Falling by T.J. Newman
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE PILOTS COULD HEAR THEchaos and commotion in the van from the other side of the call, but could see nothing, the phone’s camera still angled up at the ceiling.
“Ma’am. Are you hurt? Are the children hurt?” a voice said. A body climbed over the camera.
“We’re fine,” Carrie said. “We’re okay.”
The camera jostled and filled with light as someone outside the van picked it up off the floor. A woman appeared, her grimly triumphant smile taking up the whole screen.
“Captain Hoffman? I’m Michelle Liu with the FBI, sir. Your family is—”
The faint sound of a single gunshot rang out, and she broke off as Bill flinched.
The camera angle dropped as Liu scrambled to figure out what was happening. There was confusion and commotion, boots running. The scratchy sound of a radio broke in with a breathy voice. “Suspect is dead,” a man reported. “Self-inflicted gunshot.”
The phone moved and the woman’s jubilant face returned.
“It’s official! We got him, sir. It’s over.”
She breathed heavily with excitement into the camera before squinting for a better look at the scene in the cockpit, her smile fading.
“Is that a gun?” she asked.
“Cut them off,” Ben said, his voice shrill. “Cut them off!”
Bill heard Carrie scream his name as he slammed the laptop shut, the call disconnecting.
Bill didn’t move a muscle. He could sense the gun beside his head. But the threat barely registered and a warmth spread through his body.
His family was safe.
Slowly turning, he looked at Ben.
The young man’s blank expression betrayed nothing. Tears flowed freely from his vacant eyes as he stared at the closed laptop. His best friend was dead. He was alone in the world. It seemed as though Ben had stepped out of who he once was into something entirely new. The paradigm had shifted and Bill was afraid of what that could mean.
Bill didn’t want to speak first, and he needed to tread lightly. His family might be safe but the barrel of the gun told him this was far from over. Bill still needed to get the plane on the ground.
Without taking his eyes off the computer, Ben finally spoke.
“Actions have consequences, Bill. We told you…”
He trailed off, turning to the right of his seat. Bill heard a zipper open. Ben rummaged through his shoulder bag for a moment before turning back to the captain.
Bill looked down at the man’s hand and felt his nostrils flare with the sharp intake of air. It was another canister.
Bill couldn’t speak. Finally he found a single word: “No.”
Ben leaned over. The gun almost touched Bill’s head.
“No?” Ben said. “I don’t think ‘no’ is an option anymore.”
“I am not gassing them again. This wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Neither was you telling the crew. Or the authorities. Or killing my best friend. We told you: actions have consequences. Now take this, and pay for your mistakes.”
Bill leaned back, pulling away from the canister and the gun. He raised his hands in the air.
“I absolutely will not—”
Ben unbuckled his harness. Stepping over the center console, he towered over the captain, the barrel of the gun shaking as it pressed into Bill’s forehead.
Bill could feel his own arms, still spread wide, beginning to shake as well. Ben had the literal higher ground. He had a gun. And Bill had to stay alive because Ben would crash the plane.
“Okay,” Bill whispered. “Okay.”
Moving slowly, Bill brought his hands forward to accept the canister.
Ben pulled back and the gun left Bill’s forehead.
Bill shot upward, grabbing the hand that held the gun by the wrist. He wrenched his own hands as hard as he could, but from a seated position he had no leverage. Ben grunted and his grip on the gun slipped, his finger leaving the trigger—but he managed to keep it in his hand.
With his fingers still locked around Ben’s wrists, Bill torqued his own wrists violently.
Ben slammed Bill’s head with his other hand, the one clutching the canister. Every time his fist struck Bill’s body, the agitator ball inside the canister clanged. Blow after blow, the sounds of metal on metal and flesh on flesh filled the cockpit.
Bill pulled down hard and then pushed up harder, feeling Ben’s grip on the gun loosening each time. One more—
Ben cracked the metal canister against the side of Bill’s temple.
Bill’s vision went fuzzy with pain but he kept his hands clenched tight on Ben’s wrist.
Ben brought the canister down again on the exact same spot.
This time Bill’s vision went black. Dazed and disoriented, instinct took over, and he brought his hands up to protect his head. Released from Bill’s grip, Ben staggered backward.
Bill cursed and began to swing his arms behind him, trying to grab at Ben. Light and shadow returned to his vision, but it was all a blur.
The agitator ball clanked. Bill heard the hiss of the canister being unlocked, immediately followed by the door opening. Ben gave a small grunt and the air whistled as he chucked the poison out of the cockpit and into the cabin.