21. Adrian
TWENTY-ONE
ADRIAN
I must’ve dozed off, because when my eyes fly open, it takes me a moment to figure out where I am. For some reason, my heart is beating too fast, like when you’ve been wrenched out of deep sleep suddenly, and my mouth is uncomfortably dry.
The cabin is strangely dim, and the plane keeps shuddering and jerking every now and then.
I look at Dylan. He’s sitting very still, fingers white where he’s clutching the armrests.
“I’ll go see what’s up,” I tell him. He looks up with a frown, but then he simply nods. I unbuckle my seat belt and go to Abel. The storm clouds that stretch out in front of us don’t exactly make for a reassuring sight.
Where the fuck did those come from?
“This is some nasty weather,” I say.
Abel nods. “We’ll fly around it. Sit down and buckle up. There will be some turbulence.”
Dylan looks at me expectantly when I go sit down again.
“We’re flying around the worst of it,” I say. With every bump and shudder that goes through the plane, I clutch the sides of the seat harder. This is not the kind of flying I enjoy.
Abel says something into the radio, then repeats it, but I can’t hear what he’s saying. As he’s talking, the plane jerks violently, and the next thing I know, the whole plane starts to spin.
“What’s happening?” I meet Dylan’s wide gaze, filled to the brim with the same panic I can feel rising in my chest.
I start to lie. Calm him down. Tell him it’s turbulence, but I don’t think anybody in their right mind would believe me.
The plane tilts forward, suddenly descending rapidly. I have no idea which way is up and which is down, but a harried glance out the window gives me a glimpse of the dark surface of the ocean, which seems to be growing closer and closer.
“Brace,” I shout, both to Dylan and to myself.
I don’t know what I’m saying, but he leans forward anyway, clutching the seat in front of him. Some kind of reflex or instinct kicks in, and suddenly everything is sharp and clear. This plane is going down.
As if on cue, we hit the water. The plane skitters and jumps over the waves for a second. My body jerks, and I’m thrown around like I’m a rag doll. The noise is deafening. A cacophony of screeching metal and shattering glass, all intertwined with the howling of the wind.
The body of the plane is ripped apart with the same ease as somebody would pull the lid off a tin can.
I reach across the aisle and make a desperate grab for Dylan.
My fingers get caught in the fabric of his T-shirt.
Something hits my temple, and the flash of blinding pain nearly makes me pass out, but I blink through it and fumble with my seat belt.
If the plane sinks, we’ll go down with it.
My fingers are clumsy, and there’s something hot running down the side of my face.
The plane rolls then, and I’m plunged into the water. Salt fills my nostrils and my mouth and makes me splutter, but I’m too far under the surface to cough.
My fingers are still clutching Dylan’s T-shirt, and I push against the floor with the soles of my sneakers and drag myself toward where he’s sitting, head lolling to the side.
It takes me two tries to get his seat belt undone, but then I’m pulling him upward, out of the wreck, and the surface is right there.
“Dyl?” I gasp and cough and splutter once my head emerges.
Dylan’s body flops against mine, a heavy weight that keeps dragging us both under.
I wrap my arm around his torso and do my best to keep his head above water.
A flash of lightning turns the stormy sky bright for a second, and I swear I can see a column of water rising into the sky right in front of us.
If there’s one place you don’t want to be during a lightning storm, it’s in water.
A wave crashes over us, making me cough again.
I’m desperately treading water, but I’m not a good swimmer.
Adequate at best. We didn’t have money for swimming lessons for all of us, so we taught ourselves as best we could.
I’m good enough not to drown immediately, but I don’t know how long I can manage in this weather.
Every breath I take in comes with water. I try not to think about Abel. I can’t get to him if I want to keep Dylan alive. It’s not a choice. It’s… I have to keep Dylan alive.
Already, I can barely keep the panic at bay. I can’t keep us floating like this for long. Sooner or later, we’re going to sink. And that’s assuming we don’t get electrocuted by lightning first.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I desperately look around, trying to see anything at all.
Dylan’s head lolls back. His lips are turning blue. The water is warm, but I’m still starting to shiver.
I don’t know how much time has passed since we hit the water.
Could be minutes. Could be more. Time has lost all meaning.
Minutes stretch like hours. Seconds flash by and stretch into eternity.
I keep moving my feet. I keep Dylan above water.
The movements are robotic. I don’t think about them. I just do.
A bright flash of light has me jerking my head to the left. I’m not sure what’s happened exactly, but there’s a fire somewhere in my field of vision, and it’s followed by a deafening bang that I hear even over the loud crash of the waves.
It hits my sluggish brain painfully slowly. There’s land somewhere over there. The lightning hit a tree, and there’s land somewhere in front of us.
I gasp and pull in another mouthful of water before I gather the last of my strength and start kicking.
I can use only one of my arms, and for the longest time, it feels like the shore isn’t coming any closer, no matter how hard I swim.
But then my toe grazes against something.
Something solid. I’ve lost one of my sneakers.
I don’t know when, but I’m only wearing one.
It sinks into the wet sand and lurches when I pull it out.
I lose my balance and fall to my knees. Dylan is slumped against me, and I’m half dragging, half carrying him toward dry land.
My limbs are so heavy that lifting them feels like a herculean effort.
But I crawl.
Inch by inch.
I crawl until water turns into waves rolling up the shore.
I crawl until waves turn into dry sand.
Until I can drop down on the beach. Something runs out of my nose. Blood or seawater? I don’t know. I don’t have the energy to find out.
I roll Dylan onto his side, my arms and legs shaking so hard I think I can hear my bones clattering. I press my fingertips against his neck and check his pulse. It’s still there.
I pat him on the cheek.
“Dylan? Dyl?” My voice is a rasp, hoarse from all the salty water I’ve swallowed down.
Dylan opens his eyes, huge and light silver, curls forward, and vomits. The acrid smell hits my nostrils, turning my stomach, but I hook my hands underneath his armpits and wrestle him upward, a bit farther away from the mess, then lay him on his side again.
The thunder rolls away from us, quieter now. The remnants of the palm tree the lightning hit earlier are glowing in the sand all around.
I stand up, swaying from side to side and stumbling a bit before I manage to steady myself. I keep one hand stretched out in front of me, holding on to an invisible railing.
We’re on a long stretch of sand. Behind us are trees. In front of us is the ocean. Nothing else. No lights or sounds or signs of life anywhere.
I slowly turn around and lower myself back down to the sand on shaky legs. It feels like my brain has short circuited. I know I should do something, but why and what escapes me.
I’m shaking like a leaf, limbs trembling uncontrollably, my heart slams against my ribs with violent force, and my ears ring so loudly it swallows all other sounds. My whole world has been reduced to this narrow stretch of beach, and I can’t see anything else.
Eventually, I drop on my back next to Dylan.
There’s very little thought involved by now. My brain refuses to process sounds and sights. I just reach out my hand and clutch his limp fingers to make sure he’s still there.