and we fall silent. “We have prepared a statement that is scheduled to be released on social media in the next few minutes. Among other things, we ask the government to bring forward their target for zero carbon emissions to 2030 and to issue fines to airlines that cannot demonstrate a commitment toward renewable energy.”
The passenger in 2D—the man with the long legs, who told me to cheer up—is leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees. Instead of the terrified expression on the other passengers’ faces, 2D is nodding along with Missouri’s speech. I nudge Cesca and jerk my head until she follows my gaze.
Amazon, Missouri, Zambezi, and now the man in 2D. That’s four of them. How many more? Are there any farther back, in economy? A sudden thought strikes me: Are there any among the crew?
“We are taking only a few hundred people hostage,” Missouri is saying. “Our politicians have the whole world’s future in their hands.”
Across the cabin, Erik has moved. When I last looked, he was standing with Carmel, but he’s several rows closer to the galley now than he was before. Zambezi is intent on Missouri’s speech, and Erik in turn has his eyes on Zambezi. As I watch, he moves again—one foot, then the other, so slowly, you might miss it. I hold my breath. What is he doing?
“We will continue to stay airborne until the government agrees to our demands, or—” Missouri pauses. “Until we run out of fuel.”
There is a moment’s silence as our collective imagination pictures the full horror of this threat.
Before anyone can speak, Missouri continues, “I am in no doubt that we will achieve our goal. Intentionally sentencing hundreds of their own citizens to death would be rather an own goal, don’t you think?” She doesn’t seem to expect an answer. “In the meantime, all you have to do is cooperate.”
Erik moves again. Slowly, slowly. Is he number five? I think of how he pulled the curtains around his bunk during our rest period, refusing to play along with the gossip and the games. He said he wanted to sleep, but did he have something to hide?
“And if we don’t?” Derek Trespass calls.
Missouri raises her arm, letting the sleeve of her jumper fall to her elbow. The wires speak for her. Jamie Crawford’s wife starts crying, noisy wails that make everyone look nervously between her and Missouri, in case the burst of emotion might trigger the hijackers to act. There’s a sudden movement toward the galley. It’s Erik, running forward and grabbing Zambezi, twisting her arm behind her back. Screams echo around the cabin, and Carmel runs forward, her voice rising above the noise.
“Erik, no. You’ll get us all killed!”
Everyone’s out of their seats, crying and shouting and pulling in different directions. Missouri crosses the galley and reappears behind Zambezi, grappling with Erik. Carmel’s tugging at his arm, hysterical now, and above it all, baby Lachlan screams at the top of his lungs. I take the shortest route across the cabin, clambering over seats, not knowing what I’ll do when I get there, not knowing who is where and which way they’re pulling, knowing only that someone is going to get hurt if they—
I’ve never seen so much blood.
It spurts in a wide arc above the seats and leaves a crimson slash on the wall. Someone screams and goes on and on, not stopping for breath. The man with the neatly trimmed beard—his glasses spattered with blood—says, “Help me get her on the floor!” His gray sweatshirt is drenched in blood, his hands on a wound that won’t be closed, no matter how hard he presses. Screaming. So much screaming.
Carmel. Twenty-two years old. A head full of accent walls and dusky-pink sofas, of far-flung hotels and a boyfriend who works in the City. Thirty-five thousand feet in the air, her blood pulses through a stranger’s fingers, a corkscrew plunged deep into her neck.
THIRTY
PASSENGER 1G
What you have to understand is that I never wanted anyone to get hurt. But as the saying goes: you can’t make an omelet without breaking eggs. Sometimes violence is the only language people understand.
The corkscrew was insurance: a need for a weapon more immediate, more targeted than the threat of a bomb. I slipped it into my pocket on an early visit to admire the bar, with no real plan for its use, and I was glad of it the moment I saw the crew’s attempt to undermine my plan. The metal pierced the