Unaccompanied Minor (25 page)

Alby and Malcolm had been so masterful at situating the bomb that all it destroyed, literally, was the aft left door, which flew off the body of the plane and fell to the ground like a big metal flower petal twisting in the wind. Now that the altitude had been stabilized, the result was a lot like what it had been when we were in the lower galley and had the door open—loud and blustery, only minus the dog and friends jumping out of the plane.

I unclicked my seatbelt and stood. “Where are you going?” Malcolm asked.

“Back to the cockpit,” I said. He told me to wait for him. Alby indicated that she would stay in D zone to ensure that no passengers stepped off the plane and into the abyss while looking for the lavatory or anything. At that, Malcolm and I made our way to the mid galley through the outstretched arms of the minority of passengers still clueless enough to hope for a packet of peanuts or something.

We took the lift down and then ascended to the cockpit through the hatch in the floor of the flight deck in order to avoid the drug-overdosing cluster of (now-ineffectual) hijackers congregated in first class.

“What was that?” Cinderblock asked.

“The bomb,” Malcolm said, sounding amazingly calm.

“I figured,” he responded, equally calm. It occurred to me that this was now our way of handling things. This had to be normal for now, because if we stopped for a second to reflect on the severity of the situation, we would be as useless as the gaggle of hissing idiots directly on the other side of the cockpit door.

“April, child, you okay?” I heard LaVonda’s voice project from the speaker of the imposter Brighton McPherson’s cell phone. “Talk to me, child!”

“LaVonda!” I hollered. “I’m good. Thanks. Thanks so much. So good to hear you.”

“Likewise, lovely!”

Cinderblock had entered the coordinates as LaVonda repeated them to him from the Google search results. Now all we had to do was hope that, for once, the Internet wasn’t a big bog of lies and misguidance in this particular instance.

“What do you think?” I asked Officer Ned.

“What I think,” he answered, “is that you ought to take over this copilot’s seat.” He began the painful process of raising his six-foot-five frame from the cramped pilot seat.

“I don’t know how to fly a jet!” I protested.

“April, next to Hugh here—and I say this with more skepticism of his abilities than yours—you know more than anyone what to do. Now, I’m gonna take the jumpseat behind you. Malcolm, you strap yourself into the navigator’s seat and hold on. Flo, go out and make sure those fools out there are buckled in, then take the jumpseat at the forward door. This is probably gonna be a hard landing.”

That turned out to be a euphemism, and as you know, I hate euphemisms.

Cinderblock did the best he could, but he was operating on the knowledge of an expired small-craft pilot’s license and the eyesight of a vampire bat. That said, at least the tower of the Albuquerque Sunport International Airport completely suspended traffic when they saw us coming on the radar and couldn’t get a response from the cockpit. When the L-1011 slammed into the runway, it was probably testimony to Cinderblock’s abilities that the only thing that broke off was the tail section of the aircraft, which somersaulted like a terrible metal tumbleweed and came to rest against an abandoned Eastern Airlines hangar. Luckily, Malcolm and Alby had relocated all the passengers from the tail zone of the aircraft to the front of the plane, far away from the missing aft door, leaving as big a margin of empty rows as possible.

So, as you know, there were no casualties from the tail zone. You’re welcome.

When the rest of the fuselage finally came to a rest in a weed field parallel to the runway, the flight attendants barely had time to deploy the escape slides before the wings ignited and the aircraft burst into flames. I opened the cockpit door to see Flo holding the assist handle and directing people to “Jump and slide!” down the chute to safety. I was relieved to see Malcolm, with little Captain Beefheart still tucked into his improvised baby sling, at the bottom of the chute, helping people from the slide and directing them to run away from the plane. And I saw Ash, of course, just running away. I reached behind Flo, unhooked her hand from the assist handle, and hurled her down the slide. (It’s all in the leverage.)
If these people can’t find their own way out
, I thought,
they don’t deserve to have Flo die trying to help them.

I could hear the other, non-hijacker flight attendants dutifully calling out the crash commands to the passengers in order to direct their safe evacuation. (“Leave everything!”) Many of the passengers had already wisely crouched down to armrest level to feel their way out of the plane. I coughed and covered my mouth with my sleeve. Ash had already left, of course.

Kathy, though, lay a few rows from me, slumped over her tray table, weakly mewling for help. I thought about it, the one wrong step—in instead of out, this way instead of that. Should I take it? I can’t really explain what happened next, except to say I suddenly found myself at her side, unbuckling her seatbelt and yanking her up. Just then another explosion racked the cabin, and I felt a blast of scalding air hit my face.

Did I tell you that Officer Ned could move like lightning? I’m sure I did. Because faster than the flames could reach me, Officer Ned had his good arm around me and was running down the aisle, half lifting, half dragging me to the forward door. He dove us both out the opening, only to find that the slide had deflated. So he grabbed at the flapping sheet of rubber as we fell, trying to create friction to slow us down, then turned to ensure that his body fully broke my fall.

