The Fabricators

The Fabricators Part 3

Grace Henry, July 17, 12:20 PM…

There was a pinch on my arm and I told Jonathan I had to go, that we’d continue our card game when I returned. Two seconds later, Peter was standing over me in the aisle.

“They’re already off the plane, I think I heard something so we’d better hurry before anyone gets mad at us,” he said. 

“Did anyone try to wake you yet?” I asked, sitting up. 

“No, but I might’ve just missed it, you?”

“No.”

“Well they’ll be coming for us anyway, I’m going out,” Peter said. I sighed and reached over the seat to grab my things while he stepped out of the plane. 

Pow! Thump! I screamed as Peter was thrown into the doorway and then fell to the ground. There were shouts outside, calling his name. I dropped to the floor of the cabin and looked under the seat. Peter moaned and moved a little, I called his name a couple times, but he didn’t answer. Numerous people shouted incomprehensible things outside the plane. 

“I need to hide, right? I need to hide.” One of the pilots was down on the floor of the cabin, crawling backwards and shutting the door of the cockpit. I looked towards the back of the cabin and saw the bathroom door slightly ajar. I ran, crouched, to the bathroom and closed the door just as footsteps approached Peter. 

I hunkered down in the corner of the little bathroom and kept two hands over my mouth in hopes it would keep me quiet. Muffled footsteps paced the cabin. Near the nose of the plane was a crash followed by more gunshots. I gasped, tears welling up in my eyes. The footsteps came to the back now. The door shook and then shuddered as it was kicked at. 

The door came crashing down on me and I screamed. A Hispanic man threw the door out of the way. I kicked at him when he reached for me, but he grabbed my foot and dragged me out of the bathroom. He and his partner, who wore a cowboy hat, stood over me with guns in their hands. I tried to get up and run, but the first grabbed my ponytail and pulled me back. 

“No! Let me go!” I screamed. Still holding onto my ponytail, he slammed my head once and then twice into the side of the snack cart.

Sarah King, July 17, 12:23 PM…

The one in charge had reptile skin cowboy boots, a white, ten gallon hat, and a button up shirt. He paced back and forth in front of the little line they made on their knees with their hands behind their heads. Charles was to Sarah’s left with Jared next to him, which left Felicity on her right. Peter was dragged over to them and dropped roughly to the tarmac. The bullet had hit him in the upper right shoulder, a few more inches higher and he would’ve been missed completely. He was already passed out. 

Back at the plane something tumbled down the stairs and onto the tarmac. It was Grace. Her head was covered in blood, and she didn’t move once she came to a stop on the concrete. She was dragged over and left next to Peter. Sarah could see the nasty gash at her hairline which was what gushed with blood. 

The man in charge began speaking to Charles. Sarah wasn’t sure if Felicity or Jared knew what he said, but she didn’t know enough Spanish to understand a word. Every once in a while during Reptile-boots’ speech, Charles would tell him something in Spanish. Charles spoke lividly. And a couple of times, the one in charge placed his boot on Peter’s shoulder and pressed. Peter would moan painfully and Charles would tell him “¡Pare!”, “Stop!”

Then Reptile-boots made a command and the men jumped to action. Jared, Felicity, and Sarah were dragged off towards one silver SUV and black bags were thrown over their heads. To the other silver SUV were Grace and Peter in the back and Charles, who was made to sit in the middle with Reptile-boots. The drivers floored it and they were out of the private airfield in seconds.