The Raft (3 page)

The flight was supposed to be wheels up around five, putting us on the ground at Midway about eleven or so. During nesting season for the albatross, the Midway runway had hundreds of thousands of bird crossings a day, potential disaster if a jet engine sucked one in, or even if the G-1 collided with a bird. Albatross weigh about fifteen pounds; they’re like a flying cannonball with feathers. So flights could only land and take off there at night, when the birds were less active.

I never really got used to flying all that way over water at night. I wasn’t scared, because I’d been flying since I was little, but I still tried my best not to think about it. Knowing Larry, and trusting him, helped a lot. I’d taken the G-1 back and forth to Midway probably twenty or so times, most of those at night. Larry could probably fly the route blindfolded.

I waited for them to come and tell me to get weighed. The G-1 could only hold 3,800 pounds of cargo and people, because that’s how much it could still fly with if one engine went out. Since we got a supply flight only once a month, and that was all our mail, groceries, parts they needed for the generator and other equipment, it meant we did without a lot that was simply too heavy. Like milk. A gallon of milk weighed eight pounds, and milk for fifty people added up too fast. Thinking about it, I fell asleep on the couch.

Larry shook me awake. “We’re ready to go.” Then he asked me something about Max and weighing in and paperwork or something.

Still groggy, I just nodded. My watch said nine, which meant we were getting a late start.

He carried my big bag; I took my small one and my backpack. I climbed up the short flight of steps and ducked my head as I stepped aboard. All nine rows of the red upholstered seats were chockful of boxes and cargo, except for two seats halfway back, right next to the starboard exit. The new copilot was already up in the cockpit. Max looked about twenty-five or so; I couldn’t tell. Younger than AJ anyway. His dark hair was very short, like in the military, and he wore the same black pants and white shirt as Larry, only he also sported a black tie. Max glanced my way and didn’t say anything.

I smiled. “Hi.”

For about a millisecond, he nodded and smiled, but his eyes didn’t. They seemed sad.

My dad was tall and always had to stoop to avoid the ceiling, but I could walk normally, albeit sideways, through the narrow cabin back to the fifth row of seats. The bin above my seat was filled with a blue mesh bag of satsuma oranges, my favorite. I noticed the Sharpied
Mitchell
on the label and grinned. Part of Mom’s grocery order. I undid the top of the bag, pulled out two oranges, and then folded the bag and slammed the bin shut. The bin across the way was also stuffed, so I just put my bag in the seat next to mine. Then I sat down and buckled up.

Although Larry had said it numerous times, he gave me the emergency safety spiel, pointing out the exits, the compartment that held the emergency raft, the flotation device under my seat. He came across a little cocky, but I’d rather have a self-assured, ultra-confident pilot than an insecure one. As always, I listened, but hardly.

I’d heard it all before.

Larry went back to the cockpit and put on his headphones.

Not long after that, the propellers started to turn and air rushed out of the vent above my head. Sweat trickled down the side of my face, so I twisted the knob open all the way and held my face upward, smiling into the cool blast of air. Soon, the propellers buzzed and the plane moved forward, lining up for takeoff.

I looked out the window. A United Airlines jet rumbled as it lifted, probably heading toward the mainland.

A few minutes later, Larry’s voice came over the intercom: “Here we go.”

My knuckles weren’t white as I grasped the seat, but my grip would definitely pass as tight. I wasn’t usually this nervous, but I’d just watched the plane crash on
Lost
and was trying hard to put it out of my mind.

The engines motored up to full throttle as we stayed there, so it felt as if we were a dog on a leash, raring to go as someone held us back. My eyes went to the spinning propeller, already going so fast it was invisible, then to the words
Rolls-Royce
on the engine. Larry once told me that Rolls-Royce propellers went counterclockwise. Good
Jeopardy
question.

I leaned my head back on the seat as the G-1 surged forward, rocketing down the tarmac until we gained enough speed. The front wheels lifted and we were airborne, lights below us, the steady drone of the engines loud. Out the window I saw lights from ships in Pearl Harbor, then ships farther out, until they slipped away from my view, leaving only darkness beneath.

