Departure(6)

Two hands go up, one reluctantly.

“Good. I want you to stand over here. Some of the people coming out may not be breathing. You’re going to do the best you can with them. If they don’t respond after the first attempt, move to the next person.” He looks back at the group. “Now, if any of you cannot swim, step over here.”

Another smart move. He’s making volunteering the default—if you want out, you have to step out. Six people shuffle over. I wonder how many of them really can’t swim.

A woman shivering on the bank speaks with equal parts fear and force. “I can’t go back into that water. I’ll die.”

“Me neither,” says a redheaded man beside her.

“You have to—please, my husband’s still on there,” an older woman wearing a yellow sweater pleads, her voice cracking.

“This is suicide,” says a long-haired teen wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt.

Nick steps between the group from the front of the plane and the wet survivors, separating them. “You all don’t have to go back in the water,” he says to the swimmers. “You’ll work with the folks that can’t swim, drying people on the bank.” He goes on quickly, cutting a few protests off. “But first, right now, you need to run back to the front section of the plane and gather all the blankets and the life vests. We need them both to save the people coming out.”

It’s a good idea. The blanket-to-person ratio in first and business class is unbelievable. There’ll be plenty. But what’s his plan?

“And the exercise will warm you up and keep your blood pumping.” Nick claps his hands. “Let’s go. Right now. And bring back a dark-haired woman named Sabrina and the flight attendant, Jillian. Find Sabrina and Jillian, and tell them to bring the first aid kit. Remember, blankets and life vests—all of them.”

Reluctantly the nonswimmers lead the soggy survivors into the woods. The rest of us—twenty-three souls, counting me and Nick—stand and watch them go. To our right, I can hear banging in the plane. Its bottom edge is now only ten feet above the water. I swear it’s sinking faster.

On the bank, an overweight man with a nasty gash down his face says, “We’ll never make it there and back, dragging someone else. It’s too cold. They barely made it across one way, alone.”

“That’s true,” Nick says. “But we’re not going to be in the water that long. And you’re not swimming to the plane and back.”

A chorus of muttered protests builds, gaining strength by the second as voices join in.


We’ll drown.

Wait for professionals . . .

I didn’t sign up for this.


“You have to!” Nick shouts, silencing the crowd. “You have to, okay? We all have to. We don’t have a choice. Listen to me. Somebody loves each and every person on that plane. They’re somebody’s son. Someone’s daughter. They’re mothers and fathers, just like some of you. That could be your son or daughter on there. Your mother or father, waiting, unconscious, helpless. Right now someone’s mother is checking her phone at home, wondering when she’ll hear from her son. In another hour, she’ll start to worry, and if we don’t go get those people, she’ll never see or talk to her son again, and it will be because we were too scared to wade into that water and save him. I can’t live with that on my conscience, and I know you can’t either. It could just as easily be any one of us on that plane, sitting there, alive but unconscious, waiting to drown. And they will drown, without us. If we don’t help, right now, they die. No one else is coming for them. It’s us, here and now, or they die. That’s it. We didn’t sign up for this, but nobody else is here. No one will save those people if we don’t. Every second we waste, another person dies. There are probably two hundred people in that section of the plane, and their lives are in our hands. I have a plan, and I need your help. If you want to sit here on the bank and watch them drown, step out of the group.”

No one moves a muscle. Save for the faint commotion in the plane, it’s dead quiet.

“Good. The first thing we’re going to do is make a fire. Does anyone have any matches?”

“Right here.” A middle-aged man wearing a New York Giants sweatshirt steps forward, holding a book out.

“Thank you.” Nick takes it with a nod. “Okay, everyone run into the woods and bring back as much wood as you can carry. Thirty seconds. Don’t bother with anything that isn’t already on the ground. Go. Hurry.”

He turns to me. “Gather some small branches and twigs and break them up.”

We follow the others into the woods, returning with armfuls of kindling. Setting his down, Nick hunches over the pile. A few seconds later, the first tentative flame is flickering. I add my take to it, and as the rest return from the woods with their own twigs and branches, it grows quickly into a small bonfire. God, the heat feels good. And that’s not all. Rescue teams have got to be looking for us by now. The fire should lead them right to us. It might be their only chance at night. They likely know where the cockpit is, but once the plane sinks in that lake, it will be much harder to spot.

“All right. Good work,” Nick says. “Here’s the plan. We’ve got enough people to make two lines. We’re going to stretch out, spacing ourselves at about arm’s length all the way to the plane. When the plane gets to just above water level, we’ll wade in quickly, swim to our positions, and start passing the survivors down the lines to the bank. Speed is the key. The people who come off will have life vests on, so those of you in the deeper water should be able to push them to the next person in line. Everybody in the water above their waist gets a life vest, so you don’t have to tread water. This is important: don’t stay in the water longer than you can stand it. If you get too cold, if you feel your limbs going numb, tap out and come to the fire. Warm up, and if you’re able, get back as soon as you can. Once the people coming out get dry and warm, they can go back and join the line. Okay, one last thing. If you’re a strong swimmer, if you’ve ever been a lifeguard, or you swim regularly, or even if you’re just in really good shape and can hold your breath for a while, come see me right now.”