Page 4

CHAPTER TWO

GRACE

“ H aaah!”

I wake up in a contaminated fish bowl, and instantly choke on a flood of dirty water.

I claw at the floor of the jet as water contaminated with blood and debris washes over me in waves.

By the third time I go under and come back up for air, I realize I’m clawing at my seat cushion and the ceiling, not the floor of my jet.

Below, I can make out faint lights that used to lead to the front and back of the plane flickering out one by one.

I can smell smoke, and I know it won’t be long until there’s either an explosion or I suffocate on the carbon dioxide.

The whole plane has flipped over, and it’s sinking fast.

“Help! Help!” I scream, even though I know there’s no one alive for miles and miles that can hear me, let alone rescue me. And I can’t even scream, my voice a hoarse whimper even to my ears despite my best attempts at pushing air through my lungs to yell.

As I stifle my tears, I do my best to calm my erratic breathing.

Hanging upside down with blood rushing to my head isn’t helping, but I have to manage it somehow.

I can’t figure out a plan if I’m so focused on not hyperventilating.

As I regain as much composure as I can, slowly but surely, I get to work hatching an escape route.

I struggle with my belt, which feels impossible to adjust. I can’t seem to figure out how to take it off.

My hands are heavy like lead, and nothing makes sense anymore.

Nothing makes sense other than one sentence that thuds through my mind like a mantra.

I won’t die like this.

Faith needs me. Despite everything telling me she’s dead, I refuse to believe it. Not until I see it with my own eyes. After all, I’m still alive. Miracles do happen.

I hold my breath and focus all my efforts on my injured hands.

I know that most of my body has some type of cut or bruise from the crash, and that’s also why I can’t focus, why nothing is working right.

But I keep focused on my hands, peeling a finger back one at a time and then closing them over the belt buckle just as slowly.

Before I press the latch, I brace for impact.

“Aaah!” I gasp from the shock of falling upside down, but more so from the impact of hitting the water.

I go under, and the world transforms into a swirling tsunami of polluted black muck. When I rise, I hack up so much water that my chest hurts. Emergency lights suddenly bathe the cabin in red. And there I float, disoriented and aching all over, eyes unfocused.

“What?” I murmur as I’m rocked against the wall of my sinking jet. I fight against the rising tide, before I’m slammed against the wall again, dangerously close to a cracked window and jagged glass.

Shit! I need to get out of here before I drown. But first, I need a life vest, I think, fighting my way to the top of the next wave as I yank at the seat cushion above my head with all my might to get to it. I have to live. I have to fight. I can’t leave Faith out there to die alone.

With a satisfying pop, I’m able to dislodge the vest and flick on the light after I pull the floating device over my head.

Years of flight attendant instructions come back to me in flashes.

I think of the royalist who tried to save me, going against her training.

Then I freeze, the life vest straps dropping from my hands.

She’s staring right at me.

“Haaaah…” I release a shaky breath, face to face with a mangled corpse.

Her broken body twists at unnatural angles in ways that she’s almost beyond recognition, the limbs all wrong, bones jutting out in different directions.

But her head is still facing forward, jaw slack, and eye sockets empty.

I recognize what’s left of her uniform seared into her burnt skin.

And the wisps of strawberry blonde hair on her head match the attendant’s.

It’s then I puke, and I’m thankful I couldn’t hold down much of the steak because it’s mostly water and bile.

I force myself to look back at her bloating body and slowly spiral out of control.

I’m not a doctor. Not even a murder podcast enthusiast. But a body wouldn’t bloat this fast, would it? Take on that sickly gray-blue hue and get so stiff? Would fish eat eyes out of their sockets in an hour or two?

I feel like all the answers to my silent questions are no. So that begs the most important question of all. How long have I been passed out while the crew was dead, the jet burned, and finally started to sink?

“No… Focus,” I whimper, ripping my eyes away from the gruesome scene and towards the light.

With Herculean effort, I pull the bright red straps of my yellow vest around my waist tighter and begin to doggy paddle towards the gaping hole where the latched door’s been blown off.

There seems to be too much sunlight streaming in to be nearly underwater, but I don’t let my logic get in the way of escaping certain death.

“Ow…” A sharp, blinding pain robs me of my vision on my next stroke, and I can’t move an inch as I try to get my bearings.

I touch my forehead, and the palm of my hand comes back blood red.

My vision swims, but I swim harder and faster, desperate to free myself before the only exit sinks too deep.

I’m delirious, and I don’t know if my pressure is rising or dropping too rapidly.

Either way, I’m on the verge of passing out.

“Ah!” I gasp as, finally, my broken nails dig into the metallic entrance.

