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My body seems to have moved on its own, because I'm bent over, hugging my knees. Horrible thoughts wiggle their way into my mind. Emergency landing. What percentage of emergency landings go well? My heart races so frantically, and the plane drops so fast it's impossible to imagine it’s very high. Another thought grips me. Where will we land? We were over the rainforest last I looked. We couldn't have made it very far since then. My palms sweat, and I grit my teeth as the plane inclines, feeling like I'll be ripped from my seat and propelled forward.
The temptation to raise my head to look out the window is suffocating. I want to know where we are, when the inevitable impact will arrive. But I can't move, no matter how much I try. I'm not sure if it's the plane’s position forcing me to stay down or the fear. I tilt my head to one side, facing the corridor. The sight of the protective bag with the dress inside sprawled on the floor makes me forget my fear for a moment, leaving one thought stand out. Chris. My wonderful fiancé, who I have known since I was a small child and with whom I practically grew up. With his round, blue eyes and stubborn blond curls, he still looks boyish, even at the age of twenty-seven and dressed in expensive suits.
I’m thinking about him when the crash comes.
I wake up covered in cold sweat and something soft that might be a blanket. I can't tell for sure, because when I open my eyes, it’s dark. When I try to move, a sharp pain in my temple makes me gasp.
"Aimee?"
"Tristan." The word comes out almost like a cry. In the faint moonlight coming in through the windows, I see him leaning on the seat in front of me, hovering over me. I imagine his dark brown eyes searching me worriedly.
"Are you hurt?"
"Just my temple, but I'm not bleeding," I say, running my fingers over the tender spot. I assess him next. It’s difficult given the dim moonlight. His white uniform shirt is smeared with dirt, but he appears unharmed. I turn my head toward the window. I can't gauge anything outside in the darkness.
"Where are we?" I ask.
"We landed," Tristan says simply, and when I turn to look at him he adds, "… in the rainforest."
I nod, trying not to let the tight knot of fear in my chest overtake me. If I let it spiral out, I may not be able to control it.
"Shouldn't we … like… leave the plane or something? Until they rescue us? Is it safe for us to be inside?"
Tristan runs a hand through his short, black hair. "Trust me, this is the only safe place. I checked outside for any fuel leaks, but we're good."
"You got out?" I whisper.
"Yes."
"I want—” I say, opening my seatbelt and trying to stand. But dizziness forces me back into my chair.
"No," Tristan says, and he slumps in the seat opposite mine on the other side of the slim aisle. "Listen to me. You need to calm down."
"How deep in the forest are we, Tristan?"
He leans back, answering after a long pause. "Deep enough."
"How will they find us?" I curl my knees to my chest under the blanket, the dizziness growing. I wonder when Tristan put the blanket over me.
"They will," Tristan says.
"But there is something we can do to make it easier for them, isn't there?"
"Right now, there isn't."
"Can we contact someone at base?" I ask weakly.
"No. We lost all communication a while ago." His shoulders slump, and even in the moonlight, I notice his features tighten. His high cheekbones, which usually give him a noble appearance, now make him look gaunt. Yet instead of panic, I’m engulfed in weakness. My limbs feel heavy. Fog settles over my mind.
"What happened to the engine?" I whisper.
"Engine failure."
"Can you repair it?"
"No."
“There is really no way to send anyone a message?”
