As Darkness Gathers (Dark Betrayals Book 2) (5 page)

In the background, the first officer cursed, low and vile. “Edgar, the rudder . . . Shit. I don’t have any—”

The line went silent, and I held my breath.
 

1A’s eyes had flown open at the interruption of the captain’s announcement, and now his gaze narrowed on mine.

Unease tightened my throat as the plane jerked and shuddered, and when the four bells went off moments later, I was already reaching for the interphone.
 

“We’ve lost the hydraulics to the rudder,” Edgar said, his voice clipped.

“That’s bad.”

“It’s not good, honey. If you don’t hear from either of us when we get down, initiate evacuation.” He kept talking, but I couldn’t hear past the ringing in my ears.
 

“How . . .” I licked my lips. “How long do I have to get them ready?”

“Ten minutes, max. We’re going down.”

Chapter Three

I sat frozen for only an instant before my training kicked in. I turned the cabin lights to bright and pressed the button on the interphone to engage the public-address system. “Ladies and gentlemen.” I stopped, released the button, and took a deep breath.
 

These people were my responsibility; they had been since they’d stepped foot through the boarding door. I would do everything in my power to see them safely home, and I wouldn’t let my own fear intervene.
 

I glanced at my watch. 11:41 a.m.
 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has advised me we’ll be making a precautionary landing.”
 

The elderly woman started sobbing.
 

“I’ll now give you more detailed information in preparation for an orderly and safe evacuation, if it becomes necessary.”

There was a flurry of activity, but my ears were focused on the turboprop engines. The left throttled back, the right roared. Then the right quieted, and the throttle was increased on the left engine. The front of the plane yawed back and forth, the movement sharp, bouncing, and disorienting. When I glanced out the window, we were just breaking through the cloud cover, and the forested ground was rushing closer.
 

I pointed out the exits again and the escape path lighting, and then explained the brace position of crossing their arms, placing them on the seatback in front of them, and resting their foreheads on their wrists. By the time I’d finished, my watch showed 11:48.

“I’ll help you if you need me to,” 1A said.

“If I’m incapacitated . . .” I swallowed and felt the hot press of tears. I blinked them back. “If I’m unable to, make sure it’s safe to open the door, and then get everyone out and away.”

“I’ll do it. And I won’t leave you behind.”

The plane groaned, the yawing becoming violent. We swayed back and forth so forcefully that I had to hold on to my shoulder harness to avoid being pitched sideways. Father and son yelled apologies and
I love yous
at one another
.
The elderly woman continued weeping. One businessman recited a
Hail Mary
, while the one who’d grumbled about the lemon was silent, his face colorless.
 

My lips trembled and I pressed them tightly together. “What’s your name?” I asked 1A.
 

With a rumble, the landing gear extended.

His eyes were blue, I realized.
 

“Clay. Clay Gandy.”
 

Clay in 1A
. I almost laughed at the rhyme, but then Edgar shouted, “Brace, brace, brace!”

I repeated the command over and over until my voice was hoarse. I wanted to close my eyes but found I couldn’t.

The plane jarred with the sound of snapping, the movement so wrenching it felt as if someone were trying to yank my bones from within my skin. We whipped to one side so quickly my neck cracked and my vision swam. Dark shadows rushed by the windows, and the splintering sound escalated.
 

We hit the ground with such force the oxygen masks fell from the panels above the seats and the overhead bins burst open and spilled luggage into the aisle.
 

Both passengers and metal screamed.
 

There was a horrific grinding as the plane shuddered and bucked.
 

Then the world exploded.
 

“Wake up. Come on, Finch, wake up.” The insistent voice roused me slowly.
 

Tight bands constricted my chest, preventing me from taking a full breath, and there was an increasing pressure in my head. As my awareness grew, so did the pain. My entire body felt pummeled and beaten. I moaned, and even that small sound hurt.

The bands around my chest and shoulders loosened, and then I was falling. I cried out, but it escaped as only a distressing mewl. I tried to brace myself but found my limbs weighted and sluggish.
 

Strong arms caught me. “I have you. I’ll get you out of here.”

I whimpered as I was dragged, and when icy air flogged my exposed skin, memory slammed into me. I flailed my arms. “Release seat belt! Get out!” My voice was a raw croak.

“Shh, shh. It’s okay.”

I blinked at the ominous gray sky above, and then a man’s face filled my sight.
1A
. He’d told me his name. “Clay?”

“That’s right.” A gash bisected his left eyebrow and spilled blood down his cheek. “Just lie still a moment.”

“You’re bleeding.” I reached a shaking hand toward his face, but he caught my wrist.

“It’s nothing.” He probed carefully along my arms and then my legs. Though I winced a few times, there was no piercing agony at his touch. “I don’t think anything’s broken.”

The frigid cold of the ground beneath me began to seep through my uniform, and I started to shake. When Clay sat on the ground beside me and pulled me carefully into his arms, I went willingly. He cradled me in his lap as I shuddered from cold and shock, and I burrowed closer to his solid, warm chest. Over his shoulder, I saw the other five passengers huddled together about twenty feet away under the lone tree still standing in a field of debris. Their faces were blank with horror.

