fine one to talk! Carmel was trying to stop you. This is all—” I break off, my conscience refusing to allow the remaining words. It isn’t all Erik’s fault. It’s all mine. He knows it, and I know it.
The bearded man is still staring at Carmel.
“What’s your name?” I say gently.
He looks at me blankly for a second, then shakes himself. “Rowan. We should move her. We can’t leave her on the floor like this. It’s not right.” He blinks rapidly, then wipes his glasses ineffectually on his sweatshirt before putting them back on.
Cesca looks toward the door that leads to the pilots’ rest area. “Could we—”
“We’ll put her in a seat,” I say quickly. Ben and Louis are safer where they are—half the cabin crew too. Why risk them getting hurt when there might still be a chance we can land safely? The pilots still have another hour to go before they’re due downstairs, but I suddenly realize that the relief cabin crew were due on shift an hour ago. Where are they? No sound travels between the cabin and the bunks, but could one of them have come down for a drink? Opened the door, just a crack, and seen what’s going on? I imagine them retreating, closing the door, making a plan.
Cesca’s quick to follow my train of thought. “Yes, let’s do that.”
“She can go in my seat,” Rowan says. He points to where a film plays silently on the screen. “Somehow, I don’t think I’m going to be watching the end.”
Cesca presses the button to slide it into a bed, and between us all, we move Carmel from the floor. I tuck a blanket around her, choking back my tears.
I’m so sorry, Carmel, so sorry.
If I could turn back time, what would I do? Knowing how much blood would be spilled, would I have opened that door? I stand with my hand resting on Carmel’s still warm body, and for one horrific moment, I force myself to see Sophia lying here instead, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I would do the same again.
Any parent would.
The atmosphere in the cabin has changed. Passengers huddle in terrified groups, no longer in their own seats but crammed on the opposite side, where Derek has herded them. I catch a glimpse through the bar. A figure stands on the far side, guarding the rear cabin, just as Missouri and Zambezi have resumed their aisle positions at the front of business class. The coordination makes me shiver. These people must have spent months planning this—how can we hope to overcome them? The noise from economy has subsided, and I hope the crew is cooperating. I hope they realize what might happen if they don’t. I wipe my hands on my skirt, leaving dark streaks of blood across the fabric.
I make my way across the cabin. I have to know Sophia’s safe, that all this hasn’t been for nothing. Missouri raises her hand as I approach, the plastic trigger visible in her fist. Panic flutters in my throat, but I keep walking. I have to know.
When I’m close enough to speak without being overheard, I stop, open palms raised to show I’m not a threat.
“Where is my daughter?”
Nothing.
“You promised she’d be safe if I did what you wanted. Please—” It sticks in my craw, but I say it again. “Please, is she okay? Has anyone hurt her?” I fight to stop myself from crying, not wanting to show any more weakness than I have to. Missouri still isn’t answering, her face barely registering she’s heard, and anger swells inside me. “You promised. I did exactly what you asked!”
“How rude of me.” A cruel smile spreads across Missouri’s face, and she raises her voice, her words ringing out into the cabin. “I never thanked you for making our hijack possible.”
“What?” The sharp voice comes from Jason Poke.
“Mina here was most helpful. We couldn’t have taken control of the plane without her assistance.”
“You’re one of them?”
“No, I—”
“I knew it!” Jamie Crawford says. “Didn’t I say, Caz, there was something off about her? You fucking bitch. Where are you from anyway? You’re not English.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” Derek Trespass says.
“She looks like a Muslim, that’s what, and since we’re in the middle of a fucking terrorist attack, I’d say that’s pretty fucking relevant, wouldn’t you?”
“They’re environmental activists, not jihadis, you idiot.”
“Semtex is Semtex, mate, wherever you’re from, and I’m telling you: she’s a fucking terrorist.” He jabs