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Coconut Trees
by Anton M.
Chapter 18: Yakutsk
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"Ma'am," Pauline, a small, brown-haired woman squeezed Elizabeth's shoulder. "We're beginning descent. It's time to wake up."
Elizabeth's eyes adjusted to the dim light, remembering where she was as she blinked at the seven people facing her, most of them asleep. Pauline woke them. Sleepy, confused eyes met as Lakshmi, the pilot, shut off the inside lights entirely. Bright stars were visible from the small windows as the helicopter began to descend. Yakutsk, enveloped in snow, was a cluster of light under them.
"What's the date today?" Charlotte half-yelled. A few people laughed.
"It's Thursday, the fourteenth of December," Filip replied, grinning. "It's -15 degrees Celsius outside and 17:25 local time."
"What does that mean?" Lei asked.
"5:25 PM," Santiago corrected, amused. "Most of Europe lives in military time."
"And yet none of us is American enough to call it military time," Filip quipped, stifling a smile. Elizabeth and William Collins corrected their watches to push them forward by an hour. Darcy's watch had shown 4:25.
"There's a beautiful Geminid meteor shower happening since yesterday, but most of you slept through it."
"Aww," Kitty replied, rubbing her sleepy face. "You should've said it before. I would've stayed up."
"That's okay, you can probably see some from the bus," Maisie replied in her heavy Scottish accent. "We're landing in Yakutsk airport and a bus will deliver us to Almaz Hotel. You'll get half an hour to drop off your stuff before we all go to Yakutsk City Hospital for a mandatory check-up. A few immigration officers will help you with initial paperwork as well. It may sound silly, but you are not to separate from the group before the mandatory immigration bureaucracy is over."
"Some of us don't have money," Orri said. "Will everything be covered?"
"If you keep your receipts of the hotel and food I think the airline is obliged to cover your stay."
"About that…"
Mary summarised their problem—their stolen credit and debit cards—and the rescue team looked at each other, concerned.
"Okay, that is a problem," Pauline said. "We can contact the people responsible for the rescue effort but I can't guarantee that they can do anything today. Paperwork takes time in Russia. I would happily give you some myself but most of my money is locked in investments."
"Is there an ATM nearby?" Roger asked. "Dame Catherine has generously offered to loan us some money."
The Mi-17 landed in the corner of the airport. Doors were opened, and yellow street lights illuminated the cold darkness of the evening.
The group stepped off the chopper, feeling the onslaught of civilization—a dog barking in the distance, a landing plane, two Russians arguing a few hundred metres from them. Goodbyes were said to the rescue team, to everyone except Maisie and Filip. Suitcases pressed tracks on the stiff, plowed snow as the group exited the airport through a side-gate, passing a thin metal fence with barbed wire on top. A white, old-looking bus with a black stripe on the side awaited them, and it was surprisingly warm inside.
The bus took off.
"Welcome to Yakutsk!" the driver, sounding jolly, yelled in a Russian accent. "Coldest city in the world! You very lucky indeed that this December the warmest for years! But do not worry, my friends, our carpets and protected windows will not let you down."
The bus driver Yuri continued to talk, excited and proud of the Yakutsk way of life—the blankets on top of cars, the warm bus stops, the almost-empty streets because few inhabitants had the money to maintain cars in mid-winter temperatures below -50 degrees Celsius. It was an unusually warm December, he said, only -20 at night. He spoke about his son doing his Bachelor's in Sydney and his love of American movies, and Orri sat close to him for a chat.
They drove through some pot holes, and it was jarring to witness a casual life in snow-covered, semi-urban Yakutsk. The square, beige apartment buildings felt Russian even without the signs that nobody but Anna understood, and they took out rubles from an ATM before the bus pulled up in front of a mediocre-looking hotel with a staircase that showed more utility than design. Rooms were divided and shared, and even Dame Catherine had to share a room with Fatemeh due to her feet. Elizabeth shared a room with Kitty, a room so ugly with black and pink tapestry on the walls that both grinned at each other as they dropped off their luggage and used the bathroom.
"Well, compared to the plane crash, we'll live like kings," Elizabeth joked.
Kitty laughed.
"Please take a photo of this room after you've charged your camera's batteries," she said. "My family will never believe that a hotel room could be this ugly."
