The blazing lights of Atlanta reached upwards as our v-copter soared overhead.
"Civilization," Ellen declared. "Finally."
No one answered. They were all staring at the visers wrapped around their right arms. They flicked fingers on virtual displays projected from the devices, confirming transportation, messaging family and friends, making plans for what came next. Until they weren't.
"You suck, Jenn," Wilma declared. "The juice you spilled on me must've shorted my viser. I've got no link."
An outraged scowl appeared on Ellen's face a moment later. "Mine's not working either."
Macey flicked the fingers on her right hand like a frustrated pianist as she glared at the shaking display projected onto her forearm. Only Nia was still. She was looking out the window, her eyes narrowing as we got closer to the city. "Why are we so close to the ground? We're still south of downtown." Her voice was a tense whisper.
Wilma and Ellen were too focused on their visers to listen or care. Only Macey seemed to understand the implication of Nia's words. She stared at the shorter girl before leaning into the aisle.
"Peter, check in on the pilot. Make sure the autopilot is working," Macey ordered.
"Ma'am, I'm sure it's just a bit of ground interference. There have reports of Orderist signal jamming east of the city that could affect visers. Captain Reynold is an experienced-"
Nia was on her feet, her eyes blazing, her voice steel. "We're aren't landing in Buckhead. This looks like South Atlanta." She headed for the cockpit, taking long strides. The others gaped.
"Miss, it isn't safe to be up when we're landing..." Peter called out.
I kept my face blank, my body still, even as my insides churned. No one paid any attention to me. It seemed hard to believe they couldn't hear my heart pounding inside my chest. When you find a crack in the walls of fate, jump through. That's how my dad had explained his life. I got the message.
"Jack-of-hell," Nia yelled from the cockpit. "The frakkin' pilot is out cold. Or dead. Or whatever. He isn't flying the 'copter."
That got the steward going. He jumped from his seat like it was on fire, running for the cockpit. He shook the pilot. "Jake? Jake?" There was no response.
Macey joined the other two at the front of the aircraft. I leaned over so I could see what they were doing, but stayed in my seat. I took deep breaths. My hands tingled.
"You're the back-up pilot," Macey said to the steward, her voice steadier than I expected. "Get us out here. Take over the aircraft."
The steward slid into the co-pilot's seat next to the unconscious Captain Reynolds. "Disengaging autopilot."
"What the hell is happening?" Wilma called out.
"Quiet," Macey snapped at her without turning her head.
"Pull us up. Abort the landing," Nia told him, her voice calm, even.
"Controls aren't responding," Peter said. His voice wasn't as steady.
"What are you taking about?" Macey demanded.
Nia leaned over the captain, tapping at the display's faux controls. She did so with without hesitation. She knows how to fly. We didn't know that. "He's right. Controls are dead."
"So now what?" Macey asked. This time her voice cracked.
Nia look at her. "We're going down. Go strap yourself in, Macey."
Nia placed two fingers on a red button located on the cockpit ceiling. "Mayday... mayday... mayday... this is Flight Ryan-Two, we are headed for an unscheduled landing south of downtown Atlanta. Say again, mayday.."
"It's dead," Peter said. "All the controls are frozen."
The v-copter's giant tilt rotor engines groaned as they rotated from flight mode to landing position.
"Hey, we aren't crashing!" Wilma called from the back. "There's some kind of empty field below us."
"Yeah, in frakkin' South-A," Macey screamed at her. She got it now. She was right to be frightened.