No one relaxed until the exterior door of the plane was locked and the aircraft began to turn on the runway and move into a new taxiing position. Silent glances containing hope passed between the seated groups of exhausted warriors. When the crew came out to review safety instructions, shoulders dropped two inches in relief.
They listened to the instructions and the captain's announcements with deaf ears, each knowing that the eight-hour flight to Dubai would take them hurtling into the night. As soon as the suction of taking off pushed them back into their seats, the chilling reality spread like a silent threat that connected people on the plane. Carlos could almost feel the tension in his hands like a static charge, but tried to stay focused on whatever unanswered connection he had to Damali.
The moment the plane stabilized, the cabin crew nervously stood, made weak excuses, and then went up the spiral staircase and barricaded themselves within the conference room.
"You think they're nervous?" Big Mike said without a smile.
"Ya think?" Rider shot back, closing his eyes and leaning back in his seat.
"Whatever," Carlos grumbled, and then looked at Marlene. "We need a strategy to brace for nightfall."
"Why? You feelin' funny?" Shabazz asked. His tone wasn't glib. His expression was stone serious.
"No," Carlos muttered. "I just know that where I came from, they don't do variables. A search party is likely."
Shabazz nodded. "Cool."
"You went to ash and have the coverage of the Light," Father Patrick said, trying to keep panic at bay on the plane.
"Indeed," Imam Asula said. "This aircraft is anointed and covered, as is its crew."
"If you say so," Carlos said, sounding unconvinced. "I just don't like leaving anything to chance."
"Neither do I," Shabazz warned. "With no weapons on board, I ain't feeling right."
"They've got water on board," J.L. offered. "We could dump out the liquor and the clerics could bless it."
"Perish the thought," Rider said quickly. "Use the pop bottles and water bottles, son. Let's not get crazy in here."
"So be it," Imam Asula said. "We can create holy-water flasks so that each one of us has several at his or her disposal."
"Now you're thinking," Carlos said and stood. "We need to rig upsomething ." He walked down the aisle making everyone's eyes follow him. "In the conference room, the arms of the chairs are wood. Stakes. In the medical room, we've got scalpels that could be tied together with medical tape, if it comes down to hand-to-hand." He glanced at Marlene. "You've still got your walking stick, and need to keep that in reach."
"The man is on point," J.L. said, standing. "I bet they have alcohol, which I can rig a wick on using medical gauze, not to mention vodka, if I need to rig Molotov cocktails up in this tip."
"Two bottles of holy water on the ends of a long tether, like Ace bandage, would give me and Big Mike something to hurl... and with Ace bandage, I might be able to rig a slingshot-add a few hypodermics loaded with holy water and dead aim-see where I'm going?" Dan asked as he stood.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Carlos said. "I ain't trying to wait for nightfall to deal with anything that might try to breach this vessel. We need to be strapped enough to deal with an onslaught."
"Hold up," Berkfield said. "I agree and everything, and I'm all for a state of readiness, but what exactly are you laying for? What do you think is coming?"
"I don't know," Carlos said, his gaze drifting toward the window. "That's my issue. I just don't know, but I'm jittery as shit. We'll be flying over the damned Indian Ocean all night long, up in a tin can with a few prayers around it, and I know who definitely wants to be sure I didn't come back. Not to mention, with Damali gone, my greatest worry is they haven't already found her. Because if they have, they'll hold her hostage for the next six years until she goes into phase again. There'll be no negotiation, and girlfriend left outta here without her blades on her, feel me?"
"Yeah, I feel you," Shabazz said.
"Just when I thought we might be able to get some real shut-eye," Rider said, standing to come into the aisle. "But good looking out."
Berkfield held out his arm. "According to Father Patrick, I'm packing a lethal weapon."
The group stared at him.
"You've got needles in the back," he said, motioning to the medical room. "Take some blood out of my arm and lace the edges of blades and whatever projectiles you design with it. If you go hand-to-hand with a demon, a simple scalpel will make 'em laugh at you and rip your throat out, right?"
"No lie," Carlos said with a tense smile. "A scalpel cut ain't nothin' but a love nick."
"Shit," Rider said, running his palms over his jaw. "I vote for long-distance designs, J.L. You got that?"
"Yeah, I got it," J.L. said.