Everyone returned to the bus, tired but at least somewhat refreshed and energised by the situation. Yakutsk City Hospital, as sterile-looking as hospitals come, had a standard white and pastel interior, and the Russian in the hallways made everyone feel out of place, but they all went through a full check-up. Dame Catherine, Charlotte and William Collins were admitted into the hospital. Kitty received a course of antibiotics for a UTI she barely felt, and Orri had pulled a muscle on his back.
Charlotte was prepared for immediate surgery.
They reunited with Li Na and her baby, who required phototherapy for jaundice but was otherwise healthy and unharmed. Sam, in a different department, smiled and joked with most of the survivors but refused to acknowledge Elizabeth and Roger. Nevertheless, Sam was a sight for sore eyes, and when Roger and Elizabeth left his room, Roger patted Elizabeth on her shoulder.
"He'll come around," he said. Elizabeth nodded, hoping he was right.
The doctor checking Elizabeth, frustratingly, didn't know of a Fitzwilliam Darcy, and Elizabeth felt jittery and nervous as a result. She had to ask Maisie to inquire about him. Maisie returned with a short, bald doctor, a Dr. Miroslav Nikitin. He held his head permanently to the left, perhaps an old injury, and he seemed in a rush as he motioned for Elizabeth to walk next to him.
"Are you Mr. Darcy's wife?"
Elizabeth hesitated.
"It is not my business," the doctor corrected himself. "I don't care. I was just curious. He has a photo of you in his wallet, so you are clearly important to him. Come."
They walked upstairs, turned a corner, and before Elizabeth had moved forward, Dr. Nikitin put a hand in front of her and faced her, stopping them both.
"I do not want to shock you with what you will see," he said, pausing. "Mr. Darcy had empyema, pus in the pleural space in his chest. We removed what we could with a needle but we had to put him in induced coma. Machines will breathe for him until we get his pneumonia under control."
Elizabeth felt tightness in her throat.
"It's Doctor Darcy, actually. He's a neonatal surgeon."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Good that you had him in the crash," the man said, almost without emotion. "Ask for his items on the first floor in the reception, if you wish. I think your picture in his wallet is proof enough of your relationship."
He motioned to the hallway. "Do you want to see him?"
"Please," she whispered.
She had to disinfect her hands, wear a mask and a blue layer for fear of further infection, but a moment later, she walked into the blue and white room. Darcy's imposing figure lay on the bed, thinner now that she saw him without a coat. He was pale and unmoving. A big breathing tube went into his mouth and a smaller one entered his nose. It was such a disarming sight, seeing him in a coma on a ventilator. He felt so fragile and vulnerable, and she felt like snuggling up against him to be reassured that he was okay.
He was not okay, of course.
She took his hand, his lukewarm, limp hand, and squeezed it. She would've kissed it but she respected their protocol for masks. Instead, she rubbed his hand, hoping he could feel it.
"I will not lie to you," Dr. Nikitin said. "It is about 50/50 whether he makes it through the next 24 hours. It is good if you prepare his family."
Elizabeth swallowed her tears. "Can you give me a minute alone with him?"
The doctor left, and Elizabeth took Darcy's hand in her lap, surrounding it with her own, admiring his strong, capable fingers, the dark hair on his forearms and the bracelet nobody had taken off. His severe eyebrows felt almost kind from this angle.
"I love you," she said, annoyed that she felt like crying again, but she kept it in, only feeling the burn of it in her throat. "And I will never forgive you if you give up, do you hear me? You cannot. You will have to live. Because I need you here, and I want to stay up until two AM at Bingley's with you because we cannot agree on whether humans are brilliant or stupid to send radio signals into space. So you see, you have no other choice but to pull through this."
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Maisie, apparently fluent in Russian, helped everyone fill in forms for a temporary visa, and two immigration officers with broken English questioned everyone in a nearby building. It took several exhausting hours to go through, and the evening passed as a blur for all of the survivors. All they wanted was to contact their families, but the bureaucracy felt endless, and many of them were told that nothing could be done about their paperwork before embassy representatives could fly in from Moscow or specific instructions were sent for visa requirements from their respective countries.
None of the survivors were allowed to depart from the group until their temporary visas were issued, and one of the immigration officers, a smily and curly-haired Milena Zhuk was to always accompany them to ensure they complied with the rule.
