A Healer's War

Chapter 73 - The Final Gift

Chapter 73: The Final Gift

Rory had never seen a plane crash. He'd seen videos, mostly of bad landings and a couple of shaky takeoffs, but those recorded disasters paled in comparison to experiencing one.

The bulky cargo jet plummeted down the runway one moment, then veered to its left, shrieking like it'd been hooked. Wheels sparked and snapped. Its wing disintegrated against the thicket of the old forest. More metal screamed, and trunks splintered. The cockpit compacted against a pair of massive spruces, folding and rocking the giants back on their roots. A wave of churned dirt and stumps followed as the body of the plane distorted, lurching to a stop. With a final moan, its broad tail rose in the air, like a whale's above water, and crashed back down, cracking the fuselage.

Rory slowed and stutter-stepped forward, almost tripping as the wreckage shrieked as it settled. He half expected it to explode. When it didn't, he regained speed. Jacklyn!

Debris covered the ground. Watching his feet, he jumped over logs and torn sheet metal. The strong, stinging odor of fuel stung his nose. Hurry!

The torn open hatch had folded in on itself—there was no way he'd fit through. He dashed to the plane's rear, where he saw the loading ramp had cracked open, wide enough to crawl through.

He put his ear to the opening and listened, waiting to hear any sound of life inside, but he only heard the groans of trees as the plane rocked. Swallowing down the nervous lump in his throat, Rory crawled inside.

The world within the plane was black but for the shafts of dim moonlight slanting through the cracked hull. Branches and pine needles littered the ground. The sharp smell of fuel mixed with a wet-sweet scent of freshly chopped wood. Overhead, the bits of tree that hadn't broken formed a patchy canopy against the plane's vaulted ceiling. Tilted on its left side, Rory walked carefully on the wall, disoriented.

Jacklyn? He made his way through the cargo hold toward the cockpit, squinting into the gloom. Avoiding several splintered logs, he stumbled over something pale in the shadows. Rory peered down—it was actually two somethings. His stomach coiled with revulsion when he realized what. Bodies lying together.

They lay face up, a tangle of limbs and splinters. Jane's burnt scalp rested on Emmett's stomach as though the two were relaxing in a grassy field, watching the clouds. Moonlight pooled across her face, revealing the terrible burns. Most of Jane's hair and forehead were gone, replaced with blisters and charred skin between thin streaks of bright pink hair. Her blue suit lay in tatters, stained with blood. Emmett's clean-shaven face twisted upward unnaturally, his neck blackened, a blackened fist-size hole through his chest.

Rory felt sick and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his stomach to hold and the truth to change, but neither cooperated when he opened his eyes.  Jane was still dead, killed, trying to help him. He burped, and he tasted bile. For a long moment, Rory stared at the bodies. He'd never get a chance to thank her. To return the favor. He was slipping away in the back of that truck, but she wouldn't let him go. And Emmett was his age. That could have been him — still could be him. Both were once strangers. The sharp pang of sadness and an immense gratitude struck him. They'd crashed this plane and bought everyone else an opportunity.

"Thank you," he whispered, though it felt woefully inadequate. "Jane, I... I..." There was more to say, something honorable, but he choked on the words.

The plane groaned and shifted beneath his feet, and he peered into the gloom that was the front of the plane, listening.

Where is Dawson?

The plane lurched again, raising the hairs on Rory's arm. Get out!

The dead would have to wait. If he survived, he'd come back for them. He scanned the hold again, focused on sharp edges, something solid, something heavy... His heart leaped—spotting a steel box, pine needles covering its cracked lid. This has to be it. He jumped toward it, slipping and brushing aside debris, and peered through the cracked glass. From the flickering light, he saw Jacklyn stir. She was alive.