Killer Instinct: Carrie Unleashed

Chapter 4: Jago

The aircraft skimmed craggy mountains and shadowed hills, each pass offering glimpses of the Himalayas. Carrie leaned into her seat, a crumpled vomit bag in hand. Every jolt twisted her insides. Dry air scraped her throat. Pressure shifts throbbed in her ears, pulsed behind her eyes. She gripped the bag like an anchor.

"You're holding that bag like it's keeping you grounded," Baki said. "Are you okay?"

"Every part of me wants out of this plane," Carrie said.

The captain's voice cut through the speakers. "Good afternoon. We are descending into Paro International Airport. Please fasten seatbelts and stow trays and devices. The crew will collect the remaining waste."

The message moved through the plane like a checklist, calm and practiced. It passed over Carrie like a breeze against a closed window-present, yet unable to reach the knot in her stomach.

Carrie stowed the tray and checked her seatbelt. A pair of flight attendants moved down the aisle, crinkling garbage bags. They snatched cups and wrappers from every row. Overhead, the captain's voice resounded, but Carrie only heard fragments.

"What's happening?" Carrie asked as the plane tilted.

"It's the descent," Baki said. "This valley doesn't let you ease into it."

Carrie's breath caught. Pressure throbbed behind her ears, sharp. She clutched the cross at her neck, whispering a prayer. Fire, metal, and fractured wings flashed. The tires slammed onto the runway. Her pendant slipped through her fingers. She exhaled.

The intercom buzzed.

"Namaste. Welcome to Paro International Airport. Local time is 5:30 p.m. Remain seated until the plane stops. Collect all your belongings. Thank you for flying Druk Air."

The announcement flowed through the cabin like a ritual. The words reached Carrie, but vanished. Her body landed, but her thoughts spun miles above.

The plane halted; the engines stopped. The flight attendants unlatched the doors, and the passengers funneled out. Carrie remained seated as crew members swept past, collecting the last of the waste. When everyone disappeared, she and Baki rose. Stillness settled over the cabin.

Carrie stepped out, squinting. Sunlight blasted the tarmac. She raised a hand against the glare.

The airfield nestled in a green valley, ringed by mountains standing like silent guardians. Houses hugged the lower slopes. Ahead, the terminal rose-not a box of glass and metal, but a structure of layered roofs and carved eaves, a reverent shrine. Carrie blinked, drawn to the etched details.

The ache hammered in her temples, dimming the surfacing wonder. She brushed her brow and followed Baki down the stairs, with the sun trailing in their wake. Inside, the terminal opened wide-beams carved with stories, ceilings painted in layers, pillars gleaming like still water.

Shop windows brimmed with woven silks, prayer beads, and bowls of steaming stew. The beauty tugged, but Carrie shut it down, pushing forward while the weight pressed upward.

Baki sensed his ward's discomfort. "Is everything alright, Carrie?"

"Just tired. My skull's locked in a vise, and someone's still tightening."

"Your body's chasing the sky. Once I grab my bag, we'll find somewhere quiet to settle."

***

Outside the terminal, a row of auto-rickshaws idled. Baki spotted one and guided Carrie toward it. He tapped the glass, and a young woman with steady eyes rolled it down. She nodded in response to his request and waved them aboard. The engine sputtered as she pulled into traffic.