Perpetuum: Within Their Hearts
chapter three: The Great Escape
The plane was silent, save for the small cries of children who hadn't yet cried themselves to sleep. It was evening, the clear moon hung in the sky, and most of the plane's windows were shut. At this point, few of the refugees really cared where they were going.
But up in the cockpit, pilot Richard Andrews squinted at his control panel, trying to read for signs. He could tell something was wrong, but he had no idea what, other than that his wife and kids were in mortal peril back east while he got to escape to Australia.
Since there were no outward signals of disaster, he turned his attention back to the air. Nothing was wrong.
Nothing.
---
Zahava had finally drifted off to sleep, her mouth open and her head resting on the open window. Pale moonlight filtered in, splashing like spilled milk across her lap.
Lost in a thin, cloudy sleep, she immediately awoke when she felt the plane tremble. Her brown eyes wide, she looked around, but most of the other children were sleeping. She leaned back into her seat. She was imagining things. Closing her eyes, she tried to return to unconsciousness.
But the plane shifted again, a thick rumble that shook the passengers awake and knocked some of the smaller ones into the aisle.
The sole flight attendant yelled at everyone to stay calm, but Zahava could see her hands shaking as she stumbled into the cockpit. The children were silent, exchanging panicked stares, and some had even started up that useless crying again.
She returned, her face ghost white. "Seatbelts," she choked out, pulling an example seat belt tight and swallowing her words.
Zahava tightened hers across her lap and looked around. By now, everyone was completely awake, staring at Annette and waiting for instructions with rapt attention.
The plane lurched forward like a mechanical bull; Zahava could feel vomit rising in her throat. The aircraft leveled itself, and she exchanged a relieved glance with her neighbor before it lurched forward again.
Zahava lifted the plastic shield of the window, and saw that the plane was rapidly approaching the glimmering waves.
---
When the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling like they would in any emergency, it became apparent that they were doomed.
The nice lady was frantic now, stumbling over words and fighting to keep her footing in those high heels as she demonstrated how to use your cushion as a floatation device, shoved orange life vests at whoever she could, kicked off her shoes and ran down the aisle, pointing at the children seated by emergency exits.
"Open… open that," she said, trying to make herself heard over the wailing cries of chaos. "And… a slide will pop out…"
Oliver fumbled with the latch. He was only six; how could he be expected to save the lives of an entire plane? He cried out in frustration, who knew how close the sea was at this point? But a tall boy with sandy blond hair reached over his seat and somehow opened the door, and a flood of children jumped out the opening even as the slide was popping out.
They dropped into the dark sea, and the plane quickly left them behind, spitting more children from its two emergency exits in a trail as it hurtled closer to the sea.
"Go," said the nice lady, shoving Hollis down the slide, and then tossing Oliver down, too.
He closed his eyes, hoping for it to be quick, but the free fall seemed to last forever: the slide, at that point, had hovered about seventy feet above the water, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream as he hurtled through the air. Something scratchy was pressing against his chest; he clutched the cushion and landed in a belly flop on the black water. he could feel red welts spreading on his body under his turtleneck and khakis, heard a splash next to him he identified as Hollis. He could sense her presence, and it was a good thing, because without her, he was nothing. He kicked his way over to her, and they grasped hands, sobbing.
The plane roared overhead, still dropping parcels ever closer to what might be a sanctuary; what might be a dream.
---
She trembled, watching the slide get closer and closer to the rolling waves. Would it ever touch them?
"Go! Go! Go!" yelled the flight attendant, shoving passengers down the slide as though they were packages at a post office. At the other slide, a teenage boy threw children down the chute haphazardly, piles of laundry that would wash up neatly folded on some nearby wash basket.
She shook her head. She was being ridiculous.
"Go," hissed the flight attendant, shoving Katie down the plastic slide. She screamed, tears streaming from her eyes, and wrapped her body around the cushion, scarcely noticing when she went into free fall. It was only until she felt herself submerge that she realized she had let go of the seat cushion.
