Lovers and Gamblers (77 page)

Airport staff on duty the previous evening were being rounded up. What had they seen? Anything suspicious? Anything unusual?

An assistant of Carlos’s came rushing into the temporary office set up for him at the airport.

‘The boarding officer has been located,’ he huffed, somewhat out of breath. ‘He has a passenger boarding list.’

‘Yes?’

‘It seems, Señor Baptista, that your son was aboard with Miss Maraco.’

‘Whaaat? That is impossible.’

‘Not impossible, Señor. Unfortunately confirmed. They boarded the plane at the last minute saying that you had sent them.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ raged Carlos. ‘Impostors.’ But then he remembered Chara’s phone call. Remembered the fact that Louis had not returned home. Remembered that Cristina Maraco was also missing.

Carlos buried his head in his hands.

‘Oh dear God!’ he mumbled, ‘Oh Christ above.
Filho da puta
. What can I do? What can I do?’

As the plane hurtled to its death Harry Booker lapsed into unconsciousness. On the initial impact the trees smashed through the cockpit pulping Harry to pieces. He died fairly quickly.

The flight engineer was not so lucky. Half his face was gouged away, he was trapped in his seat, and death did not come until the plane finally stopped and he was slowly burned to death.

Wendy also died in the fire. Wounded and trapped beneath Van’s body, she could not move. She died screaming for help.

Van, unconscious, died with her.

Nino, Cristina, and the navigator were all hurled from the plane when it split in two. The fact that they were not strapped into seats probably saved them from being burned to death.

Nino broke both legs and suffered a lethal-looking gash to the head. Unable to move, he lay groaning on the wet ground.

Cristina was miraculously unhurt. She was thrown out of the plane like a rag doll, and a bump on the head rendered her unconscious.

The navigator landed in a tree and hung there limply. His neck was broken. Nobody found him, and he died after an agonizing three hours.

Louis Baptista was also unlucky – caught midway down the plane as it broke in half – he was crushed to death. His last scream of ‘
Cristina!’
went unheard.

At the rear of the plane things were only slightly better.

The two journalists, destined never to write their story, were hurled the length of the plane strapped side by side into adjoining seats, which had cut loose on impact. They were hurled straight into nothingness, and were dead by the time they hit the ground.

Bernie Suntan had been saved by his bulk. A deadly strip of jagged-edged fuselage had bayoneted him in the chest. If he had been a thinner man it would have reached his heart, but it was embedded in fatty tissue, and although blood poured from the wound, it did not seem to be lethal.

Paul was trapped by his legs under a concertina of seats. He was extremely white and had lost consciousness.

Cathy was covered in blood. She too was trapped next to Paul, but her face had impacted with something, and blood streamed from a broken nose, and a gaping cut on her mouth.

Evan was still strapped into his seat at a crazy angle. He had been bruised and shaken, and his arm was somehow crushed beneath him. But he was alive.

Luke, however, was dead, his massive body slumped on the floor – one of his legs nearly severed by a long shard of glass. Blood had pumped from the wound forming a huge puddle. He had been smashed on the head and his skull was crushed.

The door to Al’s bedroom remained closed. Twisted and crushed where the roof of the plane had given way, it would not have opened even if Al had unlocked it. It was firmly jammed.

The couch where Al and Dallas had been strapped in had been yanked from the wall. Together they had been buffeted crazily around the padded room.

The soft walls had saved them from any serious injury, and although they were covered in bruises they had both survived. The worst injury Al had was a cut on his leg. Dallas thought she might have broken a couple of ribs – the pain was intense.

But the relief of being alive was unbelievable. When the plane had started its uncontrollable, dizzying, roller-coaster drop, she had known she was going to die.
Known
it
. And she hadn’t screamed or cried out, but just clung tightly to Al’s hand and wished that they could have had more time together, wished that she could have trusted him sooner. Now it was all over, and at least she was going to die with him. He had made her happy in the short time they had been together, and she was thankful for that.

‘I love you,’ she had whispered as the plane fell. ‘Love you – love you – love you.’ And she had meant it.