The bus took the survivors back to the hotel at around nine PM, and two more people from the rescue operation joined them with laptops and phones. A nearby restaurant, Kare, an eight-minute walk away from the Almaz Hotel, had been booked for the evening. Fourteen people, nine survivors and five people related to the rescue, showed up to a homey place with non-matching furniture and warm lighting.
Elizabeth was overwhelmed by the day. It was surreal, entering the cozy restaurant, seeing families talking and a couple holding hands. It felt so normal, like nothing had changed in the world, while she felt so changed. Everything Elizabeth saw, she saw with new eyes. She couldn't help it.
They took off their (several) layers of coats and grinned as they realized just how bizarre their clothing was in a restaurant. Elizabeth still had that cropped, purple polyacryl cardigan on top of a grey, long-sleeved T-shirt, and Kitty wore a neon T-shirt over an old, brown sweater. Roger's pink hoodie had a sparkly unicorn on it.
One of the new people of the rescue operation, Grigoriy, promised to cover dinner for all of them, and laughter filled the air as they translated and ordered food. Elizabeth swooned at the vegetarian options. Yes, she had eaten ham after the plane crash, but more than her sustainability concerns, she'd been worried that her stomach could no longer handle bigger pieces of meat after years of vegetarianism. She was surprised but thrilled for having a choice.
The aroma of warm food was irresistible, and the survivors dug in with almost rude enthusiasm, dipping bread into soups, laughing with their mouths full, clinking glasses together, sharing what they'd missed most about sitting in a warm, cozy restaurant with friends. Some of the Russians had been concerned that the newcomers would dislike their food, but three days of hunger cured them of (any potential) pickiness. Already they felt like they were watching themselves in a dream, regardless of the particular food served.
Maisie took a few photos of them before she spoke to the rest of the rescue team, and all five of them put their phones and three laptops on the table.
"We have four phones with internet and one where all international calls will be covered by the rescue efforts. You can sign into your social media to call your families but we strongly advise against posting anything or reacting to anything before everyone's families have been informed," Filip said, grinning. "Who wants to go first?"
Most people pointed at Elizabeth but Lei cleared his throat.
"I think it's fair that you go first," he said to Elizabeth. "You're the reason they found us. But I'd like to get my call over with as soon as possible. I'll call after you if that's okay."
"No, you start," Elizabeth said.
It was an odd experience, trying to contact their families without their own phones or laptops. Very few of them knew any of their family members' phone numbers by heart. For Lei, this meant googling his father (he didn't have Facebook) before finding his work phone number, and Grigoriy found that the local time in Wilmington, Delaware, was 10 AM. Lei waited, resting his forehead against his palm, and the entire group held their breaths, worried that the man wouldn't answer, but the silence bothered Lei and he motioned for the rest of them to continue finding their own numbers.
"Associate Partner Carter Zhong of King & Allen, how may I help you?"
Lei paused, his lip quivering before he pressed them together.
"Hi, dad," he whispered, barely holding himself together. He nudged Juan, and together, the two walked away from the table to the window, and spent ten emotional minutes talking to their father. When Lei returned, he put the phone down and gave them a tight smile but avoided their eyes. Roger patted the teenager on his back and continued talking, taking attention away from him.
"He was happy Juan and I made it," Lei said, finally, voice barely above a whisper. "He was sure he'd lost all of us."
It was a sobering thought, to see the other side. Lei had been so terrified to deliver the news of his mother that he hadn't realized that his father had thought he'd lost all of them. Because it had been 72 hours since their disappearance, getting a call from his son and finding out Lei and Juan were alive meant that, instead of losing his entire family, he gained two sons.
Lei's father wanted come to Yakutsk for his kids, but the rescue team guided Lei in what information to send to his father with regards to a Russian visa. As much as Carter Zhong wanted to step on the first flight to Russia, he couldn't.
Kitty handed a phone across the table to Elizabeth, and, with sparkling eyes, said, "You next."
Elizabeth grinned, not sure if her emotions could take the call ahead of her.
"Wait, I'll give you the computer so that you can sign into your Facebook—"
"No, that's okay," Elizabeth said. "I know the numbers of all my family members by heart. Can I add them on your WhatsApp?"
Grigoriy nodded.
