Falling(29)

Taking those final steps, Jo mentally reviewed the location of the emergency equipment. Primary halon extinguisher and fireproof gloves: under the L2 jump seat, right next to the lav. Secondary extinguisher: under the R2 jump seat, aircraft right.

God help them if they needed more than two.

Reaching the door, Jo leaned slightly toward it, listening. Nothing but silence. She extended her nondominant arm and cautiously placed the back of her left hand on the surface of the door. It was cold. Replacing it nearer to the bottom, she found the same. Confirming a third time up top, the whole surface was cool to the touch.

Getting a visual on whatever was happening on the other side of the door was the last line of defense.

Taking a breath, Jo blinked a few times, steeling herself for the worst.

She twisted the handle and cracked the door open only a sliver in an attempt to introduce as little oxygen as possible. Leaning forward as close as she dared, Jo looked in.

She threw the door open wide. Nothing. Besides some toilet paper on the floor, nothing was amiss. She opened the trash flap, looked inside, smelled deeply, and was about to repeat the steps with the toilet when she heard her name.

Turning, she found Kellie and Big Daddy blocking the passengers’ view of what was going on. Kellie looked annoyed. Shaking a canister, Daddy held it out to Jo as she came out of the lav.

“You’re welcome, please don’t hurt me,” he said.

Jo ripped the can of dry shampoo out of his hand.

“You set off the fire alarm?”

“I think what I actually did was save you two from that angry mob.”

“Daddy, I swe—”

A high-low chime sounded and a red light lit up above their heads. Jo tore the phone off the wall. Her eyes burned holes through Big Daddy but her voice was chirpy as she talked to the pilots.

“False alarm, boys.”



* * *



Bill’s scalp tingled with relief as the blood rushed back down his body. When the continuous bleat of the smoke alarm sounded in the cockpit accompanying the flashing red button and SMOKE/LAV/SMOKE panel readings, both pilots assumed an upright position of defense that practically gave them whiplash. Ben’s dinner still covered his feet.

Bill had assumed it was the terrorist’s contingency plan. He’d assumed there was an attack happening in the back. He had actually unbuckled his seat belt as though he was going to abandon his seat and rush into the cabin to help. Ben noticed it and gave Bill a quizzical look, but continued with the checklist and protocol for the emergency. Which was what Bill should have done.

“What set it off?” Bill asked into the mic, clearing his throat in an attempt to cover the tremble in his voice.

“A woman spraying dry shampoo,” Jo told the pilots. Ben rolled his eyes, dropping his head into his hands.

“You can let her know we’re both wide awake up here now.”

“Us too,” Jo said. “Sorry for the scare. You guys need anything?”

Bill looked to Ben, who shook his head. “I think we’re all set. Thanks, Jo. Are, uh, do you guys need anything?”

“Nah, we’re good. Nothing new to report back here,” she said with meaning, her tone indiscernible to anyone but him.

Bill bit his lip. He wanted to scream into the microphone and demand an update from her nephew. There had been no contact from his family since Sam hung up on him, and in the void of information, horrifying possibilities filled his mind.

Bill thanked his lead flight attendant and disconnected the call. He heard himself say to his copilot, “I have control and communications, ECAM actions,” and he saw his hands press the correct buttons on the dash in front of him until the flashing words of alarm disappeared with each procedure, wiping the slate clean. Some hardwired aspect of his conditioning was taking over. He was on autopilot—but still in control.

Barely.



* * *



“No more stalling,” Jo said, pulling the two flight attendants deep into the galley, away from the passengers. They’d massaged the truth, told a few fibs, set off a goddamn smoke alarm. Now they needed a real plan.

“The masks are out,” Jo said. “But we’re not going to survive this on cute and clever alone. We need to decide—now—how we’re going to handle this, and what we’re going to tell them.”

“Agreed,” Daddy said. “I say we go with this: the truth.”

“Absolutely not,” Jo said, as a painful image of Scott as a baby in her son’s onesie came to mind.

Daddy clasped his hands under his chin like he was praying. Or perhaps he was keeping himself from slapping her, which is what he looked like he wanted to do.

“Joleen,” he said with a clenched jaw. “Walk me through how this plays out in your head. Because one hundred and forty-four people blindsided by an attack from the cockpit does not end well in the movie I’m watching. I’m seeing an angry mob. I’m seeing the mob turn on us. I’m seeing them take things into their own hands. I’m seeing them try to storm the flight deck.”

Jo pointed to the front of the plane at the locked, Kevlar-reinforced, bulletproof cockpit door.

“You know no one breaks that down,” Jo said.

“You and I know that,” Daddy said, “but they don’t and they’ll try anyway. If we keep these people in the dark and something attacks them, there’s literally no chance it ends well for any of us.”