“We can’t—we weren’t able to…” She’s crying, her words punctuated by painful gulps. “Paul’s sister carried Lachlan for us. We’ve been staying with them. Since the birth.”
“Leah…” Her husband is close to tears too, but she keeps talking.
“When we checked in for this flight, all three of us, I thought I was going to burst with happiness. We were finally a family. I finally got to bring a baby home.”
“It’ll be okay,” I say again, trying to make it sound true. “We’re doing everything we can to get the plane back under control.”
“We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Leah says. She collapses against Paul, letting him rub her back and try for soothing words that are no match for the horror of the situation in which they find themselves, and as I walk away, something changes inside me.
We cannot let this happen.
Every single person on this plane has a reason to be here: someone they’re going to see, someone who will cry for them if our plane never arrives. Every passenger has a story. A life to live. I did the only thing I could do, to keep my daughter safe, but now we have to fight.
I wipe my face and make myself mentally step away from what I’ve done. What matters now is how I deal with it. What matters is getting home to Sophia. Getting everyone else home. The man from seat 7G didn’t crash the plane the second I let him into the flight deck, which means they must be planning to take us somewhere else before—
I don’t let the thought finish. If they’re taking us somewhere else, we have time on our side.
Alice Davanti is writing. She looks up as I approach but returns to her notebook before I’ve finished, her pen moving frantically across the page.
“Are you…working?” It seems extraordinary, but it is an extraordinary situation.
“A letter,” she says curtly. “To my mother.”
I catch a glimpse of the first line—I’m so sorry—before I leave her to speak to the next passenger and the next. They are, variously, frightened, confused, and angry. Some are all three. Derek Trespass, the balding journalist, is in the aisle, speaking with the eloping couple, who have reached a level of insobriety that is cushioning them from reality.
“Jusht open the door and drag ’im out!” Doug is saying. “I’ll do it myself!”
“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” His fiancée grabs his arm. Mascara streaks her cheeks.
“It’s bloody tempting,” Trespass says. “At least we’d be doing something.”
“I understand your concerns, but we really do need everyone to stay calm. Please return to your seats—”
“Stay calm?” Doug says. “We’re being hijacked for Godshshake!”
Only a handful of passengers are sitting down, containing their fear, and craning their necks toward the door to the flight deck. What’s happening in there? Is Mike dead? I think of what Cesca said—he’s got kids—and feel sick to the stomach.
An older woman at the front of the plane stands up and claps her hands, the way a primary school teacher does. “Excuse me!” Her voice is shrill, but there’s an authority about it, and slowly everyone turns to look at her. “Panicking is unnecessary and unhelpful.” It’s the woman with the long, salt-and-pepper hair, who decanted her belongings into pockets rather than put her bag in a locker.
There’s a murmur of discontent from somewhere, but for the most part, the cabin is quiet. People need a voice of reason in a crisis, and they are often more ready to trust one of their own than the people in charge. This woman could be helpful. I try to retrieve her name from my memory, but there’s nothing there.
“No one will get hurt, as long as you cooperate.”
I start to make a plan. There will be other passengers like this woman—authoritative, confident. They can help us keep everyone calm, while we—
My brain catches up with what I’ve just heard.
You. Not we.
“The plane is now under our control.” The woman is in her sixties. She looks like a teacher, a social worker, a nurse, not a terrorist. She holds up a hand as a man two rows back makes a move toward her. “We have weapons, and we will not hesitate to use them.”
Slowly, the man sinks into an empty seat.
“My name is Missouri,” she says. “But I am not alone.” She looks around the cabin, and one by one, we do the same. My gaze falls on each passenger in turn. Jason Poke,