Falling by T.J. Newman
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JO SMILED AT THEO’S TEXT.
Pocketing her phone, she stood alone, her back to everyone else who sat. She braced herself, directly in front of the cockpit. She whispered a prayer for her nephew, the family, and the ground rescue.
This close to the flight deck, she could hear the pneumatic hiss of a pilot’s oxygen mask being released from its case.
She knew Bill was protecting himself from the poison, just as they were in the cabin. His mask would be military grade, though. It could create suction with an airtight seal, cover his whole face, and effortlessly pump an endless stream of oxygen into his lungs. A far cry from the cheap, mass-produced plastic cups the passengers had secured to their heads with an elastic strap. The disadvantage felt unjust.
She heard the hiss again, and assumed his mask was now secure.
It was time. The attack would begin at any moment.
Bill adjusted the mask on his face, turning to watch Ben slide the straps of his own oxygen mask over his head, releasing his pinch on the sides of the mouthpiece. The mask sealed itself to his face with precision, protecting his eyes, nose, and mouth.
Bill shook the canister in his hand, an agitator ball clanking up and down inside. As the pressure mounted, he could feel the beast within begging to be released.
Waiting until Ben had finished adjusting his mask, Bill paused the shaking as a cue.
The first officer flashed a thumbs-up.
What was that clanking noise? Jo’s eyes scanned the door, which gave no clues. What if their assumptions were wrong and the trash bags wouldn’t work? What if she couldn’t manage it? What if the gas incapacitated her instantly? What if she succumbed and couldn’t even fight? What if there was an accomplice among the passengers to make sure the gas attack was successful?
She glanced over her shoulder at her six volunteers. Giving them a thumbs-up, she smiled as each of them responded in kind. She was not alone.
Josip, tucked in the back corner of first class, watched her intently. He lifted his chin slowly. It was a sign of solidarity. Or it was a threat. Jo didn’t know which. She lifted her chin in return, intending it as both.
This was her cabin, she reminded herself. She was in control.
Turning back to the door, she exhaled. The smell of her own stale breath, warm and wet against the plastic cup, pissed her off. It reminded her she was only human. She needed to be more.
So in that last moment before battle, she decided she would be.
Jo stood a little straighter, closing her eyes. Her focus narrowed to a pinpoint of black; stillness before action. She made a mental bow to the generations of goddesses, warriors, and survivors who coursed through her DNA, recognizing now that she did indeed belong among them.
There was a sound of metal retracting.
Her eyes slid open.
The door unlocked and swung inward. A cascade of illuminated buttons flowed from ceiling to floor, the cockpit’s windows a horizontal gash of darkness. Captain Hoffman twisted backward in his seat, purple cabin lights reflecting off the plastic shield of his mask. There was a movement from inside. Something flew through the air.
Jo could see the canister’s details as it left Bill’s hand. Silver, small enough to handle, it spewed a stream of white residue that dissipated the further it went from the source.
Jo extended her hands, eager to grab it. Eyes never leaving the proverbial ball, she watched it float toward her grasp. Just as it hit her hands, something slammed into her from behind and threw her hard to the ground. She screamed as she watched the canister topple out of her reach. Crashing against the bulkhead, it rolled to the other side of the galley, lodging itself under a cart.
Bill’s hands flew to his mouth, smacking against the mask he forgot he was wearing.
Jo!
Her scream echoed in his head even after it stopped. That sound—a noise of pure human terror, human pain, human fury—ripped through his conscience.
You did this, Bill. You brought this on her, on them.
The image burned in his mind. Jo, ready, as she promised she would be. Anticipating, prepared, armed—blindsided.
She never saw the man coming and Bill couldn’t scream a warning, the door already shutting with a slam, the sounds of madness and chaos erupting on the other side.
He looked over to Ben, who leaned forward, staring out the window. The first officer panted as heavily as he did.
“Tell me who that was!” Bill screamed.
The first officer said nothing, and neither did Sam.
Everything happened at once, though it played out in slow motion.
Jo whipped her head toward the door as her attacker lunged at it.
He kicked and clawed at the door, screaming as he rammed his shoulder repeatedly into the impenetrable surface. His efforts were pointless. The door was shut. The cockpit had not been breached. A flash of relief coursed through Jo. The man at the door turned on her, grabbing her by the uniform. Pulling her up, she came level to his face.
“No! The gas!” Jo screamed over her shoulder to her first ABP, the businessman in row one, who was coming to her aid. He ran into the galley to find the canister.
Dave wrapped his hands around Jo’s throat, squeezing tightly. She’d misjudged him. She thought she’d won him over, that he was part of the team. She was wrong.
Jo’s eyes bulged as she watched the businessman frantically search for the canister, turning around and around in the galley. She tried to point, to direct him, but Dave thrashed her body too violently. Jo could feel herself starting to tremble due to the lack of oxygen. Watching the businessman start to shake, though, she wondered if it was actually the poison.
“I have to get up there!”
White foam trickled out of Dave’s mouth as he screamed in Jo’s face. It dripped down his sweat-covered chin. His bloodshot eyes watered as he blinked against the burning. Jo watched him slowly succumbing to the gas, tiny blisters popping up across his neck next to veins that protruded and pulsed.
“Not on my watch!” he screamed at her. “Not on my watch!”