A fleet of emergency vehicles had already been dispatched, and EMTs descended on me and Officer Ned mere moments after we hit the ground. The strong arms of the medical personnel pulled me to safety as others carried Officer Ned in the opposite direction. I called after him, but he didn’t answer me. I saw them put him in an ambulance. He was as limp as the slide hanging from the aircraft. Before they sped off, Old Cinderblock jumped into the ambulance at Officer Ned’s side and closed the door behind him.

When the EMTs had me a safe distance from the burning aircraft, they determined that I wasn’t really all that hurt but for some sore lungs and all the hair framing my face scorched away. As they adjusted the oxygen mask over my face, I swore I heard someone calling my name from the weeds in the field nearby. I followed the sound, against the urgent advice of the EMTs, and rifled through the brush until the sound grew stronger.

“April! Honey child!” LaVonda’s voice called. “What was that sound? Answer me, girl!”

I picked up the imposter Brighton McPherson’s cell phone and brought it to my ear. “Hi, LaVonda!” I cried.

“Oh, I am so happy to hear your voice,” she gasped with relief. “Lord, girl, what was that?”

“That? That was just the plane crashing,” I told her. Then, for like the fiftieth time today, I’m embarrassed to say, I burst into sobs.

LaVonda continued to patter to me comfortingly as the EMTs lifted me once again to transport me to safety. It was then that I noticed something looped around my elbow as I held the phone to my ear.
What’s that?
I thought.
Lord, that’s heavy.
I thought it was maybe a seat cushion tangled with my arm by the seatbelt, it was that big and heavy. But when I entered the ambulance and took a seat next to a number of other passengers with minimal injuries, I noticed that it was not a seat cushion at all. It was Kathy’s purse. Her main purse. The one big enough to carry a bunch of severed heads.

Investigator DeAngelo:

Well, Agent Kowalski, what do you think of this?

Agent Kowalski:

I don’t know what to think of this.

Alan Bertram, CEO, WorldAir:

Gentleman, sorry to barge in, but I wanted to give you the list of fatalities from this disaster today. I’m going to need to make a statement to the press as soon as possible, and I wanted to know if you’d concluded anything from your interviews of the survivors.

Agent Kowalski:

The death count is only five? That’s impressive.

Investigator DeAngelo:

Officer Ned Rockwell, Florence Davenport, Alby Madison, Hugh Newman, and April Manning.

April Manning:

I think you’re jumping the gun there.

Alan Bertram:

Oh, right. Four casualties. Let me correct that…. So, what have you concluded so far in regard to what caused the accident?

Investigator DeAngelo:

I’ll tell you what I’ve concluded. I have concluded that this girl is diabolical. She’s a juvenile criminal who hijacked and bombed an aircraft and now she actually thinks she can con her way out of it with this crazy story.

April Manning:

Malcolm Colgate will back me up.

Investigator DeAngelo:

Right, another unaccompanied minor. Who cares what he has to say.

Agent Kowalski:

Hey, hold on… we haven’t even tried to corroborate anything.

Investigator DeAngelo:

I don’t have to hold on. I have the authority to conclude this investigation based on my findings. If you don’t agree with me, Agent Kowalski, then you can submit your own findings to your own bureau.

[sound of cell phone ringing.]

Mr. Bertram:

Please excuse me, gentlemen. I need to step down the hall and take this call.

Investigator DeAngelo:

Keep your hands on the table, April.

April Manning:

It’s just a cell phone. I’ll put it on speaker.

Mr. Alan Bertram (via speakerphone):

Kathy, sweetheart, darling, don’t be upset. I had no idea the bomb was on your plane. Do you think I’d let you make the money run if I’d known the bomb was on your plane? Huh, honey? Pumpkin? Hello? Kathy? Helloooo.

Mr. Alan Bertram:

I’m back, gentleman. Sorry about that. So, am I safe to make a statement that the preliminary investigation finds this girl responsible?

Agent Kowalski:

April, whose phone is that in your hand?

April Manning:

It belongs to Kathy Landry. I have her purse right here.

Agent Kowalski:

Detective Henry, please cuff Mr. Bertram and escort him outside. Don’t forget to read him his rights.

Detective Henry:

Mr. Bertram, please turn around and put your hands behind your back.

Mr. Bertram:

What’s the meaning of this? This is preposterous! Stop this immediately! Investigator DeAngelo, do something!

Investigator DeAngelo:

Uh… what do you think you’re doing, Agent Kowalski?

Agent Kowalski:

I’m arresting the CEO of WorldAir. I have him on tape talking to a known felon referencing a money run and the bombing of an aircraft.

Investigator DeAngelo:

What tape?

Agent Kowalski:

The tape of this
transcript
, you dimwad.

Investigator DeAngelo:

Well, uh, we don’t have any conclusive evidence that….

Agent Kowalski:

How’s this for conclusive evidence: I’ve been running an undercover operation for the past three years. My main agent, whose identity I don’t care to disclose right now—

April Manning:

It’s Old Cinderblock, just say it. His cover is kinda blown.

Agent Kowalski:

Fine, my agent, Hugh Newman, was kind enough to fill me in on some things before I arrived here today.

Investigator DeAngelo:

Hugh Newman is on the fatality list!

Agent Kowalski:

Are you really that thick? Newman
made
this list. Nobody died on that plane today. We just needed to see how you’d act when you thought all the witnesses were out of the way.