Chapter Ten #2
“It was nothing at first. Nothing. A circuit breaker for the toilet blew. I thought to myself, ‘That’s weird.’ I couldn’t remember ever seeing that happen before.
But I wasn’t concerned. Wasn’t even nervous.
I thought it was probably a malfunction.
Nine times out of ten, that’s what it is.
An incorrect reading, an alarm on the fritz.
In this case, I figured someone had flushed too many paper towels or something.
Jammed up the mechanism. We decided to give it a few minutes before turning it back on.
My first officer…” Brian swallowed thickly, his voice going hoarse.
“Richard.” He cleared his throat. “Rich was looking it up in the manual when the smoke alarm in the bathroom went off.”
Oh, Jesus. Troy breathed shallowly as he waited.
“One of the flight attendants went to check it, and smoke was already coming into the cabin. No visible flames; it was behind the wall. I called ATC right away. Didn’t want to risk it.
Declared an emergency.” He poked at the fire, sending a cascade of sparks into the dusk.
“I was the captain, so I took control—said ‘My aircraft,’ and Rich replied back, ‘Your aircraft.’ That was the protocol.” He closed his eyes for a moment.
“I can still hear him say it. ‘Your aircraft.’ And it was. I was responsible for it all.”
Troy wanted to say that whatever had happened, it wasn’t his fault even if he was in charge, but he had to let Brian tell it in his own time.
“There were alarms going off all over the place. Rich and I put on our masks and went through our checklist.” He smiled faintly. “We called them our Vader masks. We could breathe, but it was a different story in the cabin.”
“But everyone had the little yellow masks, didn’t they?” Troy had never actually seen them drop down from the ceiling, but he’d idly read the safety card on planes a million times.
“Can’t deploy oxygen in a fire. Those are just for a loss of pressurization. Our masks in the cockpit have a separate oxygen source.”
“Oh. Right. Wow, I guess I never thought about it. Oxygen and fire don’t mix.” Troy dug his toes into the warm sand near the edge of the fire pit, flexing and curling, flexing and curling. Acid whirled in his belly.
Brian’s faint, humorless smile was haunted.
“No. They don’t.” He stared into nothing, as if his mind was somewhere else even though he was talking.
“The nearest runway was too far. The fire behind the bathroom burned through the cables. Our electrical systems failed. It’s like dominoes.
” He flicked with his finger. “One goes, and they all follow. We’re left with only the most basic controls.
Like you’re suddenly flying a WWII bomber but it’s sixty tons.
We were lucky. Weren’t at capacity that day. ”
A memory flickered through Troy’s mind—flopped on the couch in another anonymous hotel room with Dateline or something playing. “Wait, you landed in the field! Jesus, that was you? You were a hero.”
Brian hung his head, wincing as if he was in physical pain. Troy reached toward him, but let his hand fall. He waited.
Head still down, Brian gritted out, “Yes, managed to bring it down in a farmer’s field. Landed safely. Stopped safely.”
“Well… That’s good, right?” Troy tried desperately to remember what else had happened. He knew some people got killed, but couldn’t recall the details.
Lifting his head, Brian stared into the night, his fists clenched. “Rich went back to assist with evac right away. Barely stopped before he was gone. Could hear the flight attendants opening the doors, getting people down the chutes. I couldn’t move. Had to unbuckle, and I couldn’t.”
“You were hurt?”
He shook his head. “Exhausted. The level of exertion to keep the plane under control was so much. Took every ounce of concentration and strength. I was barely conscious.”
“Superman!” Troy lowered his voice at Brian’s wince. “That’s what they called you in the press. They said it was next to impossible, what you did.”
“I knew I had to get back there and help, but I couldn’t. I should have gotten us on the ground faster.”
“Brian, it’s freaking amazing you were able to land at all.”
He breathed shallowly, so distant now, lost in his memories and guilt. “Still should have done better.”
Troy kept his voice low. “What went wrong?”
Rubbing his face, Brian shook his head. “I can’t. Please.”
Troy wanted to give in and stop asking. It hurt seeing Brian tremble, his whole body shivering despite the campfire close by. But he had to get this out. Troy shifted closer and wrapped his arm around Brian’s back, needing to touch him.