The businessman, unsuccessful, ducked back to his oxygen mask as the second ABP, the other young businessman, leapt forward to relieve him. He dropped to a knee and started searching under the wrong cart.
Jo tried to point to the right one, but stars began to dance across her vision. Her brain seemed unable to send a message to her hand. Her vision went in and out, melting into darkness and back again. It couldn’t have been ten seconds since the door had shut, but it could have been ten lifetimes.
Dave screamed as his grip loosened. The poison was taking him. Out of nowhere, a blunt object struck him across the face. Jo slipped out of his grip, caught before her body hit the floor. Dave fell at her feet.
Looking up, Jo found herself in the arms of Josip. His hand clutched a rolled-up magazine. He used it a second time, like a billy club, and the blow rendered Dave unconscious.
Jo pushed herself from his grip with a strength he probably didn’t expect, passing the second businessman as he went back for air. She stumbled to the last cart. Releasing the foot brake, she pulled it forward, slamming it against the secondary lock. Knocked off balance, she fell backward against the bulkhead. The cart slid back into place, the canister still stuck underneath. White poison streamed out like a ghost.
Josip understood and he unlatched the secondary lock. His massive hand placed on top of hers, they pulled the cart free, the canister rolling out in a cloud of poison.
Josip kicked the canister away from them. At the top of the aisle in the center of the galley, the former Marine kneeled in wait. Scooping the canister into her trash bag, she tied it shut with such force that Jo hoped the bag didn’t rip. Turning, she dropped the bundle into the arms of her wife, who waited with the next bag. Tying it just as forcefully, she double-knotted for good measure.
Josip dragged Dave’s body across the galley, freeing the way to the bathroom. Jo staggered forward, taking the bags from the paramedic while simultaneously pointing toward her seat. The woman nodded, stumbling backward, her wife extending an oxygen mask to her. Helping her put it on, she pressed the mask to her wife’s face as they both gasped labored breaths of clean air.
Josip ripped open the door to the lav and Jo tossed him the bag. He dropped it into the toilet and closed the lid with a slam before shutting the door. Jo pushed him out of the way, dropping to her knees in front of the lav. She shoved a soaking-wet first-class blanket into the crack at the bottom of the door. It was their last line of defense.
On her hands and knees she worked, not noticing her oxygen tank had slid around her torso and dangled from her body. Her mask was now covering her left ear. The elastic strap cut across her face. She worked as fast as she could but her hands felt stapled to the floor. Was she even moving? She honestly couldn’t tell. Something in her knew the poison was wrapping its bony fingers around her mind. She fell against the cockpit door with a thud.
Josip grabbed her, hoisting her upright. Sliding the mask around, he placed it firmly onto her mouth and nose. He pantomimed deep breaths. Jo mirrored him, the cool air acting like a slap across the face.
Josip had turned an unnatural shade of red, his eyes bloodshot. Jo took a massive inhale before she ripped off her mask, pressing it firmly against his face. Josip gasped inside the plastic, sucking in as much air as possible. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes. He gave Jo a nod.
He got to his feet and pulled her up when she grabbed his arm and pointed toward the seats. Josip nodded, taking another deep breath before handing the mask back to Jo. Picking Dave up off the floor like a rag doll, he tossed him into his old vacant seat.
Jo watched Josip as she resecured her own mask. She wanted to cry at how good it felt to be so wrong about someone.
Looking around, Jo took stock. The first businessman was throwing up into one of the trash bags, vomit already covering the front of his shirt. The second businessman looked like he too might be sick, his whole body red and slick with sweat. He convulsed and shook, clutching the armrests, just as the Marine in the row behind him did. Her paramedic wife looked into her constricted pupils. She took her pulse. Josip sat across the aisle, breathing with apparent difficulty, examining the blisters and rashes that were forming on his hands and arms. Next to him, Dave slouched forward, still unconscious, but wearing the mask Josip had put on him.
Beyond the cabin divider, the rest of the passengers sat in their seats pressing the masks to their faces. Most craned their necks, trying to see what was going on. Many leaned forward, hands clasped, eyes shut. They clutched each other, tears streaming down their faces and someone, somewhere back there, let out a moan.
Jo could see Kellie and Big Daddy in the back obediently strapped to their jump seats. They leaned forward from opposite sides of the plane looking down the center aisle at her. They were desperate to help.
Jo raised her shaking arm and gave a thumbs-up.
Twinkling stars crisscrossed her vision. A numbness spread over her face. She wiggled her nose and lips in an attempt to increase circulation. Sweat dripped out of the mask, down her chin. It was sweat, right? What if it was drool? Or was she foaming at the mouth? Unable to touch her face, she couldn’t gauge the extent of what felt like a slowly developing paralysis.
Jo registered a nagging hesitation that a potential Plan B remained onboard. But she allowed herself a small relief in knowing that she was alive, they were all still alive.
The poison gas attack was over.
Time was a slippery concept at the moment so she had no idea how much of the twelve minutes of oxygen the attack had eaten up. She was confident it wasn’t the full twelve, but it was close. Any remaining poison they hadn’t captured should dissipate harmlessly enough before the masks were useless. And not long after that, they would land, and hazmat would meet the plane and medical professionals would be ready and waiting to take over.
It was going to be okay.
Jo nodded.
It was over.