Velocity To Never Exceed

Chapter 26

On us.

That's what she saw when I stood in front of her, all those loops ago. She looked behind me, for a moment her eyes clearing and becoming lucid, pausing on something.

She saw Jerry and knew there was trouble.

So Jerry is communicating with Janelle, and maybe Alex, via his watch. But how could he be sending messages without any Wi-Fi? And we're in the middle of the ocean, so there's certainly no cellular?

Janelle takes a couple steps towards the bathroom, before she falls over and redirects everyone's attention to the back of the plane.

Then it hits me. Bluetooth. It doesn't use data but instead connects devices by short-range radio waves. I scan the length of the cabin, realizing Bluetooth can reach the distance. It must be what they've done. Jerry's airdropping messages to Janelle via Bluetooth.

So then Janelle's watch would vibrate, waking from her nap – or her pretend nap – and then she'd collapse, pulling everyone's attention to the back of the plane. Which is what they wanted. What they planned for. It's an unexpected diversion, a perfect distraction. If everyone is always focused on the back of the plane, they're not looking where they should be.

Up here.

And as Jerry pulls the blade out, something is happening in the cockpit. At that moment, I feel the subtle change in the direction of the plane. Maybe a change orchestrated by the third person I saw that night. The co-pilot, Alex.

And then what?

The intercom is in my hand, hanging from the black coil. My fingers tighten around it. I might be too late, but I have to try.

I pull it to my mouth and yell into the device. "Jake McMahon, listen to me," I plead. "Your co-pilot Alex is trying to change the flight path. And the plane is about to lose all control and nosedive. Do something! I need you to think outside the box. Try something different!" I yell.

I'm praying the pilot can hear me when Jerry grabs Heather and begins pulling her into the bathroom. I reach out to intervene and save her from what's coming next, as Jerry's blade slashes the air in front of me, catching my arm. A sharp pain rips through me, and next thing I know, blood is running down my arm, sliding over my hand and dripping from each finger.

The plane suddenly plummets. My stomach drops in disappointment, along with the falling plane. It didn't work.

Gravity launches Jerry over the bathroom sink, and I hear the sickening crack of the mirror as it shatters on impact.

I'm pressed against the cockpit door, with Heather by my side. I feel the urge to apologize to her, to tell her how hard we've tried to stop all of this from happening, but I know the apology isn't really for her. It's for me, for Evelyn, for the fact that we've failed again.

The plane continues falling, and I'm guessing we're probably in the clouds now. And, I realize in shock that whatever happened in the cockpit between the pilot and Alex isn't able to be corrected. We're in freefall. The plane is spinning entirely out of control, and there's nothing that anyone can do to stop it.

But then something new happens.

Heather reaches forward and that's when I see a pad on the cockpit door. I remember Evelyn telling me how she spent many loops trying to convince Heather to give her the code to this keypad. The code to the cockpit.

But now Heather presses her index finger into the numbers, entering a series of digits. As her long finger punches each number, I commit it to memory. 96871. 

I hold my breath and then a small green light flashes over it.

The shaking inside the plane grows so intense, it feels like the plane is about to tear apart at the seams. And then, a terrifying thought flashes through my head.

This plane won't be able to withstand another second of this nosedive.

We're about to hit that point. The aerodynamic limit where the plane can no longer function. The structural limit, that once surpassed, can destroy the airframe within seconds.

The Velocity to Never Exceed.

I know it in a way I can never explain. It's an indescribable feeling – no, knowledge – that the plane cannot withstand another second. I know it within me, on a cellular level. The innate, undeniable realization that this next time loop will be the end. No matter how it plays out.

One loop.

That's all we have left.

And right before Heather cracks the cockpit door open, I blink and then I'm sitting safely in my seat again.

I'm back in Row 5F leaning against the window with music blasting in my ears, watching the sun dip below the horizon.