Departure

“Because there’s a box inside the cockpit, filled with guns. If the wrong people get to them, this camp will become a very dangerous place.” He glances back at the chute, to where I laid out 2D.

“I agree.”

“Are we ready to begin, then?” Bob’s already shuffling toward the chute. This guy is having the time of his life.

With the help of a few passengers, we make our way into the plane, where Jillian’s sorting food in the little galley just behind the cockpit.

“How’s the food supply?” I ask.

“This is the last of it.”

“Okay, we’ll figure out what to do this afternoon. Could you take two meals to the lake—one for the doctor, and one for Harper? And do you remember the three guys who were helping me on the plane last night?” She nods. “Good—can you ask them to join us here?”

“Sure.”

“Also, do you know the pilots’ names?” Maybe calling them by name will help. “In fact, if you have a complete crew and passenger manifest, that would be helpful.”

Jillian tells me the pilots’ names and passes me some stapled pages, which I scan. I see my own name, then Harper Lane, and my nemesis in 2D: Grayson Shaw. Sabrina Schröder, passenger in 11G, business class. I scan a bit more and find Yul Tan, the Asian typing on his laptop last night, 10B. I glance down the aisle. He’s still there, typing away, the glowing screen lighting his gaunt face. Either that laptop gets great battery life, or he’s taken a break—which doesn’t look likely. He seems strung out, agitated. There’s something off here, but what, I don’t have a clue.

“Ready, Mr. Stone?” Bob asks.

“Yeah. And call me Nick.”

NOTHING.

We’ve tried noise. We’ve tried going through the first-class lavatory. We’ve been down to the ground, where the nose is dug in now—it settled some last night—and peered through the windshield in the few places where it isn’t too heavily cracked. They’re in there, three pilots, none moving. We can’t tell if they’re breathing. The five of us—Bob, the three swimmers from the lake, and me—have been at it for hours, and I’m exhausted.

“I’ve gotta take a break, fellas,” I say. “Heading to the lake. Grab me if you get through.”

“You could rest here, Nick,” Bob calls, but I’m down the makeshift stairway and hiking away before he can stop me. The truth is, I want to see Harper. It’s past midday, and I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. I’m worried, but there’s something else, too: a feeling I can’t seem to shake off. I ignore a few more calls from Bob as I disappear into the dense forest. He’s not one for letting things go.

On the walk back to the lake, I think about why we haven’t seen any rescue personnel. Even if we’ve crashed in some remote part of England, surely the fire would show up on satellites, or helicopters could spot the column of smoke. England is bigger than it appears on a map, but it’s also a first-world country with all the kinds of technology that wouldn’t ignore a plane crashing in its borders. I make a deal with myself not to worry about it any more until tomorrow morning. Not much I can do right now anyway. Survivors—I’ll focus on them. Warmth, food, and medical care could make all the difference between life and death for a few folks.

To my right I hear branches snapping. I turn to see 2D—Grayson Shaw—twelve feet away, holding a stick the size of a bat. He grins at me, revealing blood-covered teeth.

I’m unarmed, too sore to run, and probably too tired to fight. This should be interesting.

CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_c135d533-808f-56ae-8d20-20e7204daa11)

Harper (#ulink_c135d533-808f-56ae-8d20-20e7204daa11)

LAST NIGHT I GAVE BIRTH TO A RHINOCEROS. Not just any rhino, mind you: a pregnant rhino, with twins. And three horns. Lots of horns. I birthed a double-pregnant, triple-horned rhino. That’s what it feels like, at least.

I’m glad I’m breathing, but I still dislike the pain every breath brings. I’m going to lie here until it doesn’t hurt anymore. On the bright side, I’m bound to lose some weight during this period. I have no appetite and can’t imagine the pain eating will entail.

I envision myself emerging from this swaddled, fireside solitude. I’ll be slimmer and funnier and completely healed; a phoenix rising from the ashes, ready to soar high above the lake and roar in a screeching call of freedom and awesomeness before I retake my pitiful life.

Must rest and wait for those wings to grow in.

DOCTOR’S BEEN BY. SHE’S A good bit sterner than I remember her last night. Dry, to the point, bit of a bore, really. Though her bedside manner needs some work, she seems to know her stuff. And she’s filled me in. She fed me some pain pills after I came out of the water last night. I don’t remember it, but she says they may have resulted in strange dreams and foggy thinking. (I neglected to mention the rhino and phoenix visions, neither of which seems strictly medically relevant.)

The doctor’s most concerned about my leg, which apparently has a nasty gash from where it was caught in the plane. She’s bandaged it up and wants to keep an eye on it.

About all I can recall from last night is the euphoria of saving those people, the children especially, the ones I carried myself. Then the cold, and Nick’s arms pulling me, and nothing much after that.

AWOKE FEELING EVEN WORSE. PAIN meds must have worn off completely now. Nick sent some food, but I couldn’t eat it, so I gave it away. Must sleep.

A FEW MINUTES AGO I spotted a kid walking past the fire, an Indian girl around twelve wearing a Disney World T-shirt.

That made me feel good enough to stand up and take a walk. My right leg is dodgy, sending spikes of pain through my body with every step, but it becomes manageable after a few paces.

Being on my feet hurts a lot more than lying down, but I want to do something to contribute around here.

Most people are huddled together by the fire, but a few are dragging branches in from the forest, adding their take to the dwindling flames. That seems as good an idea as any, so I set out along the branch-swept path into the woods.

About a hundred feet into the forest, I hear a voice, one I know. One I detest.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be like this,” Grayson says in his usual hateful, condescending tone. “I’m going to hurt you when you least expect it.”

“I’m not expecting it now.” Nick sounds calm.

I walk closer, just far enough to make both of them out. Nick looks exhausted. Black bags hang under his eyes, which are hard, much more so than I remember. Grayson holds a large stick at his side. His back’s to me, so I can’t see his face.

I inch closer, and a branch pops under my foot. I look up to find both their eyes upon me.

“Jesus, you’re like a virus,” Grayson says. “You just won’t go away.” He waits, but I don’t speak. “I bet you’re loving this. Best thing that could’ve happened to you, isn’t it?”

Nick looks right at me, ignoring him. “You all right?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, for the love of God. Please excuse me while I go throw up until I die.” Grayson marches past me. “Tell your boyfriend to sleep with one eye open, Harper.”

A few seconds later I hear him pitch the stick into the fire.

Nick stands before me now, his face serious and tense. I wonder what’s happened.

“I put you up to it last night,” he says. “Going into that plane.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. If something had happened to you—”

“Listen, if I had it to do over again, I would do the exact same thing, even if I hadn’t woken up this morning, curled up by the fire. I’ve seen them, a few of the kids I hauled out of that plane. The risk was well worth it. To me, it was all well worth it.”

He nods, glances at the ground. His face is still solemn, but I can feel the tension flowing out of him, as if it were a wall of air brushing past me. “Where does it hurt?” he asks.