Horizons (2 page)

Suddenly a white cloth appeared before her, suspended by deeply tanned fingers. She glanced to her right, into the topaz eyes of the man who’d given up his first-class
seat to Alita Gomez’s manager. Zach something-or-other. He was offering her his handkerchief.

She gave a self-conscious smile. “Your mother must be very proud of you. Gentlemen are a rare breed today.”

Zach grinned back at her. “Maybe I’m not polite at all. How do you know this isn’t a flag of truce, or an offer of outright surrender?”

Kelly laughed. “For one thing, I wasn’t aware we were at war.” She accepted the handkerchief from him. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he replied. With that, he went back to his work, affording her the privacy to properly compose herself.

F
inally, everyone had boarded and the plane began to taxi away from the terminal. The steward in charge of the last several rows of passengers, a good-looking young man with red hair and soulful brown eyes, commanded their attention. He welcomed them aboard and commenced the usual speech, citing the rules about smoking, keeping their trays locked into position in front of them, and staying in their seats until the seatbelt sign went off after take-off. He continued with instructions concerning air-sick bags, flotation cushions, oxygen masks, and emergency exits, ending with,
“
We are here to assist you in any way we can, to make your journey comfortable and pleasant.”

In the rearmost seat, which butted up to the galley, a burly passenger grumbled, “Comfortable? Hah! That’s a laugh!” He jingled the handcuffs that bound his wrist to that of the detective seated next to him. “I can’t even blow my nose without seeing your paw in front of my face.”

“So pretend we’re Siamese twins and shut up,” the lawman advised brusquely. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, and I’m not the one who splattered my wife’s brains
all over a bedroom wall, then skipped out of the country. It’s gonna be a long trip back to Tennessee, Roberts, and only slightly better if you’re not bitching the entire time.”

“So dig out the key and unhook us,” Earl Roberts suggested. “It ain’t like I can go anywhere. What do you think I’m gonna do? Open a door and throw myself out into the ocean? I didn’t see them handin’ out parachutes when we got on this over-sized death-trap.”

“Relax, Roberts. The 747 has an excellent safety record. And out of about two hundred passengers, as near as I can tell you’re the only one whining like a baby.”

“Maybe that’s ’cause I’m the only one tied to you. And you did some big-time gripin’ of your own when they made you turn your gun over to the pilot when we boarded.” Earl added that jab with gleeful spite. He eyed the smaller man with a sneer. “You scared, sittin’ here without your weapon, knowin’ I could strangle you with my bare hands anytime I took the notion?”

The detective met the threat with a challenging glare, not in the least intimidated. “Try it, and you’re gonna wish you did have a parachute. Nothin’ says I have to bring you back alive.”

T
hey’d crossed the International Date Line, thus gaining a day on the calendar, and were somewhere over the Polynesian Islands, when they hit a series of thunderstorms, one after another. Though the pilot came on the intercom several times to assure everyone that there was no cause for alarm, passengers were encouraged to remain in their seats, with their seatbelts fastened. The turbulence became so great that the flight attendants had to secure the carts in the galleys. Contrarily, the rougher the weather became, the more drinks were ordered. The poor attendants were being run ragged serving alcoholic beverages to those passengers who evidently preferred being thoroughly anesthetized to being soberly aware of the frightening situation in which they now found themselves.

Many people, seasoned travelers and first-timers alike, resorted to the air-sick bags, as the aircraft lurched and bounced, and pitched through the dark, ominous clouds. The busy, friendly chit-chat that had previously permeated the atmosphere soon dissipated into whispered exchanges, quiet fervent prayers, and an ever-growing silence.

Each time the plane took one of those heart-stopping thirty-foot drops, as if the air beneath it had suddenly been whisked away, Kelly swallowed a screech of pure terror. She was clutching the armrest so hard that her fingers ached from the prolonged pressure.

Witness to her fear, Zach offered, “If it would make you feel better, we could hold hands.”

Kelly shook her head and declined the gallant gesture. “I’m afraid to let go that long.” A pry-bar couldn’t have loosened her hands from the armrest—or wrested her from her seat. Which made Alita’s appearance all the more startling as the singer made her way slowly down the tilting aisle toward the rear of the aircraft.

Though her own face was strained, Alita cast a glance at Kelly’s white-boned knuckles and laughed. “It appears that you, not I, will be the one with no fingernails left.”

Kelly unclenched her jaw and muttered, “Slumming, Miss Gomez?”

“I came to give Zach his autographed photos,” the actress said, turning a three hundred-watt-smile on Zach. She handed the pictures to him, and
explained in a husky murmur, “
The one of me fully dressed is for your daughter. The other one is meant especially for you.”