She opened her eyes, immediately closing them as the salt bit her face. She flapped her arms like some dying bird, her hair floating around her head, a mysterious halo. She pushed herself to the surface, treading water. She spat tangy liquid from her mouth, looked around. There were maybe three other kids near her, but after that, the closest bunch was probably a good fifty feet off.
At first, she resisted the waves, avoided the current. But as her muscles exhausted themselves, she was too weary to do much else than let the ocean do its worst.
She gave in. A massive roller swallowed her up, and Katie's head dipped under the water.
---
At the other slide, a small cluster of older passengers were yelling at each other.
"Go!" Zahava screamed, pointing down the slide as the plane drew ever closer to the water.
"Ladies first," the older boy insisted, fixing her with an angry stare as she glared back. Finally, he went down first: there wasn't time to waste; many children were still on the plane in its furious descent.
She dipped down a split second after him; he grabbed her foot and whooped as if this was fun, not terrifying.
Neither of them had a seat cushion or life vest.
As they hit the water, the boy's weight dragged Zahava down as he clutched her ankle. She kicked out, lost him, floated to the surface, grabbed a stray cushion. She kicked her way in a random direction, trying to look purposeful. He was only a few feet behind her, and they both paused, watching bodies jumping from the plane.
---
Jennifer could feel herself sinking, losing energy, even as she clung to a cushion as if her life depended on it.
Which it did.
Her heavy woolen blazer and skirt weighed her down; she let one arm free of her little raft to rip off the soaked garments, felt them sink away. She shivered, the frigid water of the open ocean soaking through her underwear and camisole, but now she was staying afloat easier.
Her teeth chattered, she looked around. As far as she could see- not very well; her glasses had fallen off- she was alone in this patch of the Pacific.
She feebly kicked her legs, trying to propel herself toward where the plane had headed; where she figured the others would be. But the waves had other plans: they tossed her about like pizza dough, she sputtered and coughed and sobbed as her skin turned white, as her lips turned blue.
Jennifer had always been temperature sensitive, but she had never guessed it would lead to this, never guessed her life would end this way.
It had been hours, surely, since she had jumped, and still she was alone. There was not even a speck of land in sight. She was stranded, and, as she struggled to stay awake, she wondered if it was even worth it.
The moon gave way to a delicate sun in an azure dome. She tried to sit up, to see as far as her blurry vision would allow.
Nothing. She was alone. A current tugged at her feet, but she didn't fight it. She rested her head on her arms, waiting for the tears to stop coming.
Her heart boiled, a sea of turmoil equivalent to the one foaming around her. She squinted up at the sun, a happy circle of hope or friendship or some other foreign emotion, and with a grimace, she gave the open sky the finger and released her cushion.
And with those final words, she sank into the ocean, a brick lost in mortar, a baby in the womb.
---
She was curled in a fetal position, breathing shallow, panicked breaths as she watched the shadows of people leaping to their deaths.
The plane was now rushing over an island, people didn't know what to do: jumping into water was one thing, but onto land? Branches of trees scraped the plane; Jolie heard screams and a harsh, heavy crunch as metal folded into stone like a taco. Her head whipped hard against the plastic wall behind her, and a thick blanket settled over her, darkening her vision, slowing her breathing as blood trickled down her forehead and death stepped in. The plane was smoking, fire breathing from its windows, and who knew how many worlds were ending.
----------
Well… how was that? I tried not to rush it, I really tried. But I think I understand why William Golding simply skipped to the lost-on-an-island part. That's how I started the role play version of Perpetuum (if you're interested, contact me). But I wanted to give a nice introduction to the characters, especially Zahava and Jolie. I should probably take more time on chapters, but if I overthink things turn out shoddy, and a lot of the time I'll start thinking my ideas are stupid if I take too long with them. So… read and review, advanced critique encouraged, happy New Year, everybody!