The G-1 flew steadily up until it leveled out and I relaxed to the familiar drone of the engines. Home was only a few hours away. Releasing my grip on the seat, I took off my flip-flops, put on my socks, and got comfortable. Still wiped out, I fell asleep.

When I woke up, my watch said one a.m. Lights glowed in the cockpit, but except for the small lighted track along the floor and the galley light, the cabin was dark. The ride was a little turbulent, but I’d been through a lot worse on other flights. An especially rough one had led my mom to say to Larry, upon landing, “Earned your money today, huh?” He had shrugged, then said he didn’t think it was a rough flight at all. Since then, I’d read that turbulence didn’t ever cause a plane to crash, so bumps didn’t really bother me.

Five rows up, Larry sat in the cockpit and Max stood in the galley, sipping from a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Not as tall as Larry, Max was thinner, rather wiry, and athletic looking.

Max went back to the cockpit and Larry stood up. He got a cup of coffee, noticed I was awake, and came my way. “There’s a storm front that moved in a little quicker than we expected. I’m going to skirt to the north a bit, but it shouldn’t slow us down too much.”

“Okay.”

“Help yourself.” He lifted his cup and went back up front.

Despite the late hour my stomach grumbled, so I unbuckled and went to the galley. A drawer held ice and drinks, and I grabbed a pink can of guava juice before rummaging through a big blue plastic cooler full of sandwiches. I chose a thick turkey one, and then went back to my seat. Unlatching the tray in front of me, I dissected my sandwich, taking off the tomato, lettuce, and white cheese before replacing the top of the onion roll.

At my first bite, the plane shuddered and bumped below me, and an especially large lurch shoved my stomach up into my throat.

Larry’s steady voice came over the intercom. “Robie, make sure you’re buckled in tight, it might get rough for a little bit here. We should be out of it soon.”

I wrapped up the sandwich, saving it for when the turbulence calmed down. Maybe bumps didn’t bother me, but I didn’t really like eating during them.

As far as I could tell, we were only about an hour and a half from home. The ride got rougher and rougher, so that my knuckles were white as I held on and wished for Midway. Out the window were occasional flashes of lightning, but they didn’t illuminate anything except for the rain pelting my window.

Constantly lurching in the dark, it was as if we were in a car sliding on ice. Leaning out in the aisle, I tried to watch the pilots in the cockpit, see if they looked especially concerned, but their backs were to me and their hands just looked busy. Larry hadn’t announced anything for a while. I seriously wanted to call up to him, ask when we’d be landing, but it seemed stupid.

We’ll get there when we get there. Grow up.

Then the sound of the engines got louder. I tried not to think about the dark and the water underneath us. Nothing but dark and all that frickin’ water.

five

Ten minutes later, although I wouldn’t have believed it possible, the turbulence got worse. Now it felt as if we were in a snow globe that someone just shook and shook and shook. The lurching turned into deep plunges that made me feel like we were nose-diving, before we finally came back up, all the while bumping. One huge thump sent all the oxygen masks tumbling down, where they swayed from side to side. Mine swung right in front of my face.

Oh my God! Was I supposed to put it on?

A glance up front showed neither Larry nor Max had donned a mask. I couldn’t very well ignore mine, so I tied a big loop in it, just to get the thing out of my face.

Another huge thump popped open a few of the overhead bins.

All of a sudden, a quick barrage of soft but forceful punches pummeled my head and shoulders, but the assault was over before I could even shriek or fend them off.

Oranges from the bin above my head.

One landed in my lap, and others lay all around me, rolling up and down the aisle with every shift of the plane.

I wanted to scream, but held it in.

Panicking wouldn’t help anyone, especially not the pilots. Again, I tried to see what they were doing, their demeanor, their attitude.

Were they worried?

Struggling with the controls?

It was impossible to tell from my vantage point.

I felt an overwhelming need for reassurance, for someone to tell me everything would be okay.

That
I
would be okay.

But no one did.