At that moment in time Al had been trying to keep up with his thoughts. Goddamn it. His plane was crashing.
His
plane. He had paid for the best – paid a fucking fortune.
How dare they do this to him? How dare they?

Where was Paul? Luke, Bernie? Why weren’t they
doing
something. That’s what he paid them for, wasn’t it?

Christ! Who would believe it?

He could feel Dallas’s nails digging into his hand. ‘Don’t worry, don’t worry, everything’s fine,’ he managed to mumble.

Seconds later they hit the trees, and the goddamn couch came hurtling away from the wall, and he thought, Sweet Jesus, don’t let me die like this. I don’t
want
to die. I’ve got too many things left to do.

And they were all over the place, bumping around, smashing from one side of the cabin to the other. And he could hear himself repeating, ‘Don’t worry – don’t worry.’ And he thought how inane that must sound, how stupid, because even
he
realized that death must be only moments away. And he thought, what about Evan? And he thought of the first girl he had ever screwed. And he remembered Edna on their wedding day. And he flashed onto a memory of his first stage appearance.

And all the time he was aware of Dallas close beside him.

And he wondered why it had taken him thirty-eight years to find her. And he wondered why now that he had found her she was to be taken away from him. He wanted to scream, and shout, but he just kept mumbling, ‘Don’t worry, don’t worry.’ And – when the plane finally shuddered to a stop he was still saying it.

It took him moments to realize that they had stopped. He was stunned.

He wanted to shake his head and wake up – because Jesus Christ – this had to be a nightmare – this couldn’t be happening to him. Then he realized with a leaden feeling that this was no nightmare, this was
real,
it
was
happening to him. And his next immediate thought was fire – and wouldn’t it be ridiculous to have made it to the ground and then to get
burned
to death.

Dallas was moaning softly. They were still strapped firmly into the leopard-skin couch – cleverly designed by some faggot designer whose balls Al would have for breakfast – the fucking thing hadn’t even stayed fixed to the wall, it had come to rest against the side of the bed – and now
he couldn’t get the fucking straps undone
. They were trapped.

He couldn’t hear a thing. Shouldn’t there be sirens and bells, for Chrissake?

Shouldn’t they be surrounded by rescue squads?

Why weren’t they being saved?

What the fuck was happening out there?

* * *

The pain in her legs was excruciating. Cathy tried to struggle up, but it was impossible. A whole section of seats seemed to have concertinaed back into a tangled mass of wreckage, and her legs were trapped beneath it.

She struggled in vain. Had to get up. Had to get everyone out of there.

It was freezing cold, pitch dark. She reached out and touched Paul, unconscious beside her. She wondered if he was dead.

Bernie was screaming with pain. ‘I’ve been stabbed! I’ve been stabbed!’ he kept on repeating, ‘help me – help me!’

She felt for Paul’s pulse. He was alive. She bent forward, and by feeling around, realized that he was also trapped.

‘Can anyone help us?’ she called out – but her words sounded so funny – and she realized half her teeth were missing, and the thick sticky stuff pouring down her face was blood. It was about then that she fainted.

Evan was paralysed with fear. He didn’t dare to move. Yet he couldn’t remain hanging nearly upside down in his seat like an inanimate puppet forever.

Feebly he struggled to free his arm twisted beneath him, and upon doing that he fiddled with the seat belt, getting it open, and falling out of the seat with a thud. He fell near Bernie, and as his eyes adjusted themselves to the dark he could make out something terrible protruding from the fat man’s chest.

‘Pull it out,’ Bernie screamed in panic and terror, ‘pull the fuckin’ motherfucker out!’

Evan backed away, stumbling along the littered aisle.

He wished he had a torch. Wished he could
see
something. He heard the stewardess ask for help – then silence. He edged towards the door of his father’s section, and tripped over the body of Luke sprawled outside. Suddenly his hands were covered in something hot and sticky, and with horror he realized it was blood. ‘Luke?’ he questioned desperately, ‘
LUKE?
’ He pulled himself away from the body, tried to open the door to his father’s room. It wouldn’t budge. He threw his scrawny body against it, and started to scream hysterically. It was to no avail. Eventually he slumped to the floor, leaning his head against the door, and sobbing quietly. They were all dead. Even Bernie had stopped screaming. He was the only one left alive. He was all alone.
What was he going to do ? Who would save him?

