Tasha merely mumbles to herself as she starts counting. Not wanting to disturb her, I pick up both golden trays and walk back through the plane toward the pilot’s door. Just as I reach it, a subtle tremor rolls through the plane and my heart jumps faintly. Turbulence is natural, but something about the long pause between each roll is setting my nerves on edge.
Typing in the code at the door, I knock twice and enter. “Hungry?”
“Oh, thank God,” groans George from the co-pilot seat. “My stomach’s been doing all sorts of somersaults, but it’s been far too rough out here to get anything.”
“That’s what I’m here for.” I pass him one tray with a warm smile and set the second down nearby, as our Captain, Derek, focuses his attention on the dark, rolling clouds in front of us. Lowering my voice, I gently squeeze George’s shoulder. “Tasha added an extra pudding for you.”
“What a star,” George groans, immediately diving into his steak. “Tell her I love her!”
“I will.” I laugh and quickly exit before my presence becomes any more of a distraction.
Just as the door closes and locks behind me, another bout of turbulence shakes through the plane and for the briefest moment, my feet leave the floor. On my way back to Tasha, I refuse to make eye contact with seat 32D while 46D yells after me.
“Where the hell is my fish?”
“We good?” I ask, closing the curtain and stopping behind Tasha.
She turns to me with a small frown and shakes her head, chewing on the end of her pen. “No. We’re missing eighteen fish, which is really weird because I haven’t even taken my trolley up yet. I can give you one of my fish if your guy is going to be a problem?”
“He is, but he’s been drinking and he’s a bit of an ass, so you keep your fish. How can we be missing eighteen, though?”
Tasha shrugs and sets my clipboard back down on the trolley. “I guess someone loaded on the wrong pallet or something. It’s weird but like… what can we do, y’know?” She flashes me a smile and then reaches out to tuck a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. “You sure you’ll be okay?”
“I think I’ll enjoy shoving veggies down his neck.” I chuckle. “Thanks.”
Tasha blows me a kiss through the air, takes her trolley, and disappears through the other curtain to sort out meals at theback of the plane. I adjust my trolley and pick up one chicken and one vegetarian, then head back to 46D. By the time I get there, though, he’s passed out fast asleep. His seat neighbor gives me a grateful glance and asks for the chicken.
Back behind the curtain, I’m in the process of loading up the remainder of the food for the next trip when turbulence hits once more. This bout is the worst of the lot and I lose my balance instantly. Swallowing a yelp of alarm, I clutch at the counter for dear life while my trolley’s brake unlatches and rolls away from me, coming to an abrupt stop when it crashes into the wall with a loud clatter. Thankfully, the clatter is lost under the rumbling and rattling that move through the plane.
This time, as the turbulence dulls, it doesn’t fade completely and a continuous, subtle rumble rolls through the air. Back on steady legs, I groan softly and rescue my trolley. As it wheels away from the wall, metal screeches softly and something thunks behind it.
Alarmed, I peer around my trolley and stare at the wall panel that’s somehow become dislodged after the impact of my trolley.
But that’s not the most surprising thing.
There’s something in the wall.
Securing the brake on my trolley, I crouch at the hole and cautiously reach out to touch one of the several white packages lining the wall. Three rows and four columns are visible where the panel fell, but judging by their position, these strange white packages run deeper into the wall.
I’ve seen the internal lining of a plane and this isn’t it.
With one touch, one of the packages comes free, hitting the floor with a soft thump. It’s rectangular with tan tape wrapping around the brick and crossing through the middle.
“What the…?” Picking it up, the white mass shifts under my grip. It’s not solid… It’s some kind of powder. In fact, it looks exactly like the kind of drug brick I see every Saturday night while sitting down to catch up on my favorite cop show.
But that’s impossible.
That makes absolutely no sense.
“Ivy?” Tasha comes back through the curtain with her rattling trolley, so I stand with the brick in hand and our eyes lock.
Confusion flashes across her face as she takes me in, then her pale brows knit together and she locks her trolley, darting forward. “Ivy, what are you doing?”
“It’s not mine! I swear. I just found it.”
“Where?”
I sidestep and we both turn to look at the hole in the wall. Tasha gazes down at the package, visibly confused.