"If you're comfortable with it, we'd love to have them on speaker phone," Maisie said, smiling.
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Bingley balanced the breakfast tray on his one hand and a laptop under his armpit as he opened the door to their bedroom and shut it as quietly as he could, but Jane was not asleep. She gave Bingley a tight smile as she looked up from breastfeeding their son Aiden, now three days old. Neither of them had slept much, and not for a lack of trying.
Jane was still recovering from her C-section. It had been an eventful three days.
"Any news?"
"A rumour of an SOS signal in some niche forums for short-wave radio enthusiasts is circling around," Bingley replied. "Some claim to have a recording of it but I haven't had luck so far. Could be sensational nonsense for clicks. Without evidence, it sounds too good to be true."
"They're saying it could be the next MH370," Jane replied. "They lost this one on the radar already in North China."
Bingley didn't reply. He feared the same, but for the sake of Jane, he did not voice his agreement.
"Remember that they only properly started searching last night," he reminded her. "And it's just lunchtime. There is hope."
Jane hummed, ever-kind and patient. "Thank you for—funding one of the rescue teams."
Bingley opened the legs of the breakfast tray and moved it between them, sighing. He squeezed her knee and opened his laptop.
Jane brushed her fingers over Aiden's head, kissing it. Her thoughts were far away.
"It just had to be Lizzie, you know?" she whispered, attempting a smile. "She was so terrified of plane crashes as a kid she used to break coconuts against some rock or another in our backyard."
"She was always obsessed with coconuts," Bingley replied, happy to keep his girlfriend reminiscing and not crying. "Do you know why?"
Jane smiled, and although it was sad, it reached her (red) eyes. "She always thought she'd end up on some lonely island – because of course she would – and that she'd have to learn to break coconuts without tools. You know all these people who swear they can open a bottle of beer with just about any item? Through the years Lizzie got so good at cracking coconuts it's like her party trick. Darcy always teased her about it… But, of course, even if they survived, it would be completely useless in the northern hemisphere in winter."
"I still can't believe they ended up on the same flight. Fate is weird."
"Fate is nonsense."
"You don't think fate brought us together?"
"My friend Margaret brought us together," Jane replied, teasing him, but her smile faded soon. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I wish I was working right now. I have too much time to think about Lizzie, and everything I did wrong, you know? She struggled so much in school, and all I did was believe my parents when they said she just needed to try harder. She was so smart, smarter than any of us… She was like a sponge. She could watch a documentary and recite it back to you, and you saw her debates with Darcy. Darcy never met his match until she came around, and— I just feel like I have unfinished business with her. I owe her so many apologies, and she always handled all our family emergencies with a cool head and never got thanked for it because she couldn't show academic results. I feel like I failed her."
"Honey..."
Jane raised her teary eyes. "Imagine being her. Black sheep of our family because my parents raised us to be focused on grades and exams and getting into college. Anything she did, any grades she got, anything she achieved—nothing was good enough because we'd done it better. If she's dead… I don't know how— I don't know how I'll live with myself. I don't. She deserved a better family than we were to her, and now I can't even—make it better."
Jane took a shaky breath, and Bingley pressed his lips tightly together, saying nothing. He kissed her forehead.
"I know," he replied. "I know."
Jane sniffed, trying to gather herself. "I forgot to ask. Did you catch Georgie yesterday?"
"I did," Bingley said. "She's… in a bad state. She's considering coming to the UK, and I'm all for it. She can stay here, obviously, but… there is nothing extra that she can do in London. It might help her more to have school and homework to distract her. It sucks to feel so helpless."
Jane opened her mouth to reply when Bingley's phone started blaring. She gave Bingley a warning look when their son started shifting around.
"I'm sorry. I'll put it on vibrate from now on, I promise. I just don't want to miss it if the rescue team is trying to reach me."
He took the phone from his pocket to decline the call but saw a number starting with +7. China started with +86.
Bingley looked up.
"It's from Russia."
Jane took a sharp breath, squeezing his hand. "What are you waiting for? Take it! Put it on speaker!"
Bingley accepted the call.
"Hi, you're talking to Charles Bingley."
"Good afternoon, Charles Bingley," Elizabeth copied with a smile in her voice. "Is my sister Jane Bennet there, since you insist on being so formal?"
Bingley and Jane locked their teary eyes.
