Read Online Fly Me to the Moon by Alyson Noël - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alyson Noël
Tags: GELESEN
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threats, of course). So that means it’s probably resting on a trash barge, enjoying a long, leisurely cruise toward, its final destination, a landfill. . . .
“Um, excuse me, miss?”
Oh, God, this was the worst part of riding the jump seat. People always assumed you were being lazy by not serving them, when clearly my beige linen pants, cream-colored camisole, and beige wrap sweater were a far cry from the ugly polyester uniform Atlas made us wear.
I remained sitting there, bent over my stuff, hoping she’d go away.
“Miss? I’m sorry to bother you, but I think something’s wrong with my dad.”
I looked up to find a terrified teenage girl standing before me, hands shaking, eyes wide with panic, and I was out of my seat, in the aisle, and checking her dad for vital signs before I’d even had a chance to think. “Go get those flight attendants on the cart up there and tell them to call for help,” I told her. But when I reached for the first aid kit I saw that she was still standing behind me, completely frozen. “It’s gonna be okay,” I said softly. “But please go now!”
The guy sitting at the window helped me lay the sick passengerin the aisle, and as I bent over him, lowering my ear to his nose and mouth, I was filled with dread when I realized he wasn’t breathing. Ripping into the first aid kit, I grabbed the pocket mask, slapped it on his face, and immediately breathed two slow breaths into his mouth, watching his chest softly rise and fall. Then I pressed two fingers to his neck, desperately searching for his carotid pulse, but there wasn’t any.
Oh God, oh God.
I looked frantically up the aisle. The young girl was just now telling Clay, and I knew there wasn’t enough time to wait for him to arrive with the defibrillator. I had to start CPR now! But was it still trace, space, and place? No, that was outdated. Now it was something like, imagine a line across the nipples, estimate the middle, and start pushing. But what if I broke a rib?
I glanced down at him, noticing his face had gone completely white and his lips were taking on a bluish tinge. And knowing it was probably already too late, I took a deep breath, and let everything I’d learned about first aid instinctively take over until Clay and Jennifer arrived.
Since I was already on the floor, I stayed put when Clay got there, helping him cut open the man’s shirt, shave his chest, and attach those sticky pads to the designated spots while Jennifer ran to page for a doctor and tried to calm the terrified young girl.
Over the years I’d had plenty of onboard minor medical emergencies, but there always seemed to be a doctor, nurse, EMT, or paramedic on board. But now that it was a life-or-death matter, it was just Clay and me. And we remained crouched in the aisle, desperately trying to breathe air into his lungs and shock him back to consciousness, until we returned to the San Juan airport and the emergency medical team stormed on board and rushed him away on a stretcher.
We stood in the aisle, dazed and sweaty, and I looked at the girl just as the Atlas reps were taking her away. “My dad!” she cried. But I had nothing for her. It was already too late when I’d found him.
When we finally landed at Kennedy Airport, there was the usual gaggle of supervisors waiting to meet us.
“Are y’all okay?” asked Dotty, a Southerner with bleached blond curly bangs and a tight, purple suit that hadn’t fit since 1987.
“I need you to fill out some paperwork,” said Shannon, our overanxious and underqualified base manager.
“You haven’t talked to any media, have you?” This one came from Lawrence, my very own supervisor, whom, quite frankly, I could not stand.
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. There was no way I was even going to answer that. What was he thinking? That I’d called CNN from the in-flight phone? That my agent was fielding bids on an exclusive story? I mean, some kid’s dad had died right in front of
“Um, excuse me, miss?”
Oh, God, this was the worst part of riding the jump seat. People always assumed you were being lazy by not serving them, when clearly my beige linen pants, cream-colored camisole, and beige wrap sweater were a far cry from the ugly polyester uniform Atlas made us wear.
I remained sitting there, bent over my stuff, hoping she’d go away.
“Miss? I’m sorry to bother you, but I think something’s wrong with my dad.”
I looked up to find a terrified teenage girl standing before me, hands shaking, eyes wide with panic, and I was out of my seat, in the aisle, and checking her dad for vital signs before I’d even had a chance to think. “Go get those flight attendants on the cart up there and tell them to call for help,” I told her. But when I reached for the first aid kit I saw that she was still standing behind me, completely frozen. “It’s gonna be okay,” I said softly. “But please go now!”
The guy sitting at the window helped me lay the sick passengerin the aisle, and as I bent over him, lowering my ear to his nose and mouth, I was filled with dread when I realized he wasn’t breathing. Ripping into the first aid kit, I grabbed the pocket mask, slapped it on his face, and immediately breathed two slow breaths into his mouth, watching his chest softly rise and fall. Then I pressed two fingers to his neck, desperately searching for his carotid pulse, but there wasn’t any.
Oh God, oh God.
I looked frantically up the aisle. The young girl was just now telling Clay, and I knew there wasn’t enough time to wait for him to arrive with the defibrillator. I had to start CPR now! But was it still trace, space, and place? No, that was outdated. Now it was something like, imagine a line across the nipples, estimate the middle, and start pushing. But what if I broke a rib?
I glanced down at him, noticing his face had gone completely white and his lips were taking on a bluish tinge. And knowing it was probably already too late, I took a deep breath, and let everything I’d learned about first aid instinctively take over until Clay and Jennifer arrived.
Since I was already on the floor, I stayed put when Clay got there, helping him cut open the man’s shirt, shave his chest, and attach those sticky pads to the designated spots while Jennifer ran to page for a doctor and tried to calm the terrified young girl.
Over the years I’d had plenty of onboard minor medical emergencies, but there always seemed to be a doctor, nurse, EMT, or paramedic on board. But now that it was a life-or-death matter, it was just Clay and me. And we remained crouched in the aisle, desperately trying to breathe air into his lungs and shock him back to consciousness, until we returned to the San Juan airport and the emergency medical team stormed on board and rushed him away on a stretcher.
We stood in the aisle, dazed and sweaty, and I looked at the girl just as the Atlas reps were taking her away. “My dad!” she cried. But I had nothing for her. It was already too late when I’d found him.
When we finally landed at Kennedy Airport, there was the usual gaggle of supervisors waiting to meet us.
“Are y’all okay?” asked Dotty, a Southerner with bleached blond curly bangs and a tight, purple suit that hadn’t fit since 1987.
“I need you to fill out some paperwork,” said Shannon, our overanxious and underqualified base manager.
“You haven’t talked to any media, have you?” This one came from Lawrence, my very own supervisor, whom, quite frankly, I could not stand.
I rolled my eyes and kept walking. There was no way I was even going to answer that. What was he thinking? That I’d called CNN from the in-flight phone? That my agent was fielding bids on an exclusive story? I mean, some kid’s dad had died right in front of
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