I’m no hero, like Carter. I’m a coward about some things, and I’ll readily admit it.
I don’t want to stare my death in the face.
I keep my eyes closed now and listen as the remaining engine throttles back. It feels like maybe they’ve deployed the air brakes or flaps or something.
The first hard skip off the ocean’s surface as we ditch hits bone-jarringly hard and bounces us, like a stone along the water. Salty spray blows in through the hole in the fuselage, completely drenching me and Connie and everyone around us. Everyone’s screaming now, including me. The water’s cold, and it’s rough, and I hope I can get out before I drown.
We make three more skips before we plow hard into a wave that finally grabs us and hauls us out of the sky for good, even though we’re still moving due to momentum. We’re no longer airborne, and we’re adrift in a stormy sea that’s rocking the entire cabin and will make it difficult to keep my footing.
But the pilot is a goddamned hero. He brought us down in one piece. We landed belly-down and didn’t cartwheel.
The rest is up to us now.
The engine shuts off and it’s eerily quiet in the seconds before people start crying, screaming, and the weird creaks and groans coming from the plane’s doomed superstructure echo throughout the cabin.
I tear my seatbelt off and stand, flipping my seat cushion to find…
No life vest in the empty spot that should hold it.
Motherfucker.
I grab Connie’s seatbelt, rip it off her, and yank her to her feet by her arm. She’s got a life vest under her seat, and I put it on her and jerk the waist belt tight around her. A glance back at the rows immediately behind us show several more people dead or dying in the window seats in those rows.
A flash of guilt I don’t have time for washes through me over giving thanks Mike got the window seat after all.
Grabbing my purse from under the seat—no, it wasn’t stupid reflexes, believe me—I shamelessly shove my way into the aisle, dragging Connie along with me as we follow the red lights along the floor in the darkened cabin toward the aft exits. We’re moving faster than most. But we pass an empty seat, and I flip the seat cushion to find a life vest.
Thank fucking god!
I pull it on, find Connie’s arm behind me, and keep dragging her.
Along the way, I check two other empty aisle seats and grab those life vests, too.
Ahead of us, at the rear exits, the flight attendants already have both doors open and the slides deployed, although in this case, they’re not so much slides as they are crappy pool floaties.
But I nearly weep with joy to see, through the windows on either side, inflated life rafts tethered to the aircraft.
I aim for starboard, where we were already, and glance up at the rear of the cabin to see an overhead bin with first aid and other informational signage on it.
Wrenching it open, I grab everything I can put my hands on and shove some items at Connie. On our way past the rear galley alcove, I rip open the drawer markedWaterand scoop out as many bottles as I can shove in my purse.
We’re going to need them.
Now, more stunned people are moving, but water is sloshing in through the doors. Too many people are stupidly trying to head forward instead of aft, but that’s to our benefit, I suppose. We’re going down quickly, and it’s not exactly smooth seas out there. I shove Connie out the door ahead of me, and she lands face-first on the slide, losing the items I’d handed her. I follow her out, jumping and landing on my ass. Dropping what’s in my arms, I immediately grab the tether line for the life raft to drag it toward us. More passengers are making their way out now.
I yank the inflation cords on her vest, then on mine.
“Move your ass, Connie!” I scream over the storm. “Get in!Now!” I grab what I’d scavenged from the plane and heave everything into the raft, saving my purse for last, then grab the shit I’d handed her and throw it in, too. There’s a mounting ladder on the side, and she finally heads for it. I clamber in after her.
Two men who emerged behind us help two other women into the raft before they climb in, too. A third man stumbles out of the door, lands face-first on the slide, and then tries to make it to us. We manage to grab him by the hands and haul him in.
He’s not wearing a vest.
I’d shoved the extras I found into my purse but opt to hold on to them.
For now.
But…it’sbad. The front of the plane is already mostly submerged in the rough waves. At least eight- to ten-foot seas, probably more.
