Falling, p.24
Falling, page 24
He glanced at the radar to check their speed. One hundred and forty-five knots. Fast. Too fast for a plane that size, that weight, at this stage. Not impossibly fast. But they needed to land long.
“Whoa there, girl,” Dusty muttered. “Flaps, flaps, flaps.”
Slats of metal on the trailing edge of the wings extended to his request as though they heard him. The increased drag slowed the plane nearly enough and they were in alignment with the runway. JFK wasn’t a tricky arrival, but there wasn’t much open space beyond the runway. Landing from the west on 31R meant the end of the runway opened onto other aircraft hangars, hotels, and roads.
They were going to land short when they needed to land long.
* * *
Jo followed Bill’s instructions and watched the artificial horizon on the primary flight display without blinking. She could see the sidestick shake under his hand, the plane’s orientation on the display moving in response.
FIVE HUNDRED.
She glanced at their speed. “Do the flaps again?”
Bill nodded and Jo pulled down on the flaps lever. It clicked down another notch.
“Now,” Bill said. “See those two levers in the center? The big ones between those wheels with the white marks.”
“These?” Jo’s hand hovered.
Bill nodded. “Those are the thrust levers. Put your hand on them and keep it there until I say. Once we’re on the ground—I’ll tell you when—you’re going to pull them back. Back toward you. Do it slowly at first. And when I tell you to, you’re going to pull them all the way down.”
“All the way. Okay.”
* * *
The plane’s nose dipped. The descent was a far cry from the steady feet-first approach aircraft generally took. Each erratic flailing made the controllers in the tower hold their breath.
The plane was approximately fifteen seconds out. At this point, with the binoculars, they could see into the cockpit.
Bill. Jo. An empty first officer’s seat.
Ten seconds until landing.
No one in the tower breathed, no one moved. No one wanted to be the reason the putt lipped out, the ball bounced off the rim, the home run nicked the pole and went foul.
Five seconds till landing.
* * *
ONE HUNDRED.
Jo watched the lights at the beginning of the runway. Two thick belts of red-and-yellow approach bulbs. Then a thin green line. Then a long stretch of white: the touchdown zone. In the middle, a single path. The centerline.
FIFTY.
FORTY.
Jo and Bill watched the horizon scope. It tilted. He corrected. It tilted again. He overcorrected. He struggled to keep his hand steady.
THIRTY.
TWENTY.
This was it. Jo wanted to close her eyes but resisted.
RETARD. RETARD. RETARD.
The voice calmly warned them that the ground was imminent.
In that final second, she heard Bill whisper to himself.
“One hundred and forty-nine souls on board.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
THE BACK WHEELS SLAMMED INTO the runway and the plane’s nose tipped high as it rocked backward. The tail struck the ground. Jo could feel the auto-brake system engage as the plane tried to slow itself.
“Now!” Bill screamed. Jo pulled back on the thrust levers.
The plane jerked and the nose fell forward violently in response. Slamming into the ground, the nose gear collapsed, sparks and smoke spewing out from underneath the plane. Grinding into the concrete, the plane barreled down the runway.
Jo watched Bill press his feet into the pedals as hard as he could, but he was so weak that she couldn’t imagine it would have much impact. He shifted his feet right to left, steering the rudder in a desperate attempt to keep the plane on the runway.
She could see flames and sparks out the window. The plane was out of control.
The end of the runway loomed in front of them, the line of red lights issuing a declaration: Stop.
Jo didn’t know if they could.
* * *
Everyone huddled around the CNB van covered their open mouths in disbelief of what they were witnessing. The plane was moving so fast, too fast. There was no way it was going to stop in time.
There was an unexpected snap. The nose plunged downward and the tail shot into the air. Time stopped as the plane did too. A pause. The plane stood in a strange headstand, momentarily motionless. With a loud creak, she fell back onto her belly.
No one moved.
The cloud of debris and smoke dissipated moments later. A wrecked commercial airliner. Battered and beaten at the absolute edge of the end of the runway.
But in one piece.
Everyone watching reacted in the same instant. The neighbors, the media personnel; all cheered and exchanged high-fives or hugs. Vanessa went down to one knee on the pavement, covering her face as the cameraman clapped her on the back.
Carrie and Theo didn’t react. Standing side by side, they never took their eyes off the plane. Until they had a visual on Bill and Jo, they wouldn’t allow themselves to breathe easy.
All was still for a few seconds. Then, in jerking and robotic movements, the forward door released and swung outward. A yellow slide belched from the opening, unfurling clumsily until it touched the ground. The back exits followed suit, as did the ones over the wings. The passengers appeared, popping out of the doors and jumping down the slides. Two people stayed at the bottom of each slide, helping others climb off. Another person stayed and directed the passengers on where to run to.
Big Daddy was at the forward door, the same door the passengers had used to board the plane less than six hours earlier on the other side of the country. As the passengers leapt from the aircraft, he was visible in profile, waving his arms and shouting directions inaudible to those outside the plane. His hand, bandaged in white gauze, clung to a bar attached to the inside wall of the fuselage, anchoring himself to firm ground.
