Falling (21 page)

The voice cuts out and noise erupts.

“What's going on?” A lady yells from a couple of rows back. “Why do we have to go back? Is there a fire? Is something broken?”

Another voice starts screaming, “Oh my gosh, we are going to blow up! The plane is on fire!” I can't see where the voice is coming from, but it’s hyperventilating.

Three other voices shout out, “Where is it coming from?”

“Someone put it out. Please I don't want to die,” a female voice shrieks.

We are out of our seat in an instant. “The plane isn't on fire. Please be calm. You aren't going to die,” Nathan says to the people.

“How do you know? Who are you? Why are you sitting in here? Are you following someone or something?” The guy eyes up the uniform Nathan is wearing like it's proof.

“Oh my gosh,” the voice calls again. “There is someone on the plane. There is a …” She slumps over, breathing between her knees, but I can still hear her sucking at the air three rows in front of her, inside another person.

Smith grabs at Nathan’s hand, but the man, who's still staring at us wide-eyed shouts. “The guy he's with just said yes. There's a bomb!”

About fifty people start screaming and scramble for their mobile phones. Smith climbs out of his seat laboured, staring daggers at the man who just shouted.

“There is no bomb, there is no one we’re watching, and I didn't say yes.” He says acidly at the man. “I’ll go and ask the pilot what the problem is.”

Smith tries to squeeze around us, but the plane takes a sharp turn sending more people squealing and reaching for their phones. The seatbelt sign starts flashing, and the hostesses walk briskly up the rows commanding people to sit down in as forcefully gentle tones as possible.

“No phones. They should be switched off, they interfere with the navigation software.” One hostess keeps looking at the girl. “I will confiscate it if I need to, Miss.”

She stops and eyeballs her with her hand out. But the girl shoves it into her pocket. “Do not bring it out again while the seatbelt sign is on.”

“And I thought only teachers whined about my stupid mobile. I thought being out of school would stop people telling me what to do.” She mumbles to herself. “I'll do what I like, 'coz there's nothing you can really do to me.”

But she gets quieter as she keeps rambling, until I can only see her mouth moving but can't hear anything she is saying.

A woman is holding onto her pre-school-aged son with white knuckles. She rocks him back and forward as she whispers softly in his ear. He has wet cheeks, but isn't crying anymore. Her eyes dart around like there is some danger waiting to leap out at her. As I zone out of individual people, I realise that all the rows around me are the same.

A man two rows across is staring at the back of the seat in front of him, holding a woman's hand with such force that the tips of her fingers are going purple, but she leaves it there even though it must be aching. A little girl in pink pyjamas is swinging her legs faster and faster as she watches the people around her. She looks right at me, and I smile back at her anxious face. But she just keeps staring. She's not looking at me, she's looking at Nathan I realise. Her mother whips out her hand and grabs her legs.

“Enough. Can't you sit still for just one minute?”

The little girl looks up to her mum, her legs swing to a stop, her eyes never leaving her mother’s anxious face.

The plane dips sharply again, as we dive toward the earth at a much steeper angle than a metal object as big as we are should be. More screaming. The girl starts swinging her legs again, but her mum is too busy controlling the screams that keep bubbling to her lips, while she stares over the top of the girl's head, holding her roughly to her chest.

“Look out the window.” I shout. I don’t want to watch that mother holding her daughter while she thinks she’s going to die. If I survive this, I don’t want to remember their faces.

He turns his head instantly to look out the window. The plane looks like it is going to fall out of the sky. I wonder if I can still die if I am not really in my own body. How would they find me?

The city moves around in a giant circle, coming up to meet us closer every minute we go round. With one last sharp turn, sending half the passengers into ear-piercing shrieks, the plane comes in low over the airport and drops down to meet the tarmac. The wheels lock and everybody slams into their seats.

I lift my arms to brace myself automatically, we both slam hard into the seat in front of us; Nathan cracks his head into the food tray, snapping back sharply, before we are sent hurtling back into our seats.

