LOCATION: Alaska

One ~ Crash

Narrative

It seemed like thunder was sounding overhead, and the four passengers in the plane cabin were harshly jerked out of their reverie. But the sky was blue, not a cloud in sight. It only meant one thing: the plane was crashing.

The pilot only confirmed their fears. The intercom crackled, and the husky voice of their captain filled the shaking plane as oxygen masks appeared in front of them. "Attention, valued passengers. Unfortunately, we will be crashing in approximately five minutes. Please, do not panic. Thank you for your cooperation, and for flying with us at Sicario International Airlines."

The cabin flew into a state of panic, and the oldest of the four tried to stand up without falling back into her chair. "Stay there, you three!" she ordered while trying to make her way to the front. "I'm going to see what's happening with the pilot." The plane's shaking and jerking threw her off balance numerous times, but she finally reached the pilot's door, her wavy dark blonde hair messed up from the movement.

"Madelyn!" one of the others exclaimed. "Isn't it safer to stay here?"

The first girl turned slightly, grasping the door handle with an iron grip. "Listen, Claire. I have to find out what's going on! Just. . . stay here, and don't follow me!"

Claire huffed. "Fine." Turning to the two boys, she added, "We need a plan." She gripped her armrests to steady herself as she stood up. "Look around for something useful!"

The older of the boys spoke up. "There should be parachutes somewhere around here! Look under the chairs!" he directed authoritatively. His brave front belied the slight trembling of his hands and the panic he felt.

The other boy called out to him from behind his chair. "Hey, Rick! I found them! They were in a latched compartment." Struggling to stand up, he clutched the colored packs to his chest. Wobbling forward, he quickly handed a parachute to Rick and Claire, strapping another to himself. "I'll bring the last one to Madelyn!" he shouted over the heavy rumbling of the crashing plane.

"Parker, wait!" Rick stepped in front of him, teetering. "Maddie told us to stay here, and that's what we're going to do."

"But, her parachute--"

"No buts, Parker! She'll come back, and you can give it to her then," Rick said seriously. "For now, help me get the door of the plane open so that we can jump when Madelyn comes." He gestured to the emergency exit on the side of the aircraft. Parker sighed and nodded in assent, and the two made their way to the door, trying to keep their balance all the while.

On the other side of the cabin, Claire frantically sifted through her bags in an attempt to find her phone. "It might be useless now, but who knows where we'll land. We might need it later," she muttered to herself. Finally, she held up the smartphone in its bright yellow case and slipped it into an inner pocket for safekeeping.

Meanwhile, Madelyn stood dumbfounded in the cockpit, staring in disbelief at the pilot. She had come in to see him sitting leisurely, munching on stale airplane pretzels, and, most importantly, not manning the controls.

"Hey! What are you doing?!" Madelyn exclaimed. "The plane is crashing; do something about it!" Her legs wobbled as she held the door frame to stay upright.

The pilot, turning around, smirked smugly at Madelyn. Several empty pretzel bags were strewn about, and there were crumbs all over the place. A silver name tag on his breast pocket read Thomas Bryer. Pouring the full glass of root beer in his hand over the control panel, he snickered evilly.

"Why would you do that?!" Maddie cried out. "Do you have something against root beer--? Wait. . . " As the control panel crackled with electricity, alarm filled Madelyn's head. "Why. . .?"