Departure(13)

He moves even closer, almost whispering. “You can’t get in, but if someone is alive inside, they can get out—that’s our only hope. It’s only been twelve hours. Maybe one of the pilots was just knocked unconscious. If we could wake them up, they could unlock the door.”

“Makes sense. So we’ll make some noise.”

“Exactly. Now, this is important, Mr. . . .”

“Stone. Nick Stone.” I extend my hand, and he shakes quickly.

“Bob Ward. Now we need to make sure we—or someone we trust—are the ones who get into that cockpit first.”

Someone we trust. My mind flashes to the three guys that followed me onto the plane last night—and to Harper. I can’t help wondering how she’s doing. Dread fills the pit of my stomach.

“Why?” I ask, trying to focus on the issue at hand.

“Because there’s a box inside the cockpit, filled with guns. If the wrong people get to them, this camp will become a very dangerous place.” He glances back at the chute, to where I laid out 2D.

“I agree.”

“Are we ready to begin, then?” Bob’s already shuffling toward the chute. This guy is having the time of his life.

With the help of a few passengers, we make our way into the plane, where Jillian’s sorting food in the little galley just behind the cockpit.

“How’s the food supply?” I ask.

“This is the last of it.”

That’s less than ideal. “Okay, we’ll figure out what to do this afternoon. Could you take two meals to the lake—one for the doctor, and one for Harper? And ask the three guys who were helping me on the plane last night to join us here?”

“Sure.”

“Also, do you have a crew and passenger manifest, something that will give us the pilots’ names?” Maybe calling them by name will help.

Jillian tells me the pilots’ names and passes me some stapled pages, which I scan. I see my own name, then Harper Lane, and my nemesis in 2D: Grayson Shaw. Sabrina Schr?der, passenger in 11G, business class. Yul Tan, the Asian typing on his laptop last night, 10B. I glance down the aisle. He’s still there, typing away, the glowing screen lighting his gaunt face. Either that laptop gets great battery life, or he’s taken a break—which doesn’t look likely. He seems strung out, agitated. There’s something off here, but what, I don’t have a clue.

“Ready, Mr. Stone?” Bob asks.

“Yeah. And call me Nick.”





Nothing. We’ve tried noise. We’ve tried going through the first-class lavatory. We’ve been down to the ground, where the nose is dug in now—it settled some last night—and peered through the windshield in the few places where it isn’t too heavily cracked. They’re in there, three pilots, none moving. We can’t tell if they’re breathing. The five of us—Bob, the three swimmers from the lake, and me—have been at it for hours, and I’m exhausted.

“I’ve gotta take a break, fellas,” I say. “Heading to the lake. Grab me if you get through.”

“You could rest here, Nick,” Bob calls, but I’m down the makeshift stairway and hiking away before he can stop me. The truth is, I want to see Harper. It’s past midday, and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. I ignore a few more calls from Bob as I disappear into the dense forest. He’s not one for letting things go.

On the walk back to the lake, I think about why we haven’t seen any rescue personnel. Even if we’ve crashed in some remote part of England, surely the fire would show up on satellites, or helicopters could spot the column of smoke. I won’t worry until tomorrow morning, I decide. Not much I can do anyway. Survivors—I’ll focus on them. Warmth, food, and medical care could make all the difference for a few folks.

To my right I hear branches snapping. I turn to see 2D—Grayson Shaw—twelve feet away, holding a stick the size of a bat. He grins at me, revealing blood-covered teeth.

I’m unarmed, too sore to run, and probably too tired to fight. This should be interesting.





8





Last night I gave birth to a rhinoceros. Not just any rhino, mind you: a pregnant rhino, with twins. And three horns. Lots of horns. I birthed a double-pregnant, triple-horned rhino. That’s what it feels like, at least.

I’m glad I’m breathing, but I still dislike the pain every breath brings. I’m going to lie here until it doesn’t hurt anymore. Looking on the bright side, I’m bound to lose some weight during this period. I have no appetite and can’t imagine the pain eating will entail.

Surely I’ll emerge from my swaddled fireside solitude slimmer, funnier, and completely healed; a phoenix rising from the ashes, ready to soar high above the lake, roar in a screeching call of freedom and awesomeness before I retake my pitiful life.





Doctor’s been by. She’s a good bit sterner than I remember her last night. Dry, to the point, bit of a bore, really. Though her bedside manner needs some work, she seems to know her stuff. And she’s filled me in. She fed me some pain pills after I came out of the water last night. I don’t remember it, but she says they may have resulted in bizarre dreams and foggy thinking. (I neglected to mention the rhino and phoenix visions, neither of which seems strictly medically relevant.)