The screaming stops for a second as the planes slides to the side, the pilot trying to correct it, sends us the other way. My eyes slam closed and I start shaking.

We slide one last time and come to a full and abrupt stop at the terminal.

Breathless and stunned, we sit in total silence as the plane connects to the walkway. Not one person moves, no one says anything, we stare ahead waiting for something else to happen, but nothing does, just total silence.

“Please do not move until the hostesses call your row.” The pilot calls over the intercom, his voice nervous. The only thing breaking the silence, is the little girl who was swinging her legs has crawled onto her mum’s lap and is sobbing into her neck, her tears leaving a dark wet spot on her shoulder.

“Please stay in your seats until we get to your row,” barks the blonde air hostess. “You will all get off the plane, but it moves much faster if we do it in order, and not all surge for the door.”

She eyeballs the faces of those standing and anyone who looks like they might be about to follow their lead. Even if I wasn’t inside of someone, I wouldn’t be able to stand up. I can’t even understand what the hostess is saying. I can hear words, but it’s not making any sense. I feel like I’m going to be sick.

“Row thirty we will start with you,” she orders. “One row at a time. Move quickly but orderly. Do not remove your overhead baggage. It will all be collected and taken to the terminal in due time.”

She stands aside as row thirty neatly files out looking only ahead, avoiding eye contact with her wherever possible. I don't know if Nathan can feel it, but my whole body is trembling.

He steps out into the aisle when the hostess calls our number from behind us. We march back into the terminal and get moved swiftly through the silent and empty customs area. There is no one around; not even customs officers. They herd us through the now-open gates. I don't know who they are, and I can't see anyone. We are walking more or less single-file, following the people in front of us.

Ten at a time, they take us up in the elevator to the Departures area, bypassing the Arrivals hall.

“Flight one eight zero, your assembly point is over there,” a man calls out. “You need to wait until you have been checked off before you leave that spot. Please,” He emphasises, “don’t leave after you have been checked. We hope to have the flight reassembled and taking off again as soon as possible.”

All the soldiers are standing loosely near the front of a group, but none of them are together. Major Matherson is off to the side of the group yelling quietly into his phone. His face is growing redder the longer he listens to what the other person is telling him.

“Yes,” he hisses down the phone. We turn away before I can see what he is talking about.

A robot moving toward us catches my attention, how can it not? Nathan must have seen it too, because he moves up to his toes to get a better look.

“Oh, no!” I shriek, and Nathan looks around. No look back. But I can't say anything, not now, he can’t think about me and this at the same time. It’s my bag.

I have to get out of here. My head moves around as far as I can see. There are people everywhere. I go to rub at my face, but my hands are shaking so hard I miss my skin without noticing.

My hands flutter up to rub at my face again, freezing just under my eyes. My bag is lying on the ground, surrounded by screens. Ripped to shreds, everything inside it completely destroyed. Tears run down my face. My hands don’t move.

The last thing mum wrote was a post-it. She stuck it on the fridge the morning of my first time in swimming squad, ten hours later they were gone. “Don't forget your swimming gear.” Scrawled quickly across the paper. I kept it with me, in my bag all this time. Tears ooze out of my eyes.

The robot wheels toward a group of men who are talking, but not looking so serious. Another team of people come in from the side and start taking the screens down while someone sweeps up the remains of my bag and drops it into a plastic bag.

The last lot of ten people from the plane reach us.

“We will move you through to the departures lounge,” someone official-looking from the airport says. “There will be people asking you a few questions. Please answer them to the best of your ability. Thank you.” He moves off to speak with someone else.

I have to get out of here. I have to leave. I push on the man's insides, leaning into his back. I can't get out. I can't move him.

I shove on him. “Let me out,” I sob. He looks around. “No. In here, you idiot.”

He flicks his head around. Why won’t his body move? Why won’t it let me out?

We march toward the departures where the customs staff are assembled, speaking in hushed voices and looking at each of us like we could be the horrible person that left their bag unattended.

