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Coconut Trees
by Anton M.
Chapter 4: Body Heat
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"Your mother must be shouting from the rooftops what a kind, successful man she brought up."
Darcy's face twisted. He folded the plastic left in his hands with a degree of care uncommon for the task. "My mother passed away a few months after you and I…"
Elizabeth took hold of his wrist, remembering his kind, wonderful mother, a woman who had supported Elizabeth in her decisions more than her own parents ever had. Elizabeth had only known her for three or four months, two of which she spent dating her son, but the woman left a deep impression on her.
"I'm sorry, Darcy," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
Darcy nodded, closing his eyes. "Her cancer came back so quickly and violently, I didn't have the heart to tell her that you and I— didn't work out. I couldn't. She loved talking about our wedding and what she wanted us to name our— Even on her deathbed, she—" Darcy took a breath before coughing into his sleeve. "Anyway, that's what happened."
Elizabeth knew that Anne had disliked both of Darcy's previous girlfriends, and although his mother had never voiced it to Darcy, he'd always known. The difference in his mother's behaviour around Elizabeth spoke for itself, and he couldn't blame her.
His first two girlfriends were based on his idea of the kind of woman he should've dated rather than a real passion, connection or interest, so when he was hit over the head with Elizabeth and she didn't match any of his ideas of the kind of woman he felt he should've been with, he didn't handle it very well.
"I would've been there," Elizabeth said. "Had you told me."
"I know," he replied, unwilling to admit how close to calling her he'd been, but he knew that if he had, she would've stayed, and he didn't want her to stay with him for her pity or comfort. But, in doing so, he'd prevented Elizabeth from saying goodbye to his mother.
"I'm sorry for not telling you."
"No," Elizabeth replied. "We had a— ghastly break-up. I said some unforgivable things to you."
"As did I."
The smiles they shared were bittersweet, and they didn't repeat their words of forgiveness. Perhaps, with time, if they had any, they would clear the air of the mess they'd made, but for now, it was enough to know that they both had regrets, and they were both forgiven.
"Why does Lei believe us to be married?"
Elizabeth looked around to see if they had any onlookers, but the whistling wind gave their conversation more privacy than any locked room ever could.
"I did not correct them, yesterday – to prevent any unwanted advances," she glanced at the corner where she believed George Wickham to be before squeezing Darcy's wrist. "I'll set them straight if it makes you uncomfortable."
"No," he replied, eyes sharp, before he took time coughing into his elbow. Finally, having cleared his throat, he adjusted his scarf, and locked eyes with her. "It's better that they believe it."
Elizabeth, suddenly aware of her hand around his wrist, let go and tightened her hold on her knees under the blanket.
"What did he do?"
"He slipped GHB in my sister's drink at a party," Darcy said, voice equally quiet. "He denied it, of course, but he was the one trying to put her in his car when she was almost passed out. I made it to the scene just before anything else could happen, and took her to the hospital."
"Jesus," she replied. "And he walked away?"
"No evidence."
Still reeling from the news of his mother's death, this extra information did not fill Elizabeth with hope. The blueish view from the windows hadn't changed, and neither had the wind that whistled against the cracks of the plane. It was getting colder, if that were possible.
"What brought you to China, anyway?" Elizabeth asked, eager to prolong the conversation before having to deal with the reality of their situation.
"A conference on the most recent advances on paediatric surgery," he replied. "Five days. I said no, initially. There was an eager first year resident willing to die for the spot, but the head of my department was worried she didn't yet have the necessary prerequisite knowledge to take full advantage of the conference."
"You didn't already have pneumonia when you departed for Beijing, did you?"
"I may be proud but I'm not mad."
Elizabeth smiled in spite of herself. "When did it start?"
"The first night, I thought I got a cold, but it got so bad I spent the day before yesterday in my hotel instead of the conference. I saw a doctor yesterday evening – didn't speak a word of English, but her prescription was reasonable enough, so it didn't matter."
"You were not in business class."
"Did you think I'd never fly economy?"
Elizabeth shifted, resting her cheek against the blanket on her knees. "I may have."
"I'm glad to have surprised you." He paused, glancing at the wall of snow in front of them. "I'd be dead had I chosen differently."
"That –" She cut herself off and eyed the snow, shuddering. "It defies description."
They held each other's gaze. This time, it was Darcy who sought out her hand in her lap under the blankets, and he squeezed hers tightly. His eyes had a raw tenderness in them that twisted her stomach in the most precious way, and she took his cold hand in both of hers to warm it. The gesture, although simple, felt infinitely intimate.
