“Come on,” Jim said urgently. “We might not have much time.”
He followed Evelyn out of the attendants’ work area and into the
starboard aisle in the economy-class section, heading forward.
The plane was rocked by an explosion.
Evelyn was thrown hard to the deck. Jim pitched forward, too, grabbed
at a seat to avoid falling atop the woman, overcompensated and fell to
one side instead, against a passenger, then to the floor, as the plane
started to shimmy. He heard lunch trays still crashing to the deck
behind him, people crying out in surprise and alarm, and one thin short
scream. As he tried to scramble to his feet, the aircraft nosed down,
and they started to lose altitude.
Holly moved forward from row seventeen, sat beside Christine Dubrovek,
introduced herself as a friend of Steve Harkman’s, and was nearly thrown
out of her seat when a sickening shock-wave pumped through the aircraft.
It was followed a fraction of a second later by a solid thump, as if
they had been struck by something.
“Mommy!” Casey had been belted in her seat, even though the seatbelt
signs were not on. She was not thrown forward, but the storybooks on
her lap clattered to the deck. Her eyes were huge with fear.
The plane started to lose altitude.
“Mommy?”
“It’s okay,” Christine said, obviously struggling to conceal her own
fear from her daughter. “Just turbulence, an air pocket.”
They were dropping fast.
“You’re gonna be okay,” Holly told them, leaning past Christine to make
sure the little girl heard her reassurances. “Both of you are going to
be okay if you just stay here, don’t move, stay right in these seats.”
Knifing down. . . a thousand feet. . . two thousand. . .
Holly frantically belted herself in her seat.
. . . three thousand. . . four thousand. . .
An initial wave of horror and panic gripped the passengers. But that
was followed quickly by a breathless silence, as they all clung to the
arms of their seats and waited to see if the damaged aircraft was going
to pull up in time-or tip downward at an even more severe angle.
To Holly’s surprise, the nose slowly came up. The plane leveled off
again.
A communal sigh of relief and a smattering of applause swept through the
cabin.
She turned and grinned at Christine and Casey. “We’re going to be all
right. We’re all going to make it.”
The captain came on the loudspeaker and explained that they had lost one
of their engines. They could still fly just fine on the remaining two,
he assured them, though he suggested they might need to divert to a
suitable airfield closer than O’Hare, only to be safe. He sounded calm
and confident, and he thanked the passengers for their patience,
implying that the worst they would suffer was inconvenience.
A moment later Jim Ironheart appeared in the aisle, and squatted beside
Holly. A spot of blood glimmered at the corner of his mouth; he had
evidently been tossed around a little.
She was so exhilarated, she wanted to kiss him, but she just said, “You
did it, you changed it, you made a difference somehow.”
He looked grim. “No.” He leaned close to her, put his face almost
against hers, so they could talk in whispers as before, though she
thought Christine Dubrovek must be hearing some of it. He said, “It’s
too late.”
Holly felt as if he had punched her in the stomach. “But we leveled
off”
“Pieces of the exploding engine tore holes in the tail.
Severed most of the hydraulic lines. Punctured the others. Soon they
won’t be able to steer the airplane.”
Her fear had melted. Now it came back like ice crystals forming and
linking together across the gray surface of a winter pond.
They were going down.
She said, “You know exactly what happened, you should be with the
captain, not here.”
“It’s over. I was too late.”
“No. Never-”
“Nothing I can do now.”
“But” A flight attendant appeared, looking shaken but sounding calm.
“Sir, please return to your seat.”
“All right, I will,” Jim said. He took Holly’s hand first, and squeezed