Survive (4 page)

Chapter 10

U
nbelievably, I nodded off. Or, I guess I did, because when I open my eyes, the lights are out except for a few reading lights in front. The plane is mostly empty, so it looks like a ghost town in here. Paul is asleep with a map propped on his stomach. His book is tucked underneath his elbow.

I check my watch, and it is after five. I look into my bag and pull out my pad of paper. I’ve thought about this note forever. I steady the pad, but there’s some turbulence and it makes it difficult to write. Thankfully, what I have to say is very brief.

Dear Mom,

I’m going with Dad. I’ll see you on the other side. Don’t blame yourself. I was born with it and there’s nothing to be done.

Love,

Jane

I fold it up and write M
OM
on the front. I tuck it into the netting of the seat in front of me. I try to place it where somebody will find it, but I am suddenly overwhelmed by a fear that the letter will go unnoticed and my mother won’t ever read it. That she’ll go through the rest of her life blaming herself for my death. I stare at it awhile, then take the letter and stuff it into my pants pocket. I unfasten my seat belt and turn so I’m facing the seat and Paul and then step over him, balancing myself until I can lift my back leg over. He stirs for a moment but does not wake.

The bathroom sits directly behind me. I check my watch, and it’s forty-five minutes since takeoff, which is cutting it close. If I dose now, by the time we land in Chicago, I should be gone. A brief shiver runs down my spine as I imagine myself clinging to life and being wheeled on a gurney through O’Hare airport. That must be hell.
Focus on the now, Jane.

The lone flight attendant is sitting at the front of the plane, flipping through a magazine, probably relieved that the turbulence means she doesn’t have to wheel the drinks cart down the aisle filling orders like a waitress. Finally an element of the Plan comes to fruition. I open the bathroom door and step in. I push the bolt lock and close the door. I turn and sit on the toilet. I put my face in my hands and wonder what my mother is doing now. I cry a little, not because I’m afraid, but because I am so relieved to be here and at the same time I am sad for my mother. Something will happen to her when she hears this, something permanent. I feel sad about it, but it’s not enough to stop me.

I dip into my bag and pull out my pills. One by one, I press them through the blister packaging. The bumpiness of the flight makes it difficult, but I manage to fill a small white paper cup with what I’ll need. I pull another cup from the metal sleeve and fill it from the tiny sink. I steady myself.

I say my takeoff prayer again and hope my angels will carry me home.
What works for one flight should work for all,
I tell myself. I open my mouth and reach for the pills. The plane hits an air bump and jumps up and down. I quickly put my other hand against the wall and steady myself.

Sign of the cross. I stand, looking at myself in the mirror one more time, one last time. It’s the eyes, always the eyes. There’s a language in them. What do I see? Helpless. Sad. Alone. Disintegrating. Desperate. I see my great-grandfather; his eyes are mine. He was a man I never knew, but the darkness began with him, or maybe even earlier. I know his sad secrets are my own.

I put the cup to my mouth and reach for the water cup.

There’s a smack and a zap. The light flickers, then off. Blackness. For a moment I believe I am already in that pre-death dream spiral I had longed for. But then the bottom of the plane drops out on me. I fly off my feet and my head strikes the ceiling. The pills scatter from my hand like a shotgun spraying pellets.

I tumble against the wall on my way to the floor and the light flickers on, but I am dizzy. I hear screams from outside the bathroom and I wonder if they are trying to get me out. But then the attendant tells everyone to remain calm. I try to stand, but I am too dizzy. I feel a warm sensation on my right cheek, and suddenly I notice drops of red on the floor in front of me. I put my hand to my head and it is immediately covered in sticky red blood.

I push against the walls beside me but only manage to move myself into a tucked position beside the toilet and the sink. There’s a second zap and then the whole plane goes black. Again the bottom drops, but I remain jammed against the toilet this time.

A red light flashes above me and then it dies too. The plane stops whining. I can feel it just gliding along through the air, being tossed up and down. There’s no response. For a long time, we are like a dead body floating downriver, just gliding to nowhere. I wonder where I am for a second and I remember my angels and I wonder if they are holding up the plane. I wonder if this is how I am going to die.

