Surviving Sarin

Chapter 6

Kyle and I wasted no time making our way to the new plane. I felt we were close to finding something that would blow us away. Could this be our ticket off this island? I never imagined we'd find the other plane. I assumed it had reached its destination. Yet here it is in the middle of nowhere, just like us.

Unlike our crashed C-5, this plane's pieces landed in the same area. The cockpit is charred, bent, and gnarled. Telltale signs that it caught fire when it crashed. Several nearby trees are charred too.

But the worst part is that there are more dead bodies surrounding this plane than at our crash site. Most of the passengers on our plane must have made the ocean their grave.

We walk through the wreckage, covering our noses against body after bloated body. Not only is the death count higher here, but the aftermath is more gruesome.

Several bloodied bodies dangle from trees, like morbid Christmas ornaments. More lie under the smashed plane with heads exposed, and heavily mutilated. Their organs burst out of their chest cavities, eyes popped out of their skulls from the pressure created by the aircraft lying on top of their bodies.

The wounds on the passengers from our plane resembled chickenpox compared to on the bodies at this site. On some corpses, the gas has transformed every speck of skin. The discoloration goes beyond the typical infection shade of red—a rich palette of reds, oranges, yellows, and grey in the severely burned areas. Bubbled skin has boiled so much that it's loose and flaky, barely hanging on to the bone underneath. It looks just like Kyle's description of mustard gas.

"Shit," Kyle mutters.

I say nothing.

I can't rip my eyes away.

Fat drops of water pelt my arms. I look up, seeing that heavy clouds have formed overhead while we stared. It's raining. Great, because this moment wasn't stressful enough. Before long, my clothes and skin are drenched. The sky is a greyish green and a bitter reminder that we have no control. Shit's going to happen whether we like it or not, and we're simply along for the ride.

Raindrops cover Kyle's glasses, forcing him to take them off. Loose articles of clothing from the bodies flap in the biting wind. When a gust rips a loose branch off a tree and sends it straight at me, I realize we need to start looking for cover.

"We need to get out of here," I shout over the roaring wind. Where do you hide in the middle of an island? Please don't be a typhoon. If it is, one of these trees will fall on us, and we can pretty much kiss our existence goodbye.

"The plane." Kyle points at the fuselage.

We run toward the battered shell of an airplane. Kyle stumbles around without his glasses. The rain has already transformed the moist soil into slick mud. I grab Kyle's arm and drag him behind me. We trip and slide repeatedly, until we crawl in through a ripped section of the fuselage near the ground.

The cabin is dark, but not enough to shield the bodies covering the seats and floor from our vision. Jagged pieces of metal stick out everywhere. The plane rocks and cracks from the pressure of the wind outside, and the sounds echo eerily.

I stick my arms inside a flower-covered pillowcase of some random pillow, using the sheath to grab onto the bloated corpse of a woman. I drag the body towards the other side of the plane, then drag another out of the way. I move five bodies before the area is clear enough for us to finally sit.

Kyle dries the lenses of his glasses on the only patch of shirt free from blood and pus on the body next to him, his own shirt too soaked to do any good.

My muscles tense, and a jolt of nervous energy zaps up my spine. Something doesn't match up for the second time. When we climbed into our downed C-5 and I mentioned the gas may be active still, that we needed to get away, he freaked out. Though his reaction did appear...forced. Now, he seems to have no concern whatsoever, even though the bodies here are worse off.

Outside, lightning sparks, temporarily illuminating the inside of our hideout. It illuminates an object on the floor. I stare at the flat surface, needing a second to recognize it for what it was--a textbook. Wow. Someone evacuated with their homework?

My stomach twists, feeling a stab of pity for the kid--whoever they were. I wish my biggest worry right now was getting my homework done on time. My life was so different a week ago. I was finally starting to settle in. My anxieties were about the PSATs and bad grades. My stomach didn't turn sour, nor did adrenaline dominate my bloodstream, every time I went home. I was finally adjusting to the fact my mother was no longer living with us. My runs were more for fun and not to escape being home.

But now, out here, it's like I'm back in hell all over again. Like a simple, safe life isn't what I'm meant to have. The thought is almost enough to make me completely lose my shit. But I don't.

Whimpering and shuddering nearby cut through the air. Kyle's asleep on the floor in the middle of another of his nightmares.

I watch him. My body is exhausted. I want nothing more than to sleep, but I'm scared of my own nightmares. Despite my fear, the weight of my head and eyelids are too much. I close my eyes, hoping the howl of the wind and pelting rain will lull me to sleep.

Before I fall into a deep slumber, a rumble of thunder rattles the windows and startles me. The noise wakes Kyle too. He bolts straight up and looks around in a deep panic.

"It's fine, man. You're fine." I place my hand on his shoulder, then peer through the gap outside. "You don't suppose anyone survived, do you?" I ask, trying to distract him.

"Yeah right. Just look at the bodies."

"We survived. There might be others out there from this plane."

We doze until the rain dies down, and the fuselage is no longer rocking from the wind.

Kyle hugs himself in the dank, cool air. "Can we get out of here? This place is really starting to freak me out."

"Yeah. The storm appears to be blowing over anyway." I've been around enough death. No need to stay around it longer than I have to.

We make our way through the cargo bay, carefully stepping over corpses and occasionally slipping on some pools of bloody water created from the storm. Between the lingering storm clouds and night fast approaching, it's dark outside.

"Figures." Kyle kicks the ground, sending clumps of wet sand flying into the air. "Can't we get a break, just once?"

"We need to sleep here for the night, but there's no way I'm sleeping in the plane again with the rotting bodies." I walk towards a clump of trees, putting some distance between myself and the iron grave.

"Agreed. But we don't know where we really are. Should we try to head back?" Kyle asks.

"We'll have to cross the swamp again. Do you want to do that at night?"

He stops dead in his tracks, and his body tenses. "Fuck no."

I continue searching for a spot to sleep, finally settling on a clear area between two squat palm trees. "We could take turns sleeping. Trade off every couple hours?"

"Alright." He stretches out, his back against a large trunk.

"You can sleep first, and I'll wake you in a bit." I settle back, listening to Kyle's breathing even out. Even though I can't see it, I stare through the darkness at the plane. I remember the third plane, exploding in our wake. Not one plane made it out of the base intact. That's got to mean something.

I turn the thought over, but the gentle ebb and flow of the calm, lapping water lulls me to sleep.