"What about you?" he asked, as if he wasn't holding her hand under the blankets without an explanation. "What were you doing in Beijing?"
"Do you remember my college friend Liling? She had a friend who had… generous financial means to pay for my trip to Tianjin if I agreed to be their wedding photographer for all three days of their ceremonies. I couldn't pass up an opportunity like that."
"I'm glad you're doing so well. You deserve it."
Her smile was gentle.
"I'm glad I sent them a few previews, although delivering them photos is probably the least of my concerns. Imagine liking someones photography enough to hire them from across the world only to lose all photos to a plane crash."
"You didn't create backups yet?"
"I did, but they're with me."
The edge of his mouth twitched. "Makes for a great story, though, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, if we're survived by our photos… they will tell many stories."
His pursed lips and a deep breath were followed by a rumbling cough, and Elizabeth rubbed his hand. She could tell by his glassy eyes and the tilting of his head that he must've had a massive headache from his fever, and she would've been concerned in the best of circumstances. But here, now? It was excruciating, seeing him so ill. She had a thousand and one questions for him, but they had to wait.
"You should sleep."
Resting his temple against the back of the chair, he shut his eyes. "No. I should check on the wounded."
"Some are still sleeping," she argued. "You're better sleeping for a few more hours. Then, if you're up for it, you can check on everyone at the same time without disturbing their sleep."
She was pressing on the right spot with her words – his eyes searched hers before he nodded. Elizabeth squeezed his hand, unwilling to let go, but she took a breath and gently pushed it back in his lap.
"Where are you going?"
"I'll just get your medicine."
He swallowed the pills without argument, and she covered him with their pile of cloth and tucked the edges around his body. His chest rumbled as he hummed.
"What?"
His exhausted eyes met hers, and he only said three of the most innocent words, but they cut her deep.
"This is nice."
They had truly, incredibly, called a truce, and she'd never thought relief could feel so overwhelming and full of hope. Whatever may come, they could talk without accusations, shouting and a slew of misapprehensions, and the experience was quite alien to her.
"Promise – that you will come here if you start to get cold," he said, but his eyes were already shut as he half-sat, half-lay, sideways on the chairs.
"I will."
"Promise."
"I promise," she whispered, squeezing his shoulder, already feeling the ruthless chill in the airplane. Adrenaline had kept her going all morning, but now that she'd had time to allow her brain to occupy itself with other matters, some painful but necessary decisions crept closer.
15 people had survived the night. Two had perished, Anna's son Yevgeni and Lei's sister Juan. And one, as Elizabeth saw, listed as red in Kitty's list of people, the one with his leg cut off, was moaning quietly.
Elizabeth crouched beside the man. "Sir?"
He did not answer. She checked his pulse, not for its absence but strength, and felt a weak but steady heartbeat. Darcy would have to see if there was anything they could do for him.
Elizabeth also remembered Kitty's comment about not daring to touch people who might be dead, and one by one, she checked for the pulse of all fourteen people – excluding the two who had died in the night – and found one other, a woman with short hair and glasses, with a pulse. That meant that, in total, 17 people had survived (two of them unconscious), and 16 were dead.
Elizabeth had never experienced a more surreal feeling than realising that they had all slept feet away from a row of dead people next to the snow.
She took a few photos of the morning before going to the lavatory and witnessing what the earlier commotion had been about – the lavatory, although usable, reeked. The flush, of course, did not work, and they'd have to find a more permanent solution later, but Elizabeth bore the inconvenience without complaint. Their loss of body heat was a much bigger concern, and would probably be their biggest threat.
She stepped closer to a group of people, talking quietly by the galley. Charlotte, Orri, Fatemeh and Mary were sharing stories about what had brought them to China, but they silenced when Elizabeth had leaned against the wall for a few minutes, listening to them.
"How's your husband?" Fatemeh asked.
Elizabeth ignored the tug she felt at the word. She'd probably ensured that she'd never be in a position to call him her husband after understanding that she would never be what he wanted in a wife, so the casual reference to Darcy as her husband felt painful but dear.
"It's tough to say," Elizabeth said. "He seems better, but he's the type to suffer in silence and downplay how bad it is."
"What about his fever?"
"It seems lower, but I'll measure it after he's awake again."
"It may get better after he's able to cough out some of that rumble in his chest," Mary offered.
"I hope so."
Worried eyes met hers, but they had no advice for handling pneumonia that would've been easy to apply in a plane crash.
Charlotte tapped the door of the lavatory with her foot. "We were just discussing if we'll need to create a sort-of bathroom, in that snow in the front."