Then there’s another big drop. Fear takes hold of me and I scream as loud as I have ever screamed. When I finally breathe again, I choke on the pills left in my mouth and cough them out even as I try to swallow them. I hear terrified screams from the front of the plane, and I start to sob and pray again and again. I realize that the nose of the plane is angled downward, and the angle grows steeper by the second. And then it levels out, and the howl of the wind shrieks like a dying bird.

My stomach flips and spins and I black out. I awake a minute or an hour later; I do not know how much time has passed. But it is silent and black and for a moment I think this is it. Heaven is black and cold and silent; that’s the opposite of hell, no? I touch the side of my face again and the blood is sticky but still moist. And then the plane drops suddenly, followed by a series of massive air bumps jolting me up and down. And then
smack
. Blackness descends.

Part II

Survive

Chapter 11

I
wake. The room spins wildly, but I feel the force of gravity holding me down. I put my palm to the wall and steady myself. I breathe deeply. After a few moments, the whirling slows and only nausea remains. I gently touch my scalp with my other hand. There’s a lump the size of a lime above my forehead. I rub it with my fingertips and caked blood crumbles off.

It is dark, but my eyes adjust and the airplane bathroom comes into focus. I remember where I am, but I don’t know why I am here. Why was I left behind? I put one hand on the toilet and the other in the sink and push and pull and manage to lift myself up. The spinning accelerates and a slingshot of vomit launches from my mouth against the mirror.

My left hand finds the slotted door handle, and I pull it open. I lift myself up and then fall forward out the door. I hit the ground, but not too hard. There’s a pillow of white powder thirty inches deep. My arms and legs scramble to find footing, and after a moment I stand up.

An icy wind rips across my face and it feels like a thousand tiny needles piercing me. I cover my eyes with my forearm until the gust dies down.

A dull gray light hovers over the world
. It must be morning,
I think.
We must have crashed. How long have I been out? Where am I?

Above me are several mountain peaks. Behind me, a short rocky wall that rises a hundred feet or so to a plateau that sits like a bed with four mountain peaks for bedposts.

I pull out my gloves and hat from pockets and put them on, wincing at the pain in my head. I suddenly have an overwhelming urge to pee. I pull down my pants and semi-squat over the snow. I start to laugh out loud. I’m alone on top of a mountain in the middle of a fierce blizzard. Peeing!

I look around and take it all in. Where is everyone? Did they leave me behind? I try to remember the events of last night, but everything is fuzzy. I take a deep breath to try and clear my head.

I must try to find others. If I survived, then others must have as well.

I turn into the wind and hard, pellet-like snow hits my face. I can see only a few feet in front of me. I walk slowly, with my hands inside my coat for warmth. Scattered wreckage is everywhere. Twisted metal, ripped fabric, and mangled seats, and in the distance, what I believe is the main cabin.

The air stinks of jet fuel and smoke, and my nose burns from the fumes.

I move toward the cabin. The snow is thigh high and even waist deep in some places. My gloves are thin and my hands sting, so I put them in my pockets. What would I do without my hands? Note to self: Must find better gloves to survive.

Each step is hard work, pulling one leg up through several feet of snow and then lifting my foot out over the drift, praying that it lands on solid ground. The snow protects my legs from the sharp wind, but now I feel the cold moisture soaking through my jeans.

How much time do I have out here? A couple of hours? Maybe a day? I’ve read that when you crash into the ocean, the cold water rips the air from your lungs and your body goes into hypothermia in a matter of minutes. What I wouldn’t give to be back in that cold sterile room at Life House right now.

I think of my window and my father’s watch and the endless hours I spent staring out onto the empty courtyard. I slide my hand into my pocket, expecting to cradle the watch, but it’s gone. I check the other pocket too, but it’s empty. I panic, padding down my entire jacket and pants pockets several times. Nothing. For a split second, I look all around, but I know it is useless. Nausea swells inside of me, like I’ve lost a piece of him again. My lip trembles, and a feeling of emptiness overwhelms me.

I look back toward the tail of the plane, but it has disappeared behind a swirling veil of white. Then I look ahead toward what I thought a few minutes ago might be the main cabin of the plane, but I can’t see beyond the blinding ice darting at my eyes. My heart sinks. I turn back and forth a few times hoping to see either tail or cabin, but they’ve disappeared behind the storm.