Zach had just thanked her when the beleaguered steward appeared and curtly suggested that Alita return immediately to her seat.

True to form, Alita tossed her raven hair and declared loudly, “I do not care what your stupid sign says. I have had to come all the way to the back of the plane in search of a restroom that is not occupied. I am going to file a complaint. For so many people, on a plane this size, there should be more restrooms available.” With that, she flounced past him, nearly shoving the man into Kelly’s arms, pushed another passenger headed for the facilities out of her path, and promptly claimed the small cubicle for herself.

The door had no sooner clicked shut behind Alita than the entire interior of the aircraft was filled with a blinding white glare, accompanied instantaneously by a loud, deafening crack. Immediately, the plane pitched into a steep dive.

Panic ensued. Screams rent the air, above which the attendants were frantically trying to issue orders. Though he was standing next to her, Kelly could barely hear the steward yelling, “Secure your tray tables. Remove your eyeglasses and any sharp objects from your pockets. If you have a pillow or blanket or jacket, place it in your lap, between your legs. Put your arms over your head, bend over, and put your head between your knees.”

There was no time to think, barely time to react. And yet in that same surreal period, everything seemed to be happening in slow-motion. Half-ripping it, Kelly struggled out of her jacket and hunched forward. The woman to the left of her grabbed a partially knit afghan from her bag and did likewise. Across the aisle, Zach tore off his sport coat. Next to him, the soldier tucked his face into a tiny airline pillow. In the rearmost seats, the detective and his prisoner swore at each other as they tried to stretch the lawman’s suit coat between them.

In those horrible, stupefying moments, sobs and curses and prayers mingled. The baby was shrieking at the top
of her lungs. Above the din, the plane’s engines were whining and coughing as the craft lurched dizzily downward.

Half suffocated by her tears and her jacket, Kelly raised her head sligh
tl
y. Her terrified gaze met Zach’s for a split instant before he reached out one large hand and roughly shoved her head down again.

His voice, shouting at her to stay down, was the last thing she heard—just before the tremendous jolt that rendered her blessedly unconscious.

Chapter 2

T
he initial impact rammed Zach’s head against the back of the seat in front of him. Amid the horrendous din of ripping metal and the screams of the other passengers he felt, rather than heard, the bones in his neck crack painfully. His shoulder hit something solid, and his left arm went immediately numb, while his right kneecap felt as if it was on fire.

Contrary to popular belief, Zach’s life did not pass before his eyes in those next few seconds. Rather, a dozen thoughts flashed through his mind. His daughter was about to lose her only remaining parent. How would she cope? Had he told her lately how pretty she was? How proud he was of her, and how much he loved her? Would his mom and dad find his will in the filing cabinet? Were his bills paid up? Would death come quickly? He prayed it would. Was Rachel waiting for him on the other side, with Grandad Zeke and Aunt Esther?

“Oh, Becky! I’m so sorry! Be good for Gramma and Grandpa. Be happy, baby.”

The plane tilted sharply, throwing Zach’s ribs hard into the armrest between him and the soldier, robbing him of his breath while lights flashed inside his head. “This is it,” he thought. “I’m coming, Rachel. I’m coming.”

But it wasn’t over yet. In retrospect, it would almost seem as if it had all happened in slow motion, while in reality it took only seconds. The aircraft rolled, somersaulting onto its back. The movement caught Zach off-guard, slinging him backward in his seat like a sprung coil. His eyes flew open. His arms lost their grip, flinging outward, sending his hands smacking into the overhead panel. The lapbelt gouging into his belly was the only thing holding him in place, as he hung helplessly, upside-down, his knees dangling inches from his nose, witness to a horror beyond his worst nightmare.

Those windows that hadn’t popped at first impact did so now, spraying shards of plastic in every direction. Overhead compartments sprang open, the contents flying out like randomly aimed missiles. Next to Zach’s head, a large hole was suddenly ripped in the ceiling above the aisle. A few feet forward, with the ease of a beer can being crushed in a man’s fist, the roof of the cabin caved inward over the seating area. A woman’s scream, cut short, told its own fateful tale.

The tumbling continued, tossing the plane onto its opposite side, then almost upright a
gain. Zach, his teeth clenched ti
ghtly together, let loose a muted howl as his shin cracked against a floor bracket and his aching ribs took another battering from the armrest. Then, miraculously, the plane rocked to a shuddering halt, tilted at an acute angle, tail-end down.

For several long seconds, Zach didn’t even dare to breathe, let alone move. Truth be told, he didn’t know if
he was capable of moving at this point. But he was alive, at least for now. His throbbing body was verification of this, as was his pounding heart, which seemed to be permanently lodged in his throat. Finally, when the plane did not resume movement, Zach sucked in several great gulps of air on a fervent prayer of thanksgiving. He was alive!