"We'll need the snow to cover us from the wind," Fatemeh said.
"What about taking one of those galley containers and having a—" Elizabeth smiled at herself for her idea. "—a kind of box, I guess, that could go in the bathroom. That way we don't melt the snow that's protecting us from the wind but we can still empty out the waste."
"Shit, why didn't I think of that?" Fatemeh said.
"Shit is correct." Orri laughed.
Elizabeth stepped closer to the galley containers. "The real question is," she said, pulling out one of the metal boxes. "Are they waterproof and can they be removed?"
They opened several until they found one with only a few sandwiches in it, and tucked the sandwiches in another box. The boxes were removable and seemed waterproof, which was good news for when they had to start melting snow for drinking, but time would tell.
The container fit in the lavatory floor but left little room for feet.
"Do you know if the key to the garbage disposal might be in the stewardess' pocket?" Charlotte asked. "Or is there a master key that they hide somewhere? The garbage bin, if we can get to it, might be a good alternative."
Nobody knew. They'd search later, but for now, the galley containers – one in each lavatory – would have to do.
Elizabeth observed the group, knowing her proposal would be controversial but necessary.
"We'll have to strip the dead people for clothes."
Four pairs of eyes looked at her.
"What the fuck." Orri raised his eyebrows. "Some of us have loved ones over there. Will you leave them with no dignity? We have enough clothes for now."
"We really don't," Elizabeth said. "I'm sorry. I know it's tough, and it's not a decision anyone wants to take responsibility for but I can do it. I'll convince everyone on the plane, one by one, if I must, but we must do this."
"But there is no need for it!" Orri argued. "We're fine! Everyone is fine."
He looked around for an agreement but the others remained silent.
"How much do you weigh?" Fatemeh asked.
"What?"
"You heard me – how much do you weigh? Do you want me to start guessing?"
Orri shifted in his spot, uncomfortable. "120 kilograms." (265 pounds)
"Look at that girl sleeping over there," Elizabeth said, pointing at Kitty. "How about her?"
"40, maybe 50?" Orri guessed, red-faced.
"Most of us could die or lose our toes if something as small as a pile of blankets fell off of us at night and we were to delirious with hunger to realise. It is freezing. I could go breathe on the mirror in the bathroom and draw a frog and it might actually stay there and start freezing over."
Orri did not meet her eyes.
"What material are your jeans?"
"What?"
"Cotton? 100%? The usual?"
He shifted.
"I'm not blaming you, hell – I'm wearing 100% cotton jeans. Amazing if you have to fight a minor fire but pretty deadly in the snow. Snow will stick, melt against your skin, and before you know it, you're hypothermal." Elizabeth looked at the bewildered faces around her, although Mary and Fatemeh seemed to agree with her.
"I'm not asking any of you to like it but you must, you must find a way to make peace with this decision. I'm not asking for their underwear. But if that were you in that row of people, would you not want the survivors to have the absolute best shot at not dying of hypothermia?"
Now that Darcy and his warmth were far from Elizabeth, she felt the chill of the airplane in her bones, and as everyone woke up and Elizabeth spoke to them, she met with less resistance than what Orri had allowed her to believe. People were shivering, some had numb extremities, and the only person who did not allow taking off any clothes from his relatives was Lei. His dead mother was wearing what was perhaps the longest, warmest puffer jacket among them, but Elizabeth, Roger and Anna did not argue and left all the clothes on his mother and sister.
They double-checked the bodies for signs of life but found none.
Everyone was so hungry and eager to be warm that they did, in fact, end up stripping the dead to their underwear. It felt wrong and surreal and dream-like, and looking at the almost-naked dead made Elizabeth feel eerie, but she knew how much this had to be done. A few people fought over some items, a few tried stuff on that was too small or large, and a few ended up with very little to choose from.
They did not, of course, undress the man and the woman who were unconscious but not dead, and they even added a few items under their chests and around their necks to (hopefully) keep them warm.
Anna cried as she took off her son's clothes. She held them to her chest before she pressed them against Elizabeth and whispered, "Dlya Darcy." (For Darcy)
Elizabeth felt tears in her throat and hugged the woman, clothes between them. Anna sobbed against her, and Elizabeth wished she could apologise to her, console or soothe her, and yet Anna's voice was so determined that Elizabeth felt maybe Anna had made more peace with this decision than she herself had.