"Oh my God," Jane whispered. "Oh my God. I can't— I don't— Oh my God."
A group of people could be heard laughing behind Elizabeth.
"I do not oppose becoming a deity," Elizabeth teased. "But yes, it's me."
"Lizzie? How did you—? When did you—? Is it really you?"
"It's me," Elizabeth said with a soft voice. "I can't tell you how beautiful your voice sounds."
"I disagree," Jane said, sobbing silently. "You sound like an angel but better because you're real. I'm not dreaming, am I? Where are you?"
"Yakutsk," Elizabeth replied. "Siberia. There's a beautiful cozy restaurant here with the most delicious potatoes and veg patties. You should visit sometime."
Jane laughed through her tears.
"Wait, Kitty wants to tell you something."
"Kitty?" Jane repeated. "Who's Kitty?"
"I made some friends along the way," Elizabeth replied. The smile didn't leave her voice.
A bit of shuffling later, a girl's voice spoke. "What your sister is forgetting to tell you is that she saved us!"
"Oh, don't exaggera—"
"She did!" A man interrupted. "Elizabeth built the transmitter all through the night. We used it to transmit the signal today morning."
"Sam was the one who—"
"Sure, sure. Blame it on Sam. He corrected two wires, two, and the moment he did you knew why he did it. Had you looked at the transmitter five more minutes, you would've discovered the flaw he corrected. If he hadn't made it through midnight, we would all still be here, in this restaurant, all because of you."
Tear's escaped Jane's eyes.
"That's amazing," Jane whispered. "I'm so proud of you. Are you okay?"
"Exhausted beyond human capacity, but yeah. Can't wait to get a full night's sleep, though."
"Oh, Lizzie. I want to hear it all but I'm afraid we also need a good night's sleep after this news. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Both sniffed on the phone, but Bingley cleared his throat. "How many of you survived?"
"Fifteen that we know of," Elizabeth replied.
Bingley and Jane looked at each other, and Bingley's lips, for the first time, began to quiver. There had been 376 passengers and 11 crew on the flight.
"Elizabeth," Bingley said. "I don't know if you know but Darcy was on the same flight with you. Did he make it?"
He held his breath.
"Yes," Elizabeth said, hesitating. "He survived but he's in the ICU in an induced coma on a ventilator. His doctor said he has a 50/50 chance of surviving the next 24 hours, and… he told me to prepare his family."
"Fuck."
Elizabeth seemed to shuffle around as a chair scraped against the floor, and when she spoke again, the background noise was gone.
"I'm… I'm trying to stay positive," Elizabeth whispered. "He has to make it, but I will… keep you updated. On that note, though, I need to ask you—do you know if Darcy ever changed his medical power of attorney back to Georgie after we broke up?"
"I… I don't know. It's possible. He was… angry and heartbroken."
"I'll ask Georgie," Elizabeth replied. "Please don't post this on social media before the news has officially broken. We're trying to contact all loved ones before the media gets a hold of the situation."
"Of course," Jane replied. "Have you called mom and dad?"
"No, and I'll also call Georgie. We only have a limited number of phones for the night, so I'll talk to you longer tomorrow, okay? Love you both. Don't go into labour before I'm back."
Jane and Bingley laughed, caressing the head of their newborn, but their smile was such that both understood this to be news they wanted Elizabeth to see in person.
"I will make sure to do that," Jane joked, in spite of the bundle in her arms. "Take care of yourself, get a good night's sleep and keep us as updated about Darcy as you can. Love you more than words can say, Lizzie."
Elizabeth cut the call. Bingley kneeled next to Jane as he cupped her jaw and kissed her, and their eyes shimmered when they pulled back. Neither could control the grins on their faces.
"If what they say is true about Elizabeth, she'll be famous," Bingley said, kissing Aiden's head.
Jane gave him a gentle, kind smile, sniffing the head of their son.
"Good," she whispered. "I'm sure Lizzie will be indifferent or annoyed by the attention but our parents and sisters might need to be smacked over the head with it."
Bingley shut his laptop and removed the tray from between them. He paused.
"Do you think Elizabeth and Darcy—?"
"I… don't know," Jane said. "If he was unconscious for three days, I doubt they did much talking, but… at least Lizzie didn't want him dead, right? That's a start."
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