Amelia pulls the mask onto her face and snaps the elastic over her head. Too long, she thinks. The masks should’ve come down sooner. Already she feels woozy from the pressure drop, the oxygen not kicking in as fast as usual.

‘I feel weird,’ Man-bun says, his voice trailing off.

Me too, Amelia thinks. Her head swims. The pain in her chest disappears. She feels calm, despite the plane bumping and lurching. A strange feeling that she’s floating. As if the plane is descending, leaving her behind. Her eyes feel heavy and she lets them close. The choppy movements of the plane seem to stop, or maybe she just can’t feel anything anymore.

The sounds around her fade, until there’s nothing at all.





Amelia

T - 20

The door is wide open and a warm, gentle breeze drifts in, bringing a scent of engine oil and a hint of the sea. It wafts under her nose, making it twitch. But she has difficulty opening her eyes. They feel heavy, as if she’s been in a deep sleep for a long time. Images swirl around, fragments of a dream. Or something else. Something more real.

Where am I?

She lifts her arms to her face and they feel heavy. Her whole body feels weighted down. She blinks. Rubs her face with her hands, trying to wake herself up properly.

Eventually, her surroundings swim into focus and she remembers where she is. The plane. She jerks awake fully. Remembers the turbulence. The pinging. The oxygen masks. She touches her face again, confused. Runs her hands over her forehead, then over her whole head, patting at her hair.

No mask.

She looks up at the console and the little door is closed. The mask safely inside, presumably.

Did she dream it?

She unfastens her seatbelt and swivels round in her seat. The other passengers are still there. The couple directly behind are still out of it, heads leant against one another.

No masks on their faces either.

The American is awake, rubbing at his eyes. The redhead is starting to stir.

Amelia’s earlier feelings of being overwhelmed and inadequate are gone. She’s been in situations like this before. Emergency landing. Or did they crash? The blinds are still down. The curtain at the front is wide open. The pilot’s seat is empty.

What the . . . ?

The sound of footsteps on aluminium stairs makes her jump, and she turns just as Camera-guy appears in the open doorway, his face red. He runs a hand across his forehead and she can see that it’s slicked with sweat.

He stops. Looks a little startled for a moment. ‘Oh, at last . . . someone else is awake,’ he says, composing himself. He gives her a fleeting smile before sitting down on the empty seat across the aisle. ‘I . . . uh . . . I’ve had a look around, but there’s no sign of anyone out there.’

‘What happened?’ The American unclips his seatbelt and stands up. ‘Did we crash?’

Camera-guy shakes his head. ‘Nope.’

‘Where are we?’ Redhead says. ‘Did we turn back? What’s happening?’

Camera-guy stands up again and heads towards the door. ‘Probably better you come and see for yourselves.’

They leave the still-sleeping passengers and follow him. The smell of the sea hits her as she steps outside onto the top step, but what’s out there is not what she expected.

She’s not sure what she expected. But she’d thought at the very least they would be outside in the open air.

‘See?’ Camera-guy says. ‘Didn’t want to spoil the surprise.’

‘So we have turned back?’ Redhead says. ‘We’re back where we started. Is this some sort of elaborate stunt? I don’t have time for this. I’m getting out of here.’

She marches down the steps and turns towards the nose of the plane. Then she stops dead. ‘Woah.’

Camera-guy laughs. ‘Woah indeed.’

Amelia knew they weren’t still in the airfield they’d taken off from. The air feels different, and there’s that distinctive briny smell of the sea. But she hadn’t expected this.

They’re in a hangar. A curved metal roof arches over them. At the rear end there’s a wall. Various bits of machinery. Boxes. A small vehicle that looks like an electric golf cart, tilted slightly to one side due to its missing wheels. The smell of engine oil is stronger now that she’s down the steps.

But it’s what’s at the front of the hangar that caused Redhead’s ‘woah’. The front of the hangar is wide open. And straight ahead is the sea. Sun glints off the bright turquoise water as rippling waves draw in to the golden sandy beach in front of them. The sky is clear and blue, almost mirroring the water below. The view, framed by the arch of the hangar, is breathtaking.

The four of them walk away from the plane towards the stunning vista in silence.

‘Well,’ the American says, ‘I’m willing to forget about the chaotic bumpy hell-ride, if this is what it was all about.’

The creak of the aluminium stairs makes them all turn round, and the remaining passengers disembark.