“They all got out,” I whispered, and he tightened his arms. He was a stranger, but there was comfort in his embrace.

“When the plane flipped, a piece of luggage hit you.”

I winced as I felt the growing knot at my temple. I didn’t want to look, but I managed to turn my head in slow increments.
 

“Dear god.” I dug my fingers into his sweater and my shaking increased.

The plane lay like a butchered bird with its underbelly to the sky, the stretch of broken trees the arrows. The wings had been snapped, the landing gear ripped away. The fuselage was bent and gouged, the tail torn off and the nose crumpled in on itself. I had no idea how we’d survived.
 

I did a headcount—seven including myself. “Edgar? Bryan? The captain and first officer?”

Clay shook his head. “I don’t know. I had to get you out first.”

I stumbled to my feet and lurched toward the plane. Every muscle protested the movement, and I staggered. Only when a firm hand latched on to my elbow and kept me upright did I realize Clay was at my side. “You should stay with the others,” I said.

His eyes were on the wreckage. “If either of them are still alive, you won’t be able to get them out on your own.”

I swallowed, knowing he was right. I couldn’t smell smoke, and there were no signs of fire as we approached.
 

I crawled into the plane and slid along the depressed ceiling. Luggage had burst. Seatbelts dangled from the upside-down seats, and some of the cushions had been ripped apart, spilling the foam within. Debris crunched under my hands and knees. I nudged an oxygen mask out of the way.
 

“What do you need me to do?” Clay crouched behind me. There was no room to stand.

I glanced around, rubbing my eyes when my vision swam. “The shock and the temperature will chill everyone quickly.”

He swiped at the blood running down his cheek. “I’ll get all these bags out. We can put on any clothing we have.”

It took almost ten minutes to wrestle the cockpit door open even a crack. I peered inside, wedging myself through, and choked on a sob. There was no question Edgar was dead. He was unrecognizable, save for the four bars across his shoulder indicating his status as captain. I touched them gently.
 

A moan startled me, but there wasn’t enough space for me to turn. I squeezed out and then wriggled in facing the opposite direction to see the first officer.
 

“Bryan? Bryan, can you hear me?”

He groaned. His face was bloody, but his right arm and leg were worse. Both were broken, the bones having torn through skin.
 

I closed my eyes, a wave of dizziness assailing me. A touch on my arm startled me, and I slid out of the flight deck. “The first officer is hurt, but he’s alive.” I swallowed back the nausea. “I can’t get the door open any further, though.”

“Let me try.”

I moved out of the way and let Clay into the tight space. Little by little, he was able to wrench the door open. He blew out a breath when he caught sight of the first officer. “What’s his name?”

“Bryan.”

Clay met my gaze. “Why don’t you help the others with those bags I tossed out?”

“You may need my help.”
 

He shook his head. “Please, Finch.”

My stomach churned, and I knew what he wasn’t saying. There was no way he could move Bryan without causing him extreme pain. Any other time I would have protested, but I did as he directed and scrambled outside, hearing the low murmur of his voice.

The other five were still clustered together under the tree. The father sat leaning against the trunk with his left arm clutched against his chest, his son at his side. The polite businessman had his arm around the elderly woman, who swayed where she stood. The other businessman sat on the ground cradling his right ankle.

I caught the teenager’s eyes and motioned for him. He limped toward me.
 

“How badly is everyone hurt?” I asked.

He stared at the plane. I touched his arm, and he blinked at me.
 

“What’s your name?”

“Ti—” His voice caught. “Timothy Hutchison. My dad’s name is Daniel.”

“Are you hurt, Timothy? You or your dad?”

His pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed. “I think my dad’s arm is broken. Some ribs, too.”

“You were limping just now.”

“My knee got banged up when . . . when . . .”

I tightened my grip on his arm. “Timothy,” I said, and his wide eyes met mine. “What about the others?”

A scream, hoarse and agonized, came from within the wreckage. Timothy flinched, and his eyes filled with tears.
 

When the scream cut off abruptly, my teeth started to chatter. “How badly are the others hurt, Timothy?” My voice shook.

“B-bumps and bruises. Some pretty bad cuts. The one guy says his ankle’s broken.”

“Okay. Can you help me?”
 

His nod was jerky.
 

“Let’s carry these bags over to the tree and divide up the clothes. We all need to get warm.”

Everyone was silent as Timothy and I piled the few bags beside them. Any regular-sized luggage would have been stowed in the cargo area, but that section of the plane had been shorn away. There were only five bags—the elderly woman’s, Timothy’s backpack, his father’s bag, mine, and Clay’s.
 

I instructed Timothy to distribute the clothes between everyone, and then turned back in time to see Clay struggle from the wreckage, dragging Bryan. I hurried toward the two men and dropped to my knees beside them.
 

Clay’s face was pale, his jaw clenched. His chest heaved with exertion, and the blood continued to stream from the deep cut on his head.

“Are you okay?”

“He passed out,” Clay said, winded.