People exchanged items, and once the energy of the initial quarrels wore off, everyone got dressed in silence. This was no time or place for modesty, and many stripped to their underwear to add extra layers under their clothes. Elizabeth put on polyester leggings from a purple-haired woman but gave her tank top to Kitty. However, there were several people squabbling over the best jackets, and although Elizabeth's was still barely enough to keep her from the cold, she did not join the little quarrels. She'd received an extra long T-shirt – although cotton, which meant she had to be careful not to sweat much – and a polyacryl wool blend of a cardigan that made her hate the fashion cycle where everything was cropped. The jacket she put on top of hers was lightweight and almost useless but at least it was an extra layer. She wore an extra hat and gloves.
It would have to do.
Everyone but Darcy had woken up. George and Mary broke something beside the door and spent a good half an hour pulling out the tarp-like material of the door slide. Li and Elizabeth joined them as they covered the dead with the orange tarp, and Elizabeth wasn't sure if she felt more or less unsettled, no longer seeing their bodies. It was eerie, and they all felt it, but it was easier not having to look at the bodies.
Darcy woke up to the noise of the tarp sliding against the seats, and took in the scene in front of him. He took in the changed clothes, the added hats and mittens, and the bare toes that peeked out from underneath the tarp before Elizabeth and Fatemeh tucked all the edges under the bodies. Anna was praying.
When Elizabeth locked eyes with Darcy's, he saw the disbelief and terror in them, but she took a small pile of clothes and walked up to him. He did not argue when she put a thermometer in his mouth.
"This is surreal," she said, looking around, watching people form sentences and talk as if what they'd done hadn't been the most wildly uncomfortable thing any of them had ever participated in.
"39 degrees." (102.2 F)
It was better than the previous day but not by much.
Darcy's eyes narrowed at her attire – she did not appear to have changed much, at least in terms of warmth, and he put the clothes she'd given him beside his seat before pulling her flush against his chest and wrapping the blanket around her.
"Elizabeth, you're freezing."
She could not argue. His chest and breath against her ear offered her more warmth than any thin extra layers she'd managed to add to her clothes.
"Why did you not take any of the clothes the others have?"
"There's not enough for all. Some people only had a layover in Montreal. It shows."
Darcy cursed under his breath but squeezed her closer as he observed the crowd. His chest rumbled as he spoke. "Who got that puffer jacket Lei's mum wore?"
They had all longingly looked at the beige puffer jacket, long and warm-looking, and the decision not to use it was wildly controversial, but nobody argued directly with Lei.
"Nobody."
"You're kidding me."
"No," she whispered. "Lei is mourning. He doesn't want us to use it. It's okay."
"It's not okay. There is no time to mourn. Do you have to suffer because he is taking his sweet little time—"
He was starting to shift her off his lap to go talk to Lei, but Elizabeth squeezed his side under the blankets.
"Darcy," Elizabeth whispered. "I'm cold. Please help me get warm."
She was appealing to his kind side, the side he kept most hidden, and hoped that he cared enough for her that her plea would work.
It did.
They were, quite possibly, the only words she could've said to keep him in place, and he wrapped his arms around her, tightly, locking her own arms underneath his and pressing her back against his stomach. She pulled the blankets over their shoulders, leaning her head back against his chest, and Darcy rested his chin on her head in a way that kept her cheek warm against his neck. Elizabeth felt a violent tug at her heart at his precious response to her words, and when he leaned his head forward in a way that made her confident he pressed his lips against the top of her head, Elizabeth let out a breath against his neck.
"Better?" he whispered.
"Much."
They sat in silence as she warmed up, observing the discussions around them, and although Darcy shot daggers at George when he walked around offering Dove chocolate to every person, they both accepted a piece. Slowly, Darcy gathered his energy to look at the wounded.
Kitty walked up to them, opening her mouth to say something when a distinct tap against the airplane made everyone fall silent. Eyes met, full of hope and terror, and everyone waited for the tap to repeat.
Mary squeezed past Charlotte and Orri to see outside when three blows against the wall rang in their ears. It was a sharp, steel-like echo, created in perfect rhythm.
"What is it?" Kitty whispered. "What can you see?"
"I see nothing," Mary replied, and others flocked to the windows, confirming the same. The blizzard prevented a view of any kind.
"What if it's a wild animal? A bear, maybe?"
"A terrorist?"
"Oh for fucks sake, open the door," Darcy said. "It's probably a human. We'd have to be the unluckiest bastards in the universe if whoever it was had nefarious intentions."
"We're saved," William Collins whispered. "Our prayers have been answered!"
Fatemeh and Mary walked to the door before Mary pulled the lever.
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