and with every ounce of strength I can muster, swing it directly at Tanaka’s skull.
Thunk. I can feel his cranium splinter. Tanaka cries out in pain, stumbles, but remains standing. “You bastard!” he shouts—as he turns to attack me .
I swing again. This time…I miss.
Tanaka springs toward me, but I crouch low and slip out of his grasp. Just as he spins back around, I take one more shot and nail him right in the middle of his face. His nose shatters, and three of his front teeth fall out of his mouth to the ground. Then he drops.
But my relief is brief. We’re still plummeting toward the Pacific.
I yank on the yoke with trembling hands and desperately try to pull up. The plane levels off a bit, but I can feel we’re still dropping fast. The instrument panel is blinking like a Christmas tree. Warning alarms are beeping wildly.
And both pilots are dead.
I have absolutely no idea what to do, except buckle in and pray.
I unbelt one of the pilots, shove him aside, take his bloody seat, and strap in.
I use all the strength I have left to keep tugging up on the yoke—especially when I see the dark, choppy water getting closer and closer. In my mind, I get glimpses of Chloe and Eli.
I can’t die, I tell myself. Not like this. Not without saying good-bye.
And then, impact.
The noise is thunderous as the airplane smashes into the water. The cabin shudders and groans.
The plane finally comes to a stop. Almost immediately, I feel it start sinking.
Shaking off the stunned euphoria I’m feeling at having survived, I unbuckle my seat belt and stagger back into the cabin, which has been severed nearly in half and is quickly filling up with both water and smoke.
“Can anyone hear me?” I shout, coughing, wading through a flood of human carnage. “Is anyone okay?”
Silence. I can see that most of our team is dead, their bodies mangled and bloody.
But then, incredibly, I hear quiet mumbling. Someone’s still alive.
Freitas!
“Hang in there, doc!” I say, splashing over to him. I sling the barely conscious man onto my shoulder. “We gotta get off this plane!”
I unlatch an emergency exit and a giant yellow slide-raft automatically inflates and extends into the water. Thank God . I put Freitas onto it, then give the sinking cabin a final look.
I see Tanaka floating facedown. Reiji, too, is long gone. His gurney is on its side, the plastic covering is shattered, and a giant shard has decapitated him.
Damnit—after all that. So much for bringing either of them back to the lab.
But there’s no time for wallowing. I climb into the raft myself, disconnect it from the plane, and we immediately start to drift away in the choppy current.
I’ve barely gotten Freitas rolled onto his back so I can examine his wounds when, with a final, awful groan, our burning aircraft splits in two and disappears underwater.
Chapter 29
Quick: how long can the average person last without water? A week? Five days? Three?
It’s one of those scary stats you’ve heard a hundred times but never thought you’d need—until you find yourself floating on a raft in the middle of the Pacific.
I couldn’t tell you how many hours it’s been since the crash. If I had to guess, only about eighteen or so. But they’ve been long. And hellish.
Throughout the cold, pitch-black night, I tried to stabilize Freitas and stop his bleeding, ripping strips of fabric from our clothes to make crude bandages and tourniquets.
As the sun came up, I got a clearer view of his injuries. Mine, too. But when morning turned to afternoon, the sun’s rays turned hot and punishing. With nothing at all to use for shade, our skin quickly started to burn.
I still had my satellite phone in my pocket, but it had been smashed to pieces. I thought about trying to paddle—with just my hands; why didn’t they put oars on this thing?—but had no idea which direction to go. I figured it was better to save my strength anyway. And stay close to the crash site.
Thunk. I can feel his cranium splinter. Tanaka cries out in pain, stumbles, but remains standing. “You bastard!” he shouts—as he turns to attack me .
I swing again. This time…I miss.
Tanaka springs toward me, but I crouch low and slip out of his grasp. Just as he spins back around, I take one more shot and nail him right in the middle of his face. His nose shatters, and three of his front teeth fall out of his mouth to the ground. Then he drops.
But my relief is brief. We’re still plummeting toward the Pacific.
I yank on the yoke with trembling hands and desperately try to pull up. The plane levels off a bit, but I can feel we’re still dropping fast. The instrument panel is blinking like a Christmas tree. Warning alarms are beeping wildly.
And both pilots are dead.
I have absolutely no idea what to do, except buckle in and pray.
I unbelt one of the pilots, shove him aside, take his bloody seat, and strap in.
I use all the strength I have left to keep tugging up on the yoke—especially when I see the dark, choppy water getting closer and closer. In my mind, I get glimpses of Chloe and Eli.
I can’t die, I tell myself. Not like this. Not without saying good-bye.
And then, impact.
The noise is thunderous as the airplane smashes into the water. The cabin shudders and groans.
The plane finally comes to a stop. Almost immediately, I feel it start sinking.
Shaking off the stunned euphoria I’m feeling at having survived, I unbuckle my seat belt and stagger back into the cabin, which has been severed nearly in half and is quickly filling up with both water and smoke.
“Can anyone hear me?” I shout, coughing, wading through a flood of human carnage. “Is anyone okay?”
Silence. I can see that most of our team is dead, their bodies mangled and bloody.
But then, incredibly, I hear quiet mumbling. Someone’s still alive.
Freitas!
“Hang in there, doc!” I say, splashing over to him. I sling the barely conscious man onto my shoulder. “We gotta get off this plane!”
I unlatch an emergency exit and a giant yellow slide-raft automatically inflates and extends into the water. Thank God . I put Freitas onto it, then give the sinking cabin a final look.
I see Tanaka floating facedown. Reiji, too, is long gone. His gurney is on its side, the plastic covering is shattered, and a giant shard has decapitated him.
Damnit—after all that. So much for bringing either of them back to the lab.
But there’s no time for wallowing. I climb into the raft myself, disconnect it from the plane, and we immediately start to drift away in the choppy current.
I’ve barely gotten Freitas rolled onto his back so I can examine his wounds when, with a final, awful groan, our burning aircraft splits in two and disappears underwater.
Chapter 29
Quick: how long can the average person last without water? A week? Five days? Three?
It’s one of those scary stats you’ve heard a hundred times but never thought you’d need—until you find yourself floating on a raft in the middle of the Pacific.
I couldn’t tell you how many hours it’s been since the crash. If I had to guess, only about eighteen or so. But they’ve been long. And hellish.
Throughout the cold, pitch-black night, I tried to stabilize Freitas and stop his bleeding, ripping strips of fabric from our clothes to make crude bandages and tourniquets.
As the sun came up, I got a clearer view of his injuries. Mine, too. But when morning turned to afternoon, the sun’s rays turned hot and punishing. With nothing at all to use for shade, our skin quickly started to burn.
I still had my satellite phone in my pocket, but it had been smashed to pieces. I thought about trying to paddle—with just my hands; why didn’t they put oars on this thing?—but had no idea which direction to go. I figured it was better to save my strength anyway. And stay close to the crash site.
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