Page 7 of Crucible
There’s resolve in Tyler’s eyes as he fights his way back to me, but it doesn’t make me feel safer.
This is bad.
The plane pitches to the side while I try to tug on one of my boots. I lose sight of Tyler as I roll and collide with the wall. The impact is hard enough to stun me, but I shake it off and crawl the short distance to rescue my other boot from under the bed.
I don’t even know why I bother if I’m going to die. I guess because all I can think about even now is the headlines and what they’ll say when they find my body.
It’s pitiful.
“Aurelia!” Tyler yells from the cabin, demanding I light a fire under my ass.
I carefully regain my feet and stumble out of the stateroom. The cabin is loud. The engines are screaming from the exertion it takes to keep us in the air. Through the windows, I can see more white. I can see the wind swirling around, and it takes me a second longer to realize it’s…snow.
A blizzard?
We flew into a freaking blizzard?
Tyler manages to make his way to the rear of the plane again and holds out a hand for me.
I reach for his hand, and it feels like some invisible force keeps us apart. I stretch my arm until it hurts, but no matter how hard I try, my fingers never do more than graze his.
Finally, Ty’s fingers curl around mine, and he grits his teeth from the strength it takes to tug me to him. The moment I fall into his arms, I hear a terrible screech and then the sound of metal scraping like it’s tearing itself apart.
Oh, God.
“Tyler!” I scream to warn him.
“You need to get strapped in now!” He helps me into the nearest seat, and I scramble to buckle the belt. There’s only asofa across the aisle perpendicular to me, so it costs Ty precious seconds to reach the nearest empty seat closer to the front of the plane.
I want to close my eyes as if that will dull the terrifying roar throughout the cabin, but I can’t—not until I’m sure Tyler is safe.
He feels a million miles away when he finally takes his seat. I don’t see if he gets his seat belt on because something hits the plane in a rapid barrage.
It sounds like the plane is being shot at.
Hail. It’s what’spelting the plane.
The lights in the cabin flicker off, and more alarms start blaring all around me.
Someone starts praying.
I hear the captain speaking over the intercom. He sounds calm, but he’s no Sully. I’m not convinced.
Why does it feel more like we’re crashing rather than landing?
I look out the window, but I can’t see anything except that damn white. And I can’t hear the engines anymore.
The earsplitting scraping sound returns, followed by a boom and then an unbearable rush of cold air. I don’t need to look behind me to know that the tail is gone.
The praying guard starts chanting louder, and I’m tempted to join him. But for what? My life? My salvation? Right now, they seem to be one and the same, so I start praying for an open field.
God isn’t that kind.
When I turn my head toward the window for relief from the wind, the white finally fades just enough for my heart to sink when I see where we are.
It’s not an open field or anything close to resembling a landing strip.
It’s a massive snow-covered peak, and we’re heading straight for it.