Fast on the heels of that thought came another. Yes, he’d survived, but how many others had? And why, if they’d gone down in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, wasn’t the cabin being flooded with water? His last question was promptly answered, as Zach cast a quick glance around him. Through the tiny portholes, rather than a sea of liquid blue, he saw a dense wall of vivid green. Branches and leaves poked through many of the shattered panes. Zach could only conclude that somehow, either by sheer luck, or perhaps the result of some last-minute navigation by the pilot, they must have crashed on one of the many islands dotting this part of the Pacific.

And he wasn’t the sole survivor, either. As his panic subsided, he heard others around him beginning to stir. Cries of pain and hysteria rose, prompting Zach’s brain into working order again. Logic, and a strong sense of self-preservation, told him that the next course of action was to get off the plane before something else catastrophic could occur. Only God knew how long it would be before the aircraft caught fire—and the extreme tilt of the plane made him wonder if they were in danger of sliding into the ocean at any given moment.

Following the urgent impulse to flee, Zach released the catch on his lapbelt and pried himself out of his seat. Not a simple task. The rows of seats had been shoved together, compacted like the bellows of an accordion when the plane had crashed. Despite his throbbing ribs, and a shoulder that was surely dislocated, Zach had to literally contort his body and squeeze out into the aisle. He fell panting to the
floor, crouched on hands and knees, fighting to remain conscious as pain lanced through him.

Next to him, Kelly moaned and shifted slightly. Zach reached out and shook her arm. “Wake up. C’mon. We’ve got to get out of here.” Not knowing the degree of his own injuries, he could only hope hers were not too extensive.

Kelly’s first reaction was one of supreme annoyance. "Buzz off,
Brad,” she mumbled drowsily. “…
Gotta headache.”

“If that’s the worst of it, you can consider yourself fortunate,” Zach replied, shaking her again. “Wake up. Now!”

Kelly’s lids fluttered open, and she peered
at Zach with a frown. “Who…
what?” Her expressive green eyes reflected the moment her memory returned, as they widened with fear. “Are
…
aren’t we dead?” she asked hesitantly.

“
Not yet. Can you wriggle loose of your seat? We’ve got to hurry.”

“Why? We’re down now, aren’t we?”

Zach nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t exactly want to be around if this heap of metal decides to explode.”

His words were prophetic. No sooner had he uttered them than an enormous blast rocked the plane. The craft slid downward several more feet, tilting at an even more precarious angle. Beyond the thick veil of branches, a bright orange glow appeared, quickly blotted out by thick black smoke.

Screams of terror erupted anew. The explosion sent Zach skidding toward the rear of the cabin on his stomach. When he stopped, he was face to face with the steward.

“The emergency exit,” the other man groaned, nodding towa
rd the door a few feet away. “
Get it open. Throw out the chute.”

“Right.” Zach staggered to his feet. It was then he noticed the steward’s leg, caught fast between a utility cart
and the wall. Most of the partition sectioning off the galley had crumpled. A jumble of trays, cans, and miscellaneous rubble littered the passageway, pinning the cart, and the steward, in place. Zach wres
tl
ed with it for several seconds before admitting defeat.

“I’ll get help.”

“I can do it,” a man offered. “Just give me a minute to get rid of these cuffs first.”

Zach turned toward the voice. His volunteer was a bear of a man, working a key into the handcuffs that linked him to his limp, blood-soaked seatmate. The cuffs sprang loose, and the giant lurched into the aisle.

“What about him?” Zach motioned toward the remaining fellow, the one instinct told him was the cop.

“Dead. Piece of metal speared through his side.”
The prisoner pushed Zach out of his way. “I’ll get the steward. You get the door.”

Glad for the help, Zach hobbled through the wreckage to the rear-most exit.

Some distance forward, Kelly finally managed to free herself of her lapbelt. On quivering limbs, she had to actually climb out of her seat. She stood quaking in the aisle, her head throbbing and her mind still too muddled to function properly.

“The kid,” someone said. “Get the kid.” It was the soldier, the man who’d been sitting next to Zach. He was trying to wedge himself out of his own cramped space
.
Blood trickled from numer
ous cuts on his dark face, and
his right hand dangled crookedly from his wrist.

“The baby,” he insisted, jerking Kelly from her stupor.

From somewhere toward the front, the child was wailing loudly. Kelly followed the sound, hauling herself slowly up the steep incline by grasping seatbacks, half crawling
j
through the tumbled luggage clogging the passageway. She found the toddler partially buried beneath a mound of debris, battered but apparently not badly hurt. Bracing herself, Kelly pulled the little girl free, hugging her close. “It’s okay, honey. Sssh. Hush now, pumpkin. Where’s your mommy?”

