Chapter 21 #2
The sound is so sudden and unexpected that my brain initially fails to understand what I've heard.
For a fraction of a second, everything seems to slow.
Moni's body jerks violently, the tray slipping from her hands as her momentum abruptly stops.
She remains standing just long enough for confusion to register before gravity takes over and she collapses to the floor.
I stare at her. My mind refuses to process what I'm seeing. Only moments ago she had been smiling, handing me champagne and talking to me. Now she lies motionless in the aisle, blood spreading beneath her as the tray rolls uselessly across the floor.
The transition from life to death is so abrupt that my brain rejects it entirely.
Then a second crack tears through the aircraft. The window beside me explodes inward. Glass sprays across the cabin as the jet shudders violently beneath my feet, and the sudden wail of emergency alarms erupt overhead.
This time, the realization slams into me with enough force to steal the breath from my lungs. We're under attack.
Chaos erupts so quickly that it feels impossible to keep up with it. Bullets tear through the fuselage. Metal groans beneath the assault. Wind whistles through shattered sections of the cabin.
The aircraft drops sharply enough to make my stomach lurch, and somewhere through the noise I can hear Aurelia's voice calling my name.
"Zora?" The panic in her voice barely registers.
My survival instincts have already taken over. I throw myself to the floor as another burst of gunfire rips through the cabin. Broken glass cuts into my palms while I crawl toward the cockpit, but I barely feel it. Every thought has narrowed into a single objective.
Find the pilots.
The aircraft continues shaking beneath me as I drag myself forward. The luxurious cabin that felt so peaceful only minutes ago has transformed into a nightmare of flashing lights, screaming alarms, and twisted metal.
By the time I reach the cockpit door, my hands are shaking so badly that I struggle with the handle. The aircraft continues shuddering around me, warning alarms screaming overhead as I finally force the door open.
Whatever hope I had been clinging to dies instantly. Both pilots are dead. One is slumped sideways across the controls while the other hangs motionless in his seat, restrained only by his harness.
Blood is everywhere. It covers the instrument panel, stains the windows, and pools beneath the pilots' bodies. The cockpit windows are riddled with bullet holes, the glass fractured around each impact. They were shot from outside. From the armed jet flying alongside us.
For several seconds, I can do nothing but stare. The sight is horrifying, but that isn't what stops me. It's what the sight means. Nobody is flying the aircraft. Nobody is trying to regain control. The jet is falling out of the sky, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it.
The realization settles heavily in my chest, pushing aside every other thought. Up until now, some part of me had still believed there might be a solution waiting ahead. Maybe the pilots had already begun an emergency descent. Maybe someone knew what was happening. Maybe there was still a chance.
There isn't. I'm alone. And unless I find another way out of this aircraft, I'm going to die with it.
Panic surges through me with enough force to make my vision blur. For one dangerous moment, I feel myself freezing beneath the weight of what is happening. Then another thought forces its way through the fear.
The emergency parachute.
I spin around and rush back toward my seat. The aircraft groans around me as though it is being torn apart piece by piece, and the ocean looks far closer than it should. Every second that passes feels stolen. Every second feels like one step closer to death.
By the time I reach the seat, my hands are shaking so badly that I struggle to open the compartment beneath it. For one horrifying moment, I think the parachute isn't there. The possibility nearly crushes me. Then I see it.
Relief hits so hard that my knees nearly give out.
I drag the pack free and begin securing the straps around my body. My fingers fumble repeatedly. The alarms continue screaming overhead while the aircraft continues losing altitude, and all I can think about is moving faster.
The world has narrowed to a single goal. Get out.
The emergency exit is only a few feet away, but it feels impossibly distant as I force myself toward it.
Every instinct in my body rebels against what I'm about to do.
Human beings are not meant to throw themselves from aircraft.
We are not built for it. Some irrational part of my mind keeps insisting there must be another option, another solution, another miracle waiting just around the corner.
There isn't. Staying means dying. Jumping at least gives me a chance.
The handle resists at first, and for one terrible second I think it won't open. Then it finally gives way. The door tears free with wind exploding into the cabin.
The force of it steals the breath from my lungs and nearly throws me backward. I grip the frame and stare out at the vast expanse of ocean below. From this height, the water looks endless. Tiny islands dot the distance like scattered fragments of green surrounded by blue.
I am really about to do this.
Only minutes ago, I was drinking champagne and discussing wedding flowers. Now I am standing inside a dying aircraft preparing to jump into the open sky.
The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh. Instead, I take a breath. Then another. And before fear can convince me otherwise, I jump.
The force of the fall is immediate and brutal. Wind roars past my ears with such violence that it becomes impossible to think clearly. The aircraft disappears above me as I plummet toward the ocean, my heart hammering so hard that every beat feels painful.
When I reach what should be a safe altitude, I grab the cord and pull. The parachute deploys instantly.
Relief crashes through me so hard that it almost hurts. For a fraction of a second, I close my eyes and let myself believe I've made it. The violent freefall eases, my body jerking upward as the canopy catches the air above me.
Then I notice something is wrong. The descent is still too fast. Far too fast. A knot forms in my stomach as I lift my head and look upward.
The parachute is open, but large sections of the canopy have been torn apart. Ragged holes rip through the fabric, allowing air to pass straight through instead of slowing my descent properly.
Even from below, I can see dozens of bullet holes scattered across the material. Some are small. Others have torn wider during the fall, leaving entire sections shredded and useless.
The ambush damaged it before I ever left the aircraft.
The ocean continues rushing toward me at an alarming speed, the scattered islands growing larger with every passing second. As the reality of the situation settles in, a terrible certainty takes hold inside my chest.
I am still going to die. After everything I have survived, after every battle fought and every loss endured, this is how it ends.
For one disorienting second, I think death has finally caught up to me. My body jerks instinctively, panic surging through me as a strong arm locks around my waist and pulls me firmly against a hard chest.
I twist my head sharply, blood rushing through my veins so violently that my vision blurs around the edges.
Nico.
The sight of him is so absurd that my brain refuses to accept it. I blink once. Twice. But he doesn't disappear.
His arm remains securely around me, his expression infuriatingly calm despite the fact that we are both falling thousands of feet through open air.
Wind tears at his clothes and whips through his dark hair, but none of it seems to affect him. He looks more annoyed than frightened, as though plummeting toward the ocean is merely an inconvenience in an otherwise busy day.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I shout, my voice raw from fear. "How are you here?"
One corner of his mouth lifts. "You have a strange way of thanking someone who just saved your life, Elf."
I stare at him in disbelief. "We're still falling." The words come out uneven. My lungs feel tight. My entire body is shaking. "We're still falling to our deaths."
Nico glances toward the ocean below before looking back at me. "See? That's the problem with rich people. No patience."
A laugh almost escapes him. I don't find any of this funny.
The water beneath us is growing larger every second, transforming from a distant blue surface into something terrifyingly real.
I can make out the movement of the waves now.
I can see white foam where the water crashes against rocks near distant islands.
The details only make the situation feel worse.
"Nico." The fear in my voice is impossible to hide. "We're too low."
His eyes settle on mine. For the first time since I noticed him, some of the amusement leaves his expression. "Look at me."
I do. Not because I want to. Because I'm desperate.
"You're not dying today." The certainty in his voice should annoy me. Instead, it leaves me staring at him in disbelief.
We are thousands of feet above the ocean, my parachute is shredded, and death is approaching with terrifying speed, yet Nico sounds completely unconcerned. As though this outcome was never in doubt.
Before I can question that impossible confidence, he reaches for the harness across his chest and the parachute deploys.