The Dysasters (The Dysasters #1)(77)

She gave him a grateful look and began to curl up, attempting the closest thing to comfort modern air travel could provide. She had almost settled her head on his shoulder when she looked up at him.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“Oh, probably. But first I’m going to read. I always read before I go to sleep.” He reached into his backpack and brought out a Dean Koontz paperback, Saint Odd. “I found this at that little shop where we got those bottles of water. It’s the last Odd Thomas book. I can’t wait to find out how he ends up with Stormy Llewellyn.”

Foster’s lips turned up just a little. “You’re a strange one, Tate.”

“Thanks, Foster.” He bent, meaning to kiss the top of her head, but she caught his lips with hers, kissing him back before she lifted the armrest barrier between them and snuggled warmly against him.

And at that moment Tate felt as if everything would truly turn out okay.





25


TATE


Tate jolted awake as the plane seemed to fall out from underneath them. He shot upright in his seat as passengers around him gasped and carry-ons that had been semi-shoved under seats spewed into the aisles. His gaze shot to Foster. Unbelievably, she was curled up with the little pillow on top of her backpack, snoring softly.

The intercom beeped and the captain’s voice blasted through the cabin—this time he spoke coherently and quickly—and Tate hated the underlying somberness in his voice.

“This is your captain. We have begun our descent into Houston, and have hit some very rough air. The ‘fasten seat belt’ light will be on for the rest of the flight. Flight attendants, return to your seats immediately and remain there until we have landed.”

The plane was still bouncing around, but not as badly as whatever had happened that woke Tate. He watched the flight attendants rush up the aisle, studying their faces as they strapped themselves into the jump seats. He was just thinking that they didn’t look too worried when the bottom dropped out of the plane again. For the first time in his life, Tate understood why flight attendants constantly harped on wearing seat belts all the time, because his was all that kept him from flying up and cracking his head against the luggage compartment.

The guy in the seat across the aisle from him wasn’t so lucky. He flew out of his seat, slamming against the low ceiling before falling down, half in the aisle, half in his seat. He clutched his head and moaned. Tate saw blood well between his fingers.

“Ohmygod, what’s happening?” Foster was wide awake. Her backpack had landed in the seat in front of them, smacking against a woman who was sobbing loudly.

“Do you still have that pillow?” Tate asked quickly.

“Yeah.” She held it up, looking scared and confused.

“Thanks.” Tate grabbed it and turned to the guy across the aisle. “Hey, sir. Here. Press this against the cut.” He handed him the little pillow. Hands shaking, the guy took it and pressed it against his head just as the plane felt like it suddenly stopped in the air before beginning to shake side-to-side, like they were riding waves on an ocean, and not currents in the air.

“Ohgod. Ohgod. No no no. I don’t want to die like this,” Foster spoke in panicked spurts between chattering teeth.

Tate grabbed her hand. “Look at me! We’re not dying. It’s just turbulence because of the storm. We’re almost in Houston.”

Foster opened her mouth to reply and the plane dropped again like the hand of a god had smacked them from above.

Foster screamed and Tate put his arm around her, pulling her against him, trying to keep her safe.

“It’s going to be okay!” He had to shout over the screams and sobs of the terrorized passengers. He glanced at the flight attendants and his heart dropped like the plane. They looked scared. Really scared. One of them even had his eyes closed as tears leaked down his cheeks.

“No!” Foster screamed. The plane lurched to the left and yellow plastic oxygen masks released from above them. Foster’s huge green eyes found Tate’s. “We’re going to die,” she said through lips blue with fear. “We’re going down.”

Tate didn’t have time to answer. Over the loudspeaker came another voice. “This is your co-captain. Our landing is going to be rough. All passengers need to brace for impact!”

Tate watched a flight attendant with trembling hands reach up and switch on the intercom. “Passengers, the brace-for-impact position is when you bend over, put your hands behind your head and your face between your knees. Do it! Now!”

The plane bucked and tilted as the passengers screamed and cried, and took the brace-for-impact position. All of the passengers except for Tate. He smelled vomit and blood. The plane’s nose plunged downward, thrusting him back against his seat and making his stomach roll and pitch as the jet’s huge engines whined dangerously.

We’re going down. We’re really going to crash!

For a moment Tate’s mind was numb with panic. He almost buried his face in Foster’s hair and just gave in to the end.

But at that moment Foster lost it. She undid her seat belt and tried to stand. “I’m getting the hell out of here!” She fell against Tate as the plane took a dive to the right. Her body shook and her breath came in big, panicked gasps. “Open the fucking door! I want out of here!”