I’m lost. I’m going to die. On this godforsaken mountain, I’m going to die. Well, isn’t that what I wanted?

There’s no easy answer on my lips or in my mind.

Is it what I wanted? Is it?

Chapter 12

A
lump rises in my throat. Tears well up and freeze on my face. I feel dizzy again and my legs buckle. I fall to my knees. Snow swishes around me, burying me, like a heartless killer shoveling dirt on top of a still-breathing victim. I’m alive, but as good as dead. I look up to where I believe the sun is, but all I see are patterns of gray and white dancing before my eyes.

A huge sob heaves up, and I let out a primal scream that emerges from the darkest part of my heart. It is as if some part of me has been tied up and gagged since my father died, and now it has been let loose to be heard before it dies.

“Oh God, oh God!” I hear myself holler to the sky.

A river of uncontrollable sounds follows, cascading up through my chest and out of my mouth. My voice has no words for what is bursting forth now. It is wild and guttural. It is life sounding off against death, before death. As I kneel and gasp, inside my head I can hear that old angelic voice whispering:
Let yourself go, Jane. Let it be. This is what you’ve wanted for so long. Let the clean white snow wash over you. Don’t fight it; let it be joyous; let it take you and bury your sad, black heart once and forever
.

A big gust of icy air slaps my face. I tuck my head to my chest to protect myself and then, as if I have become two people, I hear my own voice dancing on the wind. And then I hear it again, but my mind knows it can’t be me. Distant, clear, familiar. It keeps coming, and more clearly now, as the wind momentarily dies down.

“Help! Is somebody there?”

I start to cry for a moment and then scream back, “I’m here! Help! Help me!”

“I’m down here! Down here! I’m stuck!” the voice calls back.

“Help me!” I scream again.

Then I realize that, as desperate as I am, I am not stuck. I can move; I can act. Old Doctor’s voice is echoing in my head: “It is a matter of stasis, Jane. You can wither away or help yourself. That’s the only path to wellness.”

I slowly lift myself out of the snow and try to steady myself. My legs wobble. My face is caked with snow and dried blood and old vomit, now beginning to freeze.

“Where are you?” I shout. “Where are you?!”

“Hello!? Hello!?” the voice shouts. And then, “Down here! Down here!”

I know that voice. I know that annoying, but now so incredibly beautiful, voice. It’s Paul Hart. I start moving through the deep snow. My legs pump like adrenaline-fueled pistons, slashing through the drifts with urgency and purpose. My head and heart fill with hope and my body takes flight. I feel like I’m almost running on top of the snow.

I look up and I see the sky opening up below my feet and I jam my heels hard into the snow. My feet skid and then I fall on my butt, sliding to the very edge of a crevice.

I nudge my head over the side, careful not to slip in the process. I look down, and it is black and bottomless. It must be hundreds of feet deep. My heart stops for a second, and then my stomach wrenches when I think how close I came to running right off the edge of the world.

I lean back and inhale deeply, then peer over the side again and see that Paul, a good twenty feet below me, is still strapped in his airplane seat, which is lodged into a tree that is growing out of the side of the mountain.

“Are you all right?” I shout.

He looks up at me from his perch and smiles.

“Just my fucking luck, they’ve sent a philosopher to save me!”

“What?” I say reflexively.

He looks down and then up at me.

“I’m in one piece, but my seat belt is jammed. I can’t get out. Is it just us?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” I shout. “I don’t really know.”

“There’s a knife in my bag. Did the plane survive? Did you find any bags?”

“I saw wreckage,” I shout.

I don’t move. I’m just staring at his face. Then I say absurdly, “Are you cold?”

“What?” he snaps, momentarily exasperated. “Yes, I’m very cold! Listen, the knife is in my yellow backpack; do you have access to any of the luggage? Is anyone else here?”

“There are bags everywhere—I think the bay opened when we crashed,” I say.

“Look for rope, too, and a sleeping bag or something to protect me if I have to spend the night here.”

“Okay,” I shout.

I turn to walk, but he calls out again.

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“What?”

“I don’t know your name,” he shouts.

“Jane,” I say. “Jane Solis.”