cheek, smooth and clear as a lily. Then she bent, her face disappearing into her arms, and his throat closed with the most profound regret of his life.
Bouncing with the wind, they came in hard. The pavement was covered in standing water. Hydroplaning, the nose dipped, and the prop slammed into the ground. Opie pulled back frantically, and as Tess’s head came up, she caught a glimpse of a sheared-off blade. For several seconds, they mercifully skidded straight ahead, but then the left strut slipped off the pavement, hitting a thick gumbo of mud, and snapped off. The plane went spinning, and Sam’s upper body slammed hard into the seat in front, forcing Opie forward, his head crashing into the instrument panel. Tess cried out as the camera bag winged forward, catching her on the left side of her face. Eyes closed, Sam felt his chest burn as he gasped. It seemed to last forever, the violent spinning, crashing and grinding from every side.
And suddenly everything stopped.
The silence was overwhelming. Tess couldn’t hear anything except her own jagged gasping. She looked over at Opie, his face a bloody mess lying against the yoke. Dead? She felt a scream working up into her throat, but it caught with a chilling realization. The cabin was filling with smoke.
“Sam! My god, Sam, we’re on fire!” She unhooked her seat belt and slid sharply toward Opie’s inert body. Confused, she struggled upright, only then recognizing that the plane rested on its side, the left wing shattered and buried in mud. From the window in her door, her view angled up into the slanting rain. Bracing against her seat, she reached up and pushed hard. The door flew wide with surprising ease, and she turned back. “Come on …” she looked down at Opie. He was breathing, a gurgle from his throat, blood bubbling at his lips. Even if he could be roused, no way could he climb out. But he could be pushed out his door. It was only a few feet off the ground.
“Sam!” she cried again, clutching her seat and hoisting herself until she could finally see him slumped in the back, blood dripping from his lower lip. Stunned, he stared back, then coughed and grabbed at his chest, muttering, “Sweet Jesus, what ... ?”
“Get out! We’ve got to get out! Something’s burning, Sam!” She leaned way over the seat to clutch the front of his windbreaker, trying to shake him. “Reach over Opie, unhook his belt. Get that door open. Hurry! We’re burning!” She pulled herself over even more, trying to get at Sam’s seat belt, but suddenly he understood and grabbed it himself.
Hunched over the front seat, Sam reached for the handle, pulling, and swearing at the knife-sharp pain in his chest as he pushed at the door. “I can’t get it. Fuck! I can’t get it.” The smoke was getting thicker and he coughed and groaned again.
“The frame,” Tess coughed too, “it must be bent.”
“Get out, Tess!” Sam shouted. “Go out your door. Go on.” Sam knew there was no way he could hoist himself up through her door, let alone lift the pilot.
“No!” she shouted back. “We’ll get it!”
Opie moaned softly, coming around, and Sam reached down, unbuckled the pilot’s seat belt, and pulled him back, trying to maneuver around him to put more of his own weight against the door. Throwing his shoulder against it, he heard it give a little, but he sucked in his breath, the pain excruciating. Darkness crowded in at the sides of his vision.
“I can’t,” he slumped over the seat. “Go on, Tess. Get the fuck out. Please!” He heard his own voice catch on a sob.
“No! We’re all going! Damn it, help me!” He heard her yell, but the smoke made his eyes water, blurring his vision. “Help me!” she shouted again, and he realized she had slipped back down into the passenger’s seat and swung her two legs around, over Opie, to the door. Blindly he pulled back on the handle, his weight to the door, as she kicked out violently, both heels hitting the
Bouncing with the wind, they came in hard. The pavement was covered in standing water. Hydroplaning, the nose dipped, and the prop slammed into the ground. Opie pulled back frantically, and as Tess’s head came up, she caught a glimpse of a sheared-off blade. For several seconds, they mercifully skidded straight ahead, but then the left strut slipped off the pavement, hitting a thick gumbo of mud, and snapped off. The plane went spinning, and Sam’s upper body slammed hard into the seat in front, forcing Opie forward, his head crashing into the instrument panel. Tess cried out as the camera bag winged forward, catching her on the left side of her face. Eyes closed, Sam felt his chest burn as he gasped. It seemed to last forever, the violent spinning, crashing and grinding from every side.
And suddenly everything stopped.
The silence was overwhelming. Tess couldn’t hear anything except her own jagged gasping. She looked over at Opie, his face a bloody mess lying against the yoke. Dead? She felt a scream working up into her throat, but it caught with a chilling realization. The cabin was filling with smoke.
“Sam! My god, Sam, we’re on fire!” She unhooked her seat belt and slid sharply toward Opie’s inert body. Confused, she struggled upright, only then recognizing that the plane rested on its side, the left wing shattered and buried in mud. From the window in her door, her view angled up into the slanting rain. Bracing against her seat, she reached up and pushed hard. The door flew wide with surprising ease, and she turned back. “Come on …” she looked down at Opie. He was breathing, a gurgle from his throat, blood bubbling at his lips. Even if he could be roused, no way could he climb out. But he could be pushed out his door. It was only a few feet off the ground.
“Sam!” she cried again, clutching her seat and hoisting herself until she could finally see him slumped in the back, blood dripping from his lower lip. Stunned, he stared back, then coughed and grabbed at his chest, muttering, “Sweet Jesus, what ... ?”
“Get out! We’ve got to get out! Something’s burning, Sam!” She leaned way over the seat to clutch the front of his windbreaker, trying to shake him. “Reach over Opie, unhook his belt. Get that door open. Hurry! We’re burning!” She pulled herself over even more, trying to get at Sam’s seat belt, but suddenly he understood and grabbed it himself.
Hunched over the front seat, Sam reached for the handle, pulling, and swearing at the knife-sharp pain in his chest as he pushed at the door. “I can’t get it. Fuck! I can’t get it.” The smoke was getting thicker and he coughed and groaned again.
“The frame,” Tess coughed too, “it must be bent.”
“Get out, Tess!” Sam shouted. “Go out your door. Go on.” Sam knew there was no way he could hoist himself up through her door, let alone lift the pilot.
“No!” she shouted back. “We’ll get it!”
Opie moaned softly, coming around, and Sam reached down, unbuckled the pilot’s seat belt, and pulled him back, trying to maneuver around him to put more of his own weight against the door. Throwing his shoulder against it, he heard it give a little, but he sucked in his breath, the pain excruciating. Darkness crowded in at the sides of his vision.
“I can’t,” he slumped over the seat. “Go on, Tess. Get the fuck out. Please!” He heard his own voice catch on a sob.
“No! We’re all going! Damn it, help me!” He heard her yell, but the smoke made his eyes water, blurring his vision. “Help me!” she shouted again, and he realized she had slipped back down into the passenger’s seat and swung her two legs around, over Opie, to the door. Blindly he pulled back on the handle, his weight to the door, as she kicked out violently, both heels hitting the
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