Kellie was at the back exit, her face red as she screamed. A man hesitated at the top, looking down on the bright streak of blood an injured passenger had left on the yellow slide. Kellie placed her hand on his lower back and pushed. He tumbled down to safety, his legs wobbly as he was helped up.
Emergency vehicles descended on the aircraft, blue-and-red flashing lights washing over the chaos. Firemen circled around the plane, shouting to each other with wide arm movements as they determined what actions needed to be taken. Hazmat first responders appeared next, leaping from medical vehicles in full-body protective gear. Against the darkness of the night, their white suits shone like a new pair of tennis shoes fresh out of the box. Soon enough they would be marred by the markings of conflict: smoke, dirt, sweat, blood.
The flow of passengers slowed. The evacuation was over almost as quickly as it began—model procedure under unprecedented circumstances. A few scattered passengers streamed down the back slide, but nobody else emerged from the front.
Suddenly an enormously tall man appeared at the front of the aircraft with another full-grown man draped over his shoulder like a dish towel. The large man slid the other off his shoulder, positioning him not-so-carefully at the top of the slide. He unceremoniously used his foot to start him on his descent, the medics at the bottom receiving the red-faced, portly man. Checking for injuries, they called for a stretcher, hazmat taking him away.
The tall man disappeared into the plane and soon reappeared cradling an elderly man in his arms like a baby. The old man looked out at the scene below and then up at his rescuer with relief. The tall man sat them both down on the edge of the slide as carefully as he could, checking to make sure the gentleman’s feet and head were clear. Someone inside the plane must have said something because he turned back. The tall man didn’t say a word, but a smile graced his face as he dipped his head in a bow. Shimmying himself to the edge slowly, he held the old man in his lap and the two slid down the slide together. At the bottom, the big guy set the old man on his feet, holding his wrinkled hands while his legs found their balance.
By now the flow of passengers evacuating the aircraft had stopped completely, but the crew was still on board. Occasionally, the flight attendants would be glimpsed through an open door as they moved about the plane. Through the little windows they could be seen moving swiftly up the aisle as they swept the aircraft to ensure no one was left on board.
When they were sure everyone was out, they ran to the front. Daddy disappeared into the cockpit. Kellie waited outside in the galley. She bobbed and weaved, trying to see whatever was going on up there. A moment later she jerked to attention and rushed forward before quickly stepping back to make room.
Big Daddy reappeared from the front. He came out backward, hunched over and moving with slow, awkward progress. He was carrying something heavy. Stepping back toward the opening, he pivoted left as Kellie stepped right. Daddy was holding a pair of legs and, with a tremendous amount of effort, was dragging a motionless body.
As more of the body emerged, Kellie rushed forward to take hold of something. An arm, the hand flopping about limply. She attempted to get a better grip, grabbing under the shoulder as Jo appeared, clutching the body’s torso from behind, her petite arms barely able to wrap themselves around Bill’s chest.
Theo covered his mouth as Carrie turned Scott’s head so he couldn’t watch. The baby whimpered on her hip and she began to bounce her harder.
The three flight attendants worked hard to extract the large man from a room so small and full of obstacles that it was difficult to navigate in and out of under normal circumstances. Finally they succeeded, freeing the man with a final thrust of movement, all of them dropping to their knees as they released him to the floor.
Not even pausing for a moment, they conferred, nodding and making movements with their arms and hands as they formed a plan of action. Big Daddy stood and looked out the exit at the slide and the first responders who collected at the base. He yelled something to them and made wide gestures, the emergency crew responding to his commands and shouting them to others down the line.
Big Daddy and Kellie flanked Bill as Jo sat down behind him, hiking up her skirt to straddle his back, shimmying her chest underneath his limp body as all three slowly shuffled and arranged the pair for a tandem slide. As they jostled and moved toward the opening, the view was finally unobstructed and the whole world collectively gasped at the bright-red blood saturating the front of the pilot’s white shirt.
Carrie turned her head into Theo’s shoulder.
“Don’t watch,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll watch and tell you if you should.”
She nodded and hid in him before turning back a moment later.
A gurney had arrived at the bottom of the slide with medics in hazmat suits. Other responders positioned themselves on opposite sides to catch the twosome when they reached the bottom. Big Daddy yelled, his lip movements unmistakably in a countdown, the pilot and flight attendant sliding down on “three” in a heavy descent. They were received at the base like children on a playground. The pilot was lifted onto the gurney and wheeled away, medics jogging alongside.
Jo accepted the hands that helped her up but fought them off as they tried to carry her away. Breaking free, she turned back to the slide, offering a hand to Kellie as the young woman fumbled to stand. Standing across from each other they waited for Daddy to slide down, helping him to his feet once he reached the bottom.
The three stood in a circle and Jo said something to the other two that made them both nod. Jo shook her head slowly and turned, making a slow gesture across the plane with her hand, her words unheard beyond the flight attendants’ ears. Daddy added something and the other two chuckled before Jo took a step forward to embrace Kellie, who had begun to cry. Jo rubbed her back softly while looking off to the medics who were working on Bill. Her face glistened with tears as she watched helplessly. Daddy turned around and looked up at the plane, his bandaged palms covering his mouth.
