Falling by T.J. Newman
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JO STOOD AT THE FRONTof the plane, looking over her squad of volunteers. The tall man reclined with his eyes closed, head back against the seat. Jo wondered how he could possibly sleep at a time like this. Everything about him seemed odd. According to the manifest, his name was Josip Guruli, and Kellie’s online search of the name had come up empty. They had no reason to distrust him besides a gut feeling. But today, that carried weight.
She watched Daddy briefing the over-wing emergency exit row passengers, making sure they understood how the doors worked and where they should position themselves during the evacuation. His firm hand assigned roles with a confident authority: you and you—stay at the bottom of the slide and help people off. You—run away from the plane and call people to you. Heads nodded up and down.
Pulling a tray of small water bottles out of her galley, Jo passed them to her six new recruits while watching a younger female passenger squeeze past Big Daddy on her way to the back. Now where was she going? Jo shook her head, frustrated that everyone was suddenly guilty until proven innocent. It went against her typical view of humanity.
“Take off your ties,” she said in passing to the two young businessmen who were now in the aisle seats of row one. “Choking hazard.” The young men complied.
Water distributed, she resecured the empty carrier before ducking behind the galley curtain to check her phone. Nothing new from Theo. She pocketed her phone and grabbed her supplies before stepping out of the galley and addressing her volunteers.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” Jo said. “Let’s get to it.”
The ABPs came together with Jo at the head of the huddle. Arms crossed, focus aligned, they were preparing for battle and Jo was the commanding officer. No one interrupted her, not even Dave.
“Our tools are limited,” she said, “so we gotta work with what we’ve got. Our advantage is that we’ll be prepared and we’ll be coordinated. Okay?”
All six heads nodded up and down.
“Our number one objective is containment. We want as little of this poison in the air as possible.”
Jo felt a twinge of guilt as she spoke. She didn’t need to explain why containing the gas was important, but she was omitting the fact that the passengers’ oxygen supply would run out twelve minutes after being activated. So they really did need as few toxins as possible floating around, but a ticking clock they could do nothing about was an added stress they didn’t need.
She extended her arms. Sturdy gray trash bags hung from her hands.
“This is the best we got,” Jo said as she handed one to each of the ABPs, explaining how it was going to go.
All six of them would be seated with their oxygen masks on. Jo would be wearing a portable oxygen bottle. She would stand in front of them at the bulkhead, directly in front of the cockpit door, waiting for it to open. When the canister was thrown, she would go after it, because her portable oxygen would allow her to move. After she got ahold of the canister, she would throw it into whichever bag was closest to her at that point. That person would tie the bag shut as quickly as possible and then throw it into the bag closest to them. Then Jo would take the double bag, put it in the toilet, close the lid, and shut the door.
Heads nodded.
“Keep your mask on, understood? If you have to take it off for some reason, hold your breath. Then get it back on, quick. We work as a team. No one can be left exposed for long.”
The ABPs murmured their agreement and leaned forward, ready for the next part of the plan. They seemed eager and determined to help—but what if the backup was one of them? What if she had just shown her hand to the very person they were worried about? Jo looked at her team and realized: she had no plan for that dark possibility.
“Any questions?”