After sucking in a breath, totally rigid, Brian collapsed against him, the sharp weight of his head finding Troy’s shoulder. He was silent for a few ragged breaths.
“When the electrical systems and power go, everything is manual. APU failed too. We still had the engines, but no control.” Brian’s voice was muffled against Troy’s shoulder, the warm moisture of his breath brushing Troy’s bare arm.
Troy didn’t know what an APU was, but didn’t ask since it didn’t matter.
“The stabilizer on the tail was set for a cruising altitude. Locked in place, and I had to manually override it. Push against the pressure. God, it was so heavy. Whole body was shaking—burning. It felt like…like I was holding up the weight of the plane myself.”
His heart thumping, Troy gently rubbed Brian’s arm. “Was the fire spreading?”
“In the body of the plane,” he whispered.
“Aft. Near the back. The top of the cabin was filling with smoke, and they could smell burning plastic. The flight attendants had everyone breathing through wet seat covers. It was all they could do. Smoke spread into the cockpit. I could barely see out the windshield. ATC gave coordinates for the closest airport, but it was too far. Told them we were coming down. We were over farmland, at least. Had to minimize casualties on the ground.”
Troy rubbed Brian’s arm steadily. “And you did. You landed in the field.”
“Thought we were going to catch a wing and cartwheel. Break apart. But it wasn’t over, even when we stopped.”
More images from the TV report he’d seen flickered through Troy’s mind, details coming back to him: red fire trucks, white foam, orange flames. Black smoke filling the clear sky. “So you were alone in the cockpit. You couldn’t move.”
“I managed to get the seatbelt off. My mask. Felt like I was miles underwater, like the air was heavy. Then I heard the flashover ignite.” He curled into Troy, his knees to his chest, seeming smaller than he was. “Felt the force of it. The heat rushing toward me.”
Troy’s throat was dry. “The fire spread.”
“The emergency doors had been open for almost a minute. Letting in oxygen.”
“You had to jump out the cockpit window.” He remembered it now—the image of a man diving out the emergency window to the grass below as flames swept through the plane from the rear.
“Knew I was going to die. Guess there was still a tiny bit of adrenaline left in my system, and it got me out the window.”
“Must have hurt, falling all that way.”
“Didn’t feel it. Just my hand.” Brian lifted his right palm. “Didn’t even scar. Should have.”
Left arm still solid around him, Troy reached for his hand. Fresh tremors ran through Brian, and Troy pressed their palms together, threading their fingers. Maybe it was a weird thing to do, but it felt like the right thing. Brian gripped his hand like a lifeline. “You did everything you could.”
He shook his head. “Rich died. Chantal, the head flight attendant. They were getting passengers off. They saved so many. Eighty-six on board. Nineteen didn’t make it. Should have been twenty.”
“No.” Troy gripped Brian’s hand. God, the thought of him being dead… “No,” he repeated. “You did everything you were supposed to. It wasn’t your fault. You saved those lives. You’re a hero.”
Tears dampened Troy’s shoulder as a jerky sob escaped Brian. “A hero saves everyone. It should have been me who died. Not them. Not Paula either.”
Useless guilt slashed through Troy. He pushed it away and focused on Brian.
“It wasn’t your fault. Do you hear me? It wasn’t your fault.
The people who survived in that field are alive because of you.
You saved them.” He clutched Brian’s hand.
“You saved me. I thank God you’re here. It’s not your fault. ”
The sobs flowed freely now. Brian turned into Troy’s arms, burying his head, his tears soaking the front of Troy’s tank top. Troy held him close, rocking him and murmuring soothing noises as Brian let it out.
The fire was fading, and Troy’s back twinged dully, but he didn’t move.
As Brian finally collapsed, his head in Troy’s lap, Troy pulled the extra blanket over him and ran his hand through Brian’s thick hair.
The waves rolled rhythmically into shore, stars filling the clear sky from the horizon all the way to the end of the world.
He caressed Brian, lulling him into what he hoped would be a dreamless sleep.