Under the Northern Lights(3)

My heart thudded against my rib cage as I dipped toward the earth, and my hands started trembling. As I inched lower, I visualized clear air, a pristine runway, a perfect landing—anything to keep calm. It was hard to do while my windshield was being pelted with heavy raindrops; I needed to be on the ground—now—before it was too late.

The clouds were still lowering, the mountains seemingly rushing up to meet them, cutting off my view of the gap between the giant peaks. Keeping as low as safely possible, I searched for a way through the pass . . . a pass that I was rapidly, inexorably approaching. And then, a split-second clearing of the clouds showed me a sliver of blue sky. A hole! The clouds quickly hid it again, but it had been there . . . I was sure of it.

I kept my eyes glued to the spot where I’d seen the patch of blue sky; I didn’t even blink for fear of losing my path. My stomach felt like jelly, and my heart was thundering so hard that it was almost louder than the rain pounding against my plane. Knowing I was taking a huge risk, I crossed all my fingers and toes and flew into the gray taffy that was blocking my view. Please let this be a hole and not a mountainside. As the clouds enveloped me in a blanket of haze, my body tensed in anticipation. This was it . . . all or nothing.

Fear tried to seize control of my limbs, tried to jerk the plane left or right, up or down. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to fight the instinct, to resist the urge to move. Sweat formed on my brow as I concentrated . . . as I prayed. When the fog didn’t clear right away, I started to panic; this was how planes hit mountains. My entire body started vibrating, wanting to flee, but I didn’t alter my trajectory. This was the last course I’d known to be true. I had to stay on target.

My breath came out in frantic bursts. “Please, please, please,” I murmured over and over. “Clear up . . . show me the way.” And just like that, the ceiling lifted, and I saw the mountains piercing the sky on either side of me. I’d made it through the pass. Relief instantly washed over me. “Thank you. Oh my God, thank you . . .”

Maybe to show me that I wasn’t entirely out of the woods yet, the weather made a turn for the worse, and heavy, icy sleet pellets started pummeling me. I’d made it between the mountains, but I still needed to land. Spotting the clearing off to my left, I started banking the plane toward it. And that was when the unthinkable happened . . . the engine stalled.

“Shit, shit, shit!” I’d never had the engine stall on me before. Horror flashed through me, paralyzing me. What do I do? Jesus, I had no one to ask, no way to call for help, and my mind was completely blank—I couldn’t remember anything my instructor had taught me. It was just . . . gone.

The plane was unnaturally silent with the engine off. All I could hear was the sound of my fierce breath and the sleet assaulting me. Panicking was the absolute worst thing I could do right now, so, closing my eyes, I tried to refocus. All I needed to do was restart the engine and find a place to land. No problem. I can do this.

Blowing out a long, slow breath, I opened my eyes and tried restarting the engine. Nothing. I tried again and again and again. Still nothing. Shit. My plane was gliding, but with no real way to gain altitude, it was only a matter of time before I ran into the ground.

No, no, no . . . this could not be happening. I’d made it through—it was supposed to be smooth sailing from here! I didn’t want to die. I wanted to see my home again; wanted to see my sister, Patricia; wanted to let her know how much I loved her, even though she was a know-it-all pain in the ass. I wanted to see my parents again, wanted to help them out with their diner, like I did every summer. I wanted to see my dogs again, spoil them rotten like I did whenever I came back from a long trip. I even wanted to see Shawn again. I wanted my life. I loved my life. I did not want to die in the woods, alone.

But I was getting lower and lower, the ground was coming closer and closer, and the damn engine still wouldn’t restart. The tops of the trees started scratching the underside of my plane like claws, trying to tear me from the sky. “Oh God . . . please start, please start, please, please, please . . .” Begging had worked before; maybe it would again.

But my plane sank even lower into the tree canopy. The steering column started vibrating in my hands as branches smacked the fuselage. Gritting my teeth, I tried in vain to pull up, to glide as long as possible. Landing like this was . . . unthinkable. This couldn’t happen. I had to do something. I had to fix this. Shit, how do I fix this?

A large bang and a snapping sound vibrated through the plane, tossing me forward. The landing skis . . . the treetops had torn them off. Somehow having that safety net gone made everything startlingly real and even more terrifying. My heart hammered in my chest, my palms were slick with sweat, and I was breathing so fast I felt light headed. Oh my God . . . this was really happening. I was going down, I was crashing, and the odds of me living through it were . . . impossible.

“Mom . . . Dad . . . Patricia . . . I’m so sorry.”

Tears poured down my cheeks as my family flashed through my mind. I’d done this so many times . . . I looked forward to this trip every year. I never thought . . . I never imagined. This can’t really be the way I die. I have so much life left . . . please don’t let this be the end . . .

Branches began smacking against my windshield with whipping cracks that reverberated through my bones. The deeper I went into the trees, the more violent the blows became. Metal groaned; then something snapped with a sideways jolt that made my head hit the window in an explosion of pain. My vision faded in and out as realization struck me—the wings . . . one of them, or maybe both of them, had broken off. It wouldn’t be long now until I was torn to pieces like the rest of the plane. I couldn’t stop the screams of terror that left my lips, but the chaos of sound around me was so deafening—like standing in the jet wash of a commercial airplane—that I couldn’t hear them.