How stupid can I be? How can I just run after some random person and leave my bag sitting under the table?

We stop while everyone else continues on, the staff moving into action, taking people aside and questioning them. I can probably guess what they want to know. “Have you seen a girl about this high, wearing dark blue jeans and a green hoodie?”

I can hear a whole bunch of other people.

“Breathe, Reid. Just breathe.” I tell myself when Nathan stops walking.

He moves his head around.

Ah, crap. “Breathe, but shut up so he doesn't know your name.” Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! I scream silently in my head.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Nathan pauses to ask one of the important-looking people.

“No, it all looks taken care of at this point. But thank you.”

“Any time.” We smile and walk off to the side, waiting. I. Do. Not. Want. To. Wait. I want to go far, far away. I turn around and around inside of the man waiting for the airport to open. Then finally, after waiting for so long, I sink down, sitting on emptiness, this way I can't see the clock. The big giant clock with big ticking hands that move every second, ticking off a little closer to the next minute.

Can't someone mute it? It sounds like the tick has been connected to a speaker, making it boom across the empty space. I stand up when I hear Major Matherson start talking to someone near us.

“There was nothing in the bag,” the major says. “While yes, I understand you need to take things seriously—”

“There was a girl.” He cuts Matherson off.

Major Matherson stops. “They could be totally unconnected. For all we know, the girl was simply late for a flight and was running. Not everyone moves around an airport in an orderly manner.”

“We have to check.”

“Like I said. We know you have to be thorough, but we need to get to where we are going. Soon.”

“I understand.” The speaking gets quieter as they move away.

Nathan’s body sways forward gently.

“Time to go,” Peters says.

The airport doors open. Finally. It's open. I pull myself up to see where we are going. I need an escape route.

“Over there,” I say just loud enough for him to hear without it sounding like the voice in his head is speaking again. He walks closer to the entry door, and the second door opens, letting in a flood of people. I throw myself out and into the crowd. Tripping, I stumble forward and hit my knees. Stunned, I look up and then scramble to my feet, and sprint for the door.

Nathan does nothing. For a second. I'm out the door before I hear. “Hey, stop! Stop that girl!”

I look back quickly. It sounds like there is more than one person calling after me. Someone is banging on the glass. I don't want to see who it is. I jump on the handrail and slide the rest of the way down. Hitting the ground, I stumble again, but push myself on faster, still running.

“Where's the bus stop?” I shout at a man holding his suitcase.

“That way I think,” he says, confused, but points past the building anyway.

I drop my head and drive my legs faster in the direction he pointed, watching only the ground so I don't trip again.

People. I can see legs. I command myself to look up, and when I lift my eyes, I see a bus.

“Stop! Stop!” I sprint alongside a bus that is pulling out.

It slows down, I match my pace with it and glance back. I can't see anyone chasing me. Surely I didn't outrun Nathan.

“Can I help you, Miss?” The driver says.

“Yip.” I gulp in as much air as my lungs will let me. I hold up my pass.

“Sorry, Miss, wrong line. I don't go to town.”

“Do you go to central?” I gasp.

“Yes.” He says

“I'll connect from there, then.” I climb onto the bus quickly getting out of view, leaning in half, trying to breathe again.

“It will be fifteen dollars,” he says.

“Fifteen? It's only going to take twenty minutes.”

“Sorry, it's the airport.” He shrugs apologetically.

I pull out my wallet, hand over a twenty, holding my hand out for the change watching people around the bus station. I turn my back. Is that him?

“Keep the change.” I hurry to the back of the bus where most people are sitting.

Ah, no. A man that looks like Nathan is walking through the people at the stop. I duck down so he can’t see me. The driver looks around to see if anyone else is waiting. I cough loudly an he pulls slowly into the traffic, and I lift myself up again.

“Keller? … Is that you?” I answer my phone, my heart racing. I don’t really want to have this conversation in front of all these people, but right now I’m happy just to hear his voice. Because he wants to, not because I have gone to see him. He wants to talk to me.