There’s an explosion of blinding light and then a rush of wind so strong it nearly knocks me off the craft—air suspends in my lungs, breath halting, just like the plane, dangerously close to teetering off the edge. But not into the ocean. No, off the side of a fucking cliff!

I go absolutely still, worried my weight will somehow be the tipping point.

I glance right and see that while the ocean is quickly submerging the back of the jet, the front end has hit some moss-covered jutting rock.

Jet fuel and pieces of the plane burn not only in the ocean down below, but also the trees clinging to the rock.

Soon, the whole thing will tip over, and it will be over for me.

I won’t be able to fight my way out under the crush of the ocean tide.

I glance further up and see a cliff so tall it resembles a mountain.

I won’t be able to make it, trying to climb up.

I glance down at the water, which looks like a treacherous maze of deadly obstacles, but also salvation.

A raft! It’s tiny, bright yellow, and bobbing against a piece of metal.

But it’s not too far away from where I’m clinging to, and far enough away from the jet-fuel-fueled fires, I stand a chance of living if I jump towards it.

It’s risky, but my only option. I clench my teeth as a sickening scraping sound of metal on rock blasts the air.

I glance all the way up and see the sun is setting, blazing like a flame on the horizon, but setting nonetheless.

I’ve been out for hours. I should be dead. But I’m not. And so, I won’t waste this chance.

Taking in slow, measured breaths, I brace for the worst cannonball impact of my life.

I don’t think twice, because overthinking will lead to me winding up dead.

I leap and thankfully land in the water.

My body seizes, refusing to swim, and I sink like a rock until the life vest takes over.

There I bob like a round yellow ball, turning my cheek so I’m not gulping salty water.

Everything hurts so damn bad. I feel like I’m dying, and maybe I am already dead.

No, I am alive. I will survive because my nightmare is far from over.

Despite being an excellent swimmer, the impact and my waning adrenaline mean I have to fight like hell to swim towards the raft.

By the time I reach it, it feels like hours have passed.

I climb in and lie there, victorious for now, but knowing defeat is so very near.

I’ll need supplies. To search for survivors. To find a way off this nameless island.

But to do any of that, I have to live.

I won’t die like this.

I’ve reached the life raft, but the paddle is floating away by the time I recover enough to drag myself to the side, searching for it.

I lurch over the raft for the paddle once, twice, and a third time before I grab it.

I grin, feeling lucky for the first time since this nightmare began.

But then, something heavy bumps against the raft.

“Woah!” I shout as it knocks against me again.

Is it a jet-fueled fireball? A chunk of the jet’s torn wing? Or something much, much worse?

My worst fears are confirmed the second that terrifying thought crosses my mind.

A shark fin pokes out of the water and rams into the raft.

I’m not sure if pee is trickling down my leg or salt water, since it’s so sticky yet clear, but either way, my phobia of sea creatures kicks my fight instinct into overdrive.

I lunge for the paddle and slam it against the water with everything I’ve got.

Do planes really explode like cars do in the movies?

I can’t imagine a waterlogged jet can, but I smell something that smells suspiciously like gas as I paddle with everything I have so I don’t end up as shark food.

I row towards the sandy beach near the cliff, my forearms burning like hell.

As soon as I make it to shore, I crawl inland enough that I won’t be dragged back to sea, tugging the life raft by a rope until I’m forced to drop it.

I have to save myself before I can worry about stocking up on supplies.

If the life raft floats away, so be it; it’s not like I can paddle across the Pacific.

However, despite unloading the extra weight, I collapse a few feet away from the raft, once again drained of my fight-or-flight energy.

With a groan, I drag myself up the sandy embankment, tearing at seashells, sand, and seaweed to get away from the tide.

If I pass out now, I’ll be far from the ocean.

But by nightfall, the high tide will surge and drag me out to sea.

So I have to make it to the edge of the forest, I can barely make out, or preferably, to civilization.

Though deep down, I know that I won’t find anything remotely civil out here.

It takes a while of concerted effort, dragging myself along at a snail’s pace, before I finally reach grass and palm trees.

I lay there for a long time, soaking in the heat, trying not to freeze as every inch of my body is soaking wet.

Then, I pull myself up, take off the life vest, and carry it close to my chest. I need medical attention. But for now, all I want to do is rest.

I find some palm trees and a sturdy hollowed-out tree trunk after limping further into the forest. I climb inside, lie in a tight ball, and sob until my exhausted body is all cried out.

Then I drift into a dreamless sleep, one where the events of the past few hours disappear like seafoam, and I’m back in my bed in L.A.