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As she disappears into the galley, I can't help but wonder what's prompted this sudden break in her icy exterior. Maybe she's just trying to be polite. Or maybe she's finally realized that being stuck in a metal tube thousands of feet above the ground isn't the time to maintain a façade of superiority.
She holds out a bottle of water. "There are a lot of snacks in the fridge. Can I have one?"
I shrug, my attention focused on the controls in front of me. "Go ahead. If there was an attendant, she'd be serving you anyway."
"Do you want something?"
"No thank you. I think there should be stuff in there to make sandwiches. We usually serve some kind of cold meal. If you're unable or unwilling to make yourself a sandwich, I can do it for you."
She gave me a hard look. "I know how to make a sandwich."
"Help yourself to whatever you want in there."
"Thanks."
As she busied herself making a sandwich, I couldn't help but steal glances at her. The way she moved with quiet confidence. She was fun to tease. I can't help myself. "Hey, can you make me a ham and cheese please?"
She looks over her shoulder at me, clearly perturbed. I can't help but flash her one of my most charming smiles. "Sure," she says with a tight smile. "Mustard?"
"No, just mayo, please."
As Paige rummages through the fridge, I have to fight the urge to laugh. I return my attention back to the jet. I scan the instruments and notice something is just a little off. It's not a big deal. It happens all the time, but I want to keep my attention on things.
"Here," Paige says, holding out a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel.
I don't give her the attention she's demanding. A nagging sense of unease settles in the pit of my stomach. Something doesn't feel right, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Then, without warning, one of the engines sputters.
I can fly on one engine. It's not the end of the world. The engine sputters again and quickly dies. The jet jerks a bit before I quickly compensate for the dead engine. The silence deafening in its suddenness. Panic surges through me like a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm my senses. But years of training kick in, and I force myself to remain calm, to think rationally in the face of impending disaster.
"Paige," I say, my voice surprisingly steady. "You need to sit down and buckle your seatbelt."
She looks at me, a puzzled expression on her face. "I want to make a sandwich," she protests, her tone bordering on annoyance. "I made yours. Here."
"Sit your ass down!" I shout. "Put your seatbelt on and if you're the type of woman that prays, I would start doing so now."
I saw the moment she understood what was happening. Fear flickered in Paige's eyes as the gravity of the situation sank in. Without a word, she scrambles back to her seat. The plane began to veer slightly to the left as I struggled to maintain control with only one functioning engine. The sense of impending doom fills the cabin like a dark cloud, suffocating any hope of a safe landing.
I could feel sweat beading on my forehead as I fought against the turbulence, trying to keep the aircraft steady. "Mayday, mayday," I say calmly into the headset. "We have lost engine power and are experiencing severe turbulence. Requesting emergency landing assistance." I relay the message to the air traffic controller, my voice betraying none of the fear that threatens to consume me.
I know the odds. I can already see the outcome of this situation. I'm fifty miles away from the island. I'm not going to make it to an airport. As if to confirm my beliefs, the second engine started to spit and sputter.
"Oh please," I murmur. "Come on, come on."
And then it was gone.
"What was that?" Paige shouts. "What's happening."
I owe her an explanation. Not that it's going to make her feel any better, but she should know what was coming. "We've lost our engines," I tell her.
"What! What does that mean? Are we going to crash?"
There was no easy way to answer that question. We didn't have engines. We didn't have wings. That meant we didn't fly. "Yes," I reply.
She doesn't start screaming, so that was good. I hop back on the mic and report my last coordinates. All my instruments are flat. The only thing I can assume is there's been a major electrical problem and I'm flying a giant metal paperweight.
I focus all my attention on the task at hand, scanning the horizon for a suitable landing spot. Blue ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see. I blink and try to focus my eyes. There's a speck in the distance. I don't know if I can make it. We're losing altitude too fast. The lower we get, the more it becomes clear it's an island. If one could call it that. But it's our best shot at survival. I have to get us there.
With a steady hand and a prayer on my lips, I guide the stricken jet towards our uncertain fate, knowing that every second counts in this deadly game of chance. I know I have only one chance to make this landing as smooth as possible. If I hit the water too hard, the jet will disintegrate with the force. If I go down too far from the island, the chances of us getting to the safety of the shoreline is slim. I accept the fact that I have about a ten percent chance of surviving this.