* * *

‘I’m all right,’ said Dallas, ‘I can’t believe it, but I am.’

‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ Al replied tersely, ‘can you
hear
anything?’

‘Nothing. Just the rain. Where are we?’

‘Well, we’re sure as hell not in São Paulo. Probably on the outskirts somewhere – I’m worried about the others.
We’re
OK – but what about them?’

‘They’re probably down the emergency chutes by now.’

‘Look – when I count to three, push as hard as you can against the friggin’ seat belt. We can’t just lie here waiting to get rescued – this whole thing could go up in flames any minute. Come on now – one – two –
three.
’

She strained with him, and a wave of sickening nausea engulfed her. ‘Oh God, Al, I can’t. I – I think I’ve broken something… It’s my ribs… It hurts… It really hurts…’

He knew that every second must count. Planes always blew up. Always burst into flame. Why wasn’t someone breaking in to get them out? Why wasn’t anyone giving a fuck? Christ –some heads would roll for putting him through this… A lot of people would be out looking for new jobs…

‘Can you help me get us over to the door – if we crawl…’

‘I’ll try.’

Together, like some monstrous snail, they managed to twist onto their bellies and inch their way towards the door, the couch still attached to them.

‘Try and straighten up,’ Al instructed.

She was biting her lip trying to stop from crying out. Al was so strong, so calm, she didn’t feel at all afraid.

He managed to unlock the door, but it wouldn’t open. If he had been able to see in the dark he would have known why – the frame at the top was crushed down – holding the door tight. It was completely jammed. ‘It’s no good, forget it.’ If he wasn’t trapped by the safety belt he could kick the goddamn door in. Thank Christ Dallas wasn’t showing any signs of panic. Thank Christ the plane hadn’t gone up in flames.

Then he had an idea. He would cut them free – he had a manicure case in one of the drawers – he also had a torch. If he could find both items he could cut them loose, then with the torch see their way out of the emergency exit – it was better than staying here and roasting to death.

Only one problem. The drawers had come out and splintered to pieces all over the room. On their hands and knees, with the lunatic couch attached to their backs, they would have to crawl around searching. Well, it beat the hell out of sitting around doing nothing.

* * *

At first light Cristina recovered consciousness.

Slowly she opened her eyes and stared up in surprise. For a moment she had no idea where she was. Her mind seemed utterly blank. Then slowly it all started to come back. Nino. Louis. The plane. The storm…

She was lying in what seemed like a forest, her clothes soaking wet and torn, every bone in her body aching. She couldn’t summon the strength to move, so she just lay there for a while trying to collect her thoughts. It dawned on her that somehow she must have been thrown from the plane, and gradually, tentatively, she attempted to get up – marvelling at the fact that nothing seemed to be broken.

When she stood, the world spun round. She felt very giddy and sick, and there was an empty gnawing feeling in her stomach.

She sat down abruptly, leaning against the trunk of an enormous tree. She had never seen such giant trees before and wondered where she was. Then she wondered where the plane was, and Louis and Nino and all the others.

Oh God – surely she wasn’t alone out here?

She stood again, her legs barely able to support her they were shaking so much. Her shoes had been ripped from her in the fall, and her bare feet were covered in small cuts and scratches, in fact every exposed inch of her body was bruised and battered. Fortunately she had been wearing jeans, and they were intact apart from being soaking wet, but the thin cotton shirt on her top half was ripped and torn. The sweater she had worn casually tied around her shoulders was gone.

The rain had stopped, but the ground was sodden and overgrown, and she was frightened to walk on it lest she stepped on any insects – she had always had a phobia about anything creepy crawly, and the air was alive with animal and bird chirpings.

But what else could she do? She had to look for the plane. Had to hope that she wasn’t the only survivor.

Resolutely she set off.

* * *

Paul opened his eyes, and the pain in his legs was so intense that he shut them again and willed himself to lose consciousness. He wondered if he still
had
legs. What was the story about amputees still feeling pain in legs and arms that had long gone. ‘Nurse!’ he called sharply. ‘NURSE!’