The Widow's Daughter ✔︎

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I could see the first lights of dawn illuminating the Irish countryside, perfect green pastures arranged in squares down below me. Fire was spreading across the back of the jet and it was veering down quickly, aimed for a crash-course into...

"It's heading for Dublin!" I screamed. "We have to stop it!" 

"There aren't any parachutes!" Evie screamed, scrambling to search for the safety gear. "And the right engine's gone too! We're coming in hot!"

I suddenly knew what I had to do. Grabbing a tool belt filled with all sorts of useful stuff, I handed the steering controls to Peter, whose face was confused and terrified. "What are you doing?!" he yelled, watching me stand up and open the door to the plane, his chestnut-coloured eyes bulging.

"Fixing this problem!" I yelled back, feeling the rush of air blow into my face, sending my hair flying like crimson ribbons in the wind. Ignoring my friend's screams and thinking that this was the most insane thing I'd ever done in my life, I kicked the door shut and shoved myself onto the roof of the jet-black plane, the fire coming from both broken engines pouring past me in a dark smoky spiral. My heart was pounding in my ears so loudly I thought I'd go deaf. Channelling my probability gift and draining most of my energy, I switched it so the jet wouldn't crash into Dublin. Holding my breath, I watched as the plane veered right, away from the city down below. Letting out a sigh of relief, I suddenly had a realisation: I didn't need to be on top of this plane! What was I even doing up here??

"Dumb, Kira, real dumb," I muttered, climbing over to one of the engines, tool belt in hand. I reached down to it, feeling the searing heat of the fire as it licked over my hand. I pulled it back, hissing with pain. Swearing, I looked up and almost screamed as I saw how close we were to crashing down in a field of waving barley storks: well, it was a desolate field, so that as good, but still. We were going to die.

"KIRA!" somebody screamed. I whipped around to see Peter hanging onto the top of the plane, his Spider-suit covering his face. He held out his hand. "GRAB ON!"

I latched onto his hand, the wind tearing at my face. He grabbed me and held me close. "You're insane," he told me.

I laughed, even though the prospect of certain death seemed inevitable. "Is rescuing girls from burning jet planes something you do on a regular basis?"

"You'd be surprised," he muttered darkly, swinging down back into the cockpit of the plane, where Evie and Ben were screaming their heads off.

"WE'RE GONNA CRASH!" Evie shrieked, covering Ben's eyes.

"Not if I can help it!" Peter said, grabbing both of them and me and swinging us out of the cockpit again. They screamed even louder as he jumped down out of the door, using his web shooters to attach themselves to a set of trees. We slammed into the trunks and I could have sworn I broke my ribs, landing in the field and rolling about ten metres before screeching to a stop.

The plane exploded, fire engulfing it's sleek black surface. A massive mushroom cloud rose above the field, barley storks swaying. I gulped and groaned, not moving from my spot on the ground. Tony's gonna kill me.

But not after Nat has. Nat will have killed me then brought me back to life only to kill me again. And then Tony will kill me after that, and it'll be a never-ending cycle of being murdered by the angry Avengers. What a way to go.

I stood up blearily, my legs wobbling as they tried to hold my trembling weight. Feeling like I was made of lead, I stumbled over to where I could see my friends, who were groaning on the ground with similar injuries. Peter was leaning against a tree, his face bruised and covered in blood. Evie was nursing a sprained ankle while Ben blinked and stumbled around dizzily. "You guys good?" I asked, knowing it was a stupid question.