The child, still sobbing, pointed a chubby finger. Kelly’s gaze followed. Her stomach lurched. The young woman was still hunched over, her head totally immersed in the seatback in front of her. Her neck rested on the horizontal slat of the metal framework which had served as a guillotine. Beside her, her husband slumped half-in, half-out of a large hole in the plane’s side.

Kelly gulped. So much blood. Everywhere. “Oh, God! Oh, G
od!” she whimpered, clutching th
e child tighter to her. Pivoting away from the grisly sight, Kelly fought the waves of nausea and panic threatening to engulf her.

When she dared to open her eyes again, she encountered the misty blue eyes of the elderly lady seated behind the child’s parents. Tears ran unheeded down the woman’s face as she held her husband across her lap, stroking his head with gnarled fingers. Her voice was strangely childlike as she murmured. “Wake up, James. We’ve landed. Wake up, dear. It’s not like you to be such a slug-a-bed.”

Zach appeared suddenly. He knelt at the old woman’s side. Placing his fingers at her husband’s neck, he felt for a pulse. His gaze met Kelly’s and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he told the older lady. “He’s gone.”

The woman’s head jerked in a gesture of denial. “ No. He’s just sleeping. He naps a bit these days, you see.”

By now, Zach had the woman’s belt undone. As gently as possible, he urged her from the seat. “We’ve got to go now.”

She looked from her husband to Zach with confusion. “Isn’t James coming, too? I can’t leave James, you know. If he wakes to find me gone, he’ll be most distraught.”

“It’s all right,” Zach lied, aiming her toward the back
of the cabin. “I’ll bring him along later. You just go with Kelly. Be careful not to fall.”

On an aside to Kelly, he ordered, “Hurry. Get them to the rear exit. The corporal and I will check
the rest of the passengers.”

The soldier, his hand now bound up in his necktie and secured to his belt, pushed past her. By the time the two women negotiated the strewn baggage and reached the exit, he and Zach had caught up with them again. Each carried an unconscious passenger. A middle-aged woman hobbled close behind.

The steward had released the emergency chute through the open door. “Sit and slide,” he instructed succinctly,
motioning toward the
old woman. “Ladies and children
first.”

Zach had been busily counting heads. “Where’s the other guy? Our newly liberated felon?” he inquired.

The steward nodded tow
ard the bottom of the chute. “Al
ready out and waiting to catch the others. Miss Gomez is down, too. We heard her pounding on the restroom door, or she’d still be stuck in there.”

Zach lowered his burden to the floor, then helped the corporal do the same. “You assist the ladies. We’re going back to search for any other survivors. I wish we could get past that barrier of trees at the top of the aisle, but they’re blocking it solidly.”

“That’s probably the only thing keeping the smoke at bay,” the steward suggested. “A lucky break for us.” He indicated the black billows outside the aircraft. “Don’t dally, mates. I’ve got me a bad feelin’, like this tail section isn’t gonna stay put much longer. And heaven knows what’ll happen when she goes.”

“Don’t forget my James,” the old woman called after them, lowering herself gingerly to the floor.

Peering past her, Kelly surveyed the bright yellow chute
with trepidation. It was slanted nearly straight down, with the lower end hidden among the tree limbs. “I can’t see the ground from here. Are you certain the others got down safely?” she dared to ask.

“Right as rain, miss
,
” the steward assured her. “That big galoot’s holdin’ tight to the other end. Not to worry.”

Somehow, his words did little to reassure her. Still, anything was better than remai
ning aboard the plane, waiting t
o be blown to smithereens with the next explosion. Strain her ears though she might, Kelly could hear no sounds from below which might indicate imminent rescue. No sirens. No squeal of tires. Nothing. Did that mean they were solely responsible for their own rescue? Was help still miles, and perhaps hours, away?

Kelly scanned the small, battered group of passengers around her. Collectivel
y, they sported numerous wounds
—everything from deep lacerations to broken bones, and possible internal injuries. If they were to be on their own for a while, they’d need more than the clothes on their
b
acks. They needed cloth for
bandages and slings, blankets t
o ward off shock. Any type of pain medication, even if it was just aspirin, would surely be better than nothing.

“Here. You take her,” Kelly said, shoving the whimpering baby into the middle-aged woman’s arms. “I’ll be right back.”

As she searched quickly through the jumble of luggage, and carry-on items at her feet, Kelly cautioned herself not lo look too closely at those passengers yet in their seats, so quiet and still—or at the streams of bl
ood pooling on t
he cabin floor. Within minutes, she’d collected several blankets, jackets, and sw
eaters. She’d found her own duffl
e-bag, and a couple of purses. These she carted quickly
t
oward the exit, dumping them into a heap near the exit.