As we bounced around, tears started sliding down my face. I stopped myself and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

You baby.

There was no need to cry over a little turbulence.

Tons of things are worse than this.

And then there was a hush.

Not totally quiet, but there was just less of a drone than there had been. I leaned over and peered out the window at the starboard engine. At the end of the wing, a blue light winked. Usually, the propellers were nearly invisible in flight, because they were turning so rapidly. But as lightning flashed, I could very clearly see the propeller, circling slowly, turning only with the movement of the plane.

That engine had stopped.

six

Both trembling hands covered my mouth as I stifled a cry or a scream or whatever was making its way up. Two words whispered their way out. “Oh God…”

I wanted my mom or my dad or AJ or
someone.
I didn’t want to be on that plane.

There was only one way to know the seriousness of the situation. I would have to watch the cockpit, see what they were doing.

Wiping my eyes on my sleeve, I prayed.
God, please please please let everything be okay. Please don’t let us crash and please just let me get to Midway. And please let them be calm when I look up there.

I leaned out into the aisle. From the back, the two pilots looked to be doing what they always did. Sitting tight. Focusing on the controls.

The loss of an engine had to freak them out too, right? Maybe I’d imagined it. I didn’t know anything about planes, did I?

Maybe the engine was fine.

Again, I stared out the window at the propeller. Definitely not turning. Any idiot could see that the Rolls-Royce had quit.

But if Larry wasn’t announcing anything about the engine, what else wasn’t he telling me? Or was it not that big a deal? Airplanes lose engines all the time, right? I knew I’d read that somewhere.

That’s why they load only 3,800 pounds in the G-1, so that one engine can still fly the plane. Only a few months ago, my dad was on a flight when the G-1 had lost an engine an hour after leaving Honolulu and they’d just turned around, no problem. After all, pilots are
trained
for bad stuff to happen, and maybe this wasn’t even that bad. Maybe we were so close to Midway that they were already starting to think about landing, so why worry me with details about a stupid engine?

That had to be it.

We bounced again, hard. Beneath my butt, something in the frame of my seat gave way.

My eyes squeezed shut.

Someone tell me it’s going to be okay, please!

How long could the plane handle getting beat to death like this?

The engine was probably the first thing to go, then a wing or the tail or some other vital thing that we need to land. Larry just didn’t want to share the bad news.

I opened my eyes again and watched for some movement from the cockpit. Max got up. Bracing himself against the sides, he managed to make it as far as the galley.

Was he getting more coffee? Things couldn’t be that bad if he was getting more coffee.

But, no, he wasn’t getting coffee.

From underneath the bottom of the galley’s shelves, he pulled something out and tossed it down the aisle in front of him. The cabin was still dark, and I couldn’t see what it was.

With a foot, he pushed it along as he walked, until he reached me.

Now I wanted to scream.

It was a yellow raft. An emergency raft.

But we would only need that if—

Max reached beneath a seat, yanked out a flotation device, and shoved it in my lap. Then he uttered the first words I’d heard him speak.

Those words weren’t
Everything is okay
or
You’ll be okay
or
We’ll be landing at Midway soon.
Instead, they were the worst words I’ve ever heard:

“We lost an engine and the hydraulics are acting up. We can’t get out of the storm, so Larry is going to ditch the plane while he can still control it.” He nodded at the flotation device in my lap. “Put that on.”

seven

My limbs froze and my heart pounded in my ears as I watched Max struggle to get back to the cockpit.

The flotation device was still in my lap, but I didn’t even try to put it on. I couldn’t make myself look at it. None of this was real, none of it.

Everything was fuzzy. Dull.

None of it could possibly be real.

The G-1 bounced all over, and then we went into a dive, so steep my belly strained against the seat belt, and then I couldn’t do anything but hold my hands over my face and scream into them.

I didn’t see Max coming until he was right there.

With one hand, he held on to the seat across the aisle. With the other, he grabbed my shoulder and shook, hard, until I stopped screaming. His face was inches from mine and his eyes narrowed. “Listen to me! If you want to get out of here, you have to listen!”