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My heart thrums with hope. Could this be our rescue? But I can’t hear any engines, and we’re not on anything like a road. We start walking again, and something bright catches in the sunlight.
We break through the trees and bushes and draw to a halt. I catch sight of metal and glass, and suck in a breath. Could it be a vehicle of some kind, or dare I hope a building?
“Oh, shit,” Cade breathes.
What I’m looking at dawns on me. We’ve found the tail end of the plane.
I take another couple of tentative steps toward it, and the buzzing of flies and other insects grows louder.
I see why.
In the opening of the tail end, where it was torn from the middle part of the plane, the flight attendant is dead in her seat, still strapped in. A tree branch has punctured her chest, pinning her in place.
“Oh, God.”
I cover my face with my hands and turn away. I don’t want to look at her, knowing the image of her face will be imprinted on my brain. I don’t want it to haunt me when I close my eyes at night. I’ve already been struggling with the memory of my mother’s cooling dead body in my arms, and now I have this to add to it. How much more death will I see before this is all over?
Will I experience my own?
“There might be supplies,” Reed says, moving closer to the tail. “Food. Water. They were kept at the rear of the plane.”
“They’ll be in the section behind her,” Cade said.
Reed nods. “I’ll check”
I turn back, feeling I should face the plane. It’s only sheer luck that it isn’t one of us with a tree branch punctured through our chests. The thought makes my breath come quicker, and even though I want to support Reed, I can’t do it. I can’t watch.
I stumble away to pause at a tree a short distance off. I place my hand to the trunk, the rough bark beneath my palm helping to ground me.
A low voice comes from behind me.
“You okay, Laney?”
Darius has joined me. I don’t know how he knew I’d walked away.
“I can hear your breathing,” he says by way of an explanation. “It’s fast and shallow.”
“I-I’m sorry.”
“Sometimes,” he says, “I’m thankful I can’t see certain things. I can imagine it, though.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and I sniff. I close my eyes briefly and angle my face away. How can I feel sorry for myself when that poor woman died? I’m the lucky one.
Gentle fingers touch my cheek, and I glance up to find Darius frowning at me. It’s strange to know that even though he’s facing me, he can’t see me, but then his fingers sweep over my face, taking my tears with it, and I realize he’s seeing me now, building his image of me in his mind.
“It’s okay to cry,” he says.
I shake my head, my cheek pressed to his palm. His skin is warm and dry, and emotion swells in my chest. It feels like all I’ve done is cry. To my surprise, his other arm wraps around my shoulders and he pulls me into him. I find myself pressed against his broad chest, my nose, forehead and lips touching the softness of his t-shirt, the solidness of his pectorals beneath. He holds me tight, and I do my best not to think about our situation.
Finally, he releases me.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod then realize he can’t see me. “Yes, I am. Thank you.”
I’ve been held more in the past twenty-four hours than I’ve been for most of my life. My mother had never been the tactile type, apart from the odd occasion when she’d been happy drunk, and then it had felt more like she’d been hanging off me than holding me with any true affection. But Darius’s touch makes my body hum with pleasure, and I crave more. How touch-starved am I?
I’m pathetic.