They stood there for a minute like that, letting what had just happened sink in. Finally, they all turned together and began to limp slowly toward the medics who waited for them.
On the other side of the country, in a suburban neighborhood surrounded by yellow crime-scene tape, the assembled humans let the moment sink in as well.
It was over.
A tiny voice squeaked with emotion. It sounded so wrong, so out of place, for such an innocent observer to be present at a scene of such horrors.
“Mommy?”
Carrie looked down at her son before squatting before him. Her eyes were red and swollen and her attempt at a smile was pitiful.
“Yes, baby?”
“Is Dad okay?”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
AN INTERMITTENT BEEP SOUNDED FROM one of the many machines that flanked the bed. The acrid smell of sterility filled the room and the chair Jo sat in was uncomfortably firm. Out in the hallway, a doctor was paged to another part of the hospital.
“I didn’t think of them once, Bill,” Jo said quietly.
Bill’s chest barely rose and fell. Gray-and-purple bruises blossomed under the tubes and bandages that covered his unmoving body. His eyes were closed, the right one swollen and black. The mass of gauze taped to his shoulder was the brightest shade of white, a contrast to the stitches underneath that held the bullet wound shut.
“They say,” she continued, reliving the scariest moments of the flight in her mind, “your whole life flashes before your eyes. I’ve read all these stories of near-death experiences. Or people who died and came back. They all say the same thing.” She swallowed. “That before they died, they thought of their family. Their children. Their spouse. That it was all they could think about.”
Jo walked to the window and stared at the blue sky outside. Her back to the bed, tears flowed freely. She didn’t catch them and they slid all the way down her neck. Her voice broke.
“Not even then. My husband, my sons, my parents, my sister, Theo, my friends… none of them. What kind of woman am I? What kind of wife, what kind of mother?”
A machine beeped and another beeped in return. Jo dropped her head. Her body shook with her sobs.
“Thank you,” a faint voice whispered.
Jo turned on her heels.
“Thank you for having that much faith in me.”
An unexpected lightness filled her chest as the guilt she’d carried since the flight lifted. Stepping forward, she took his hand and they both cried.
Jo wiped her cheeks before grabbing a tissue to gently wipe the tears from his. “You were supposed to be asleep.”
Bill’s left cheek raised in a half-smile. “Sorry to disappoint. Where’s Carrie?”
“At the cafeteria with Theo and the kids getting frozen yogurt.”
“I hear he got a promotion.”
Jo smiled proudly. “He most certainly did. He also got a one-month unpaid suspension. But after that, a promotion.”
“Silver lining.”
“One of many,” said Jo with a comic gesture toward the massive bouquet of red and purple flowers on the table across the room.
“Coastal went all out,” said Bill. “I appreciate the four months of paid time off more.”
“You and me both. Did Chief O’Malley sign the card?”
Bill’s face darkened. “Hard to do from prison.”
The door opened slowly with a knock. Big Daddy poked his head inside and, at seeing Bill awake, thrust the door all the way open.
“Hallelujah! He is risen!” he said, raising a bottle of champagne above his head. Kellie followed him into the room carrying a small bouquet of flowers with a brightly colored balloon floating above.
The IV antidotes and topical treatments the crew and the passengers had received from the medics and hospital staff immediately after the flight were nothing short of miraculous. Daddy’s face had almost fully returned to his normal color, and after he removed the oversized sunglasses, Jo could see the whites of his eyes were once again white.
Jo wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Bill smile so broadly. He tried to blink back his tears but failed. Kellie lost her battle immediately, the balloon bobbing with her sobs. Jo laughed and wrapped her up in a hug. Daddy busied himself opening the bottle, his nostrils flaring in his failing attempt to not cry as well.
They were sad. They were confused. They were angry. And Jo knew they had only scratched the surface of processing the trauma they had endured. But they were also joyful. It was a joy to be together, to be in the company of the only other people who knew what the burden they had carried, as a crew, felt like. To be with family who truly understood who you were and what you’d seen.
The cork shot out of the bottle with a pop. Kellie pulled plastic cups from her purse. Daddy poured. Standing at the sides of Bill’s bed, the surviving crew of Coastal Airways Flight 416 raised their cups.
“To battle scars,” Jo said.
They smiled. They drank. They wiped their tears.
* * *
Bill sat at a round table with Ben and Sam. Each man had an empty teacup in front of him, and a single teapot sat in the center of the table. One by one, the men poured from the pot, each man pouring for another, the pot producing a different drink each time. Sam received a cup of English breakfast. Ben, coffee with cream and sugar. Bill, coffee as well—black—the way he took it. The men blew on their cups, waiting until the liquid was cool enough to drink. Silently they sat, just looking at each other. Waiting. Finally, they drank. And as they drank the three men slowly broke into smiles. Soon, infectiously, the smiles gave way to laughter. The three men laughed so hard they cried, and it was only when the men pounded the table and threw their heads back in ecstasy that Bill woke up.
Drenched in sweat, his chest heaved. Staring at the ceiling fan for some time, he waited for his pulse to slow, the adrenaline to run its course.
