Twister (8 page)

'We need to try and land there,' he barked at Danny – quite why, he wasn't sure, as nobody else was helping him fly this thing. He yanked the control stick to the left. The plane veered in that direction, shuddering as it did so. Ben prayed that there wouldn't be much traffic on the road. Surely people would be taking cover from the elements, he prayed. A hurricane was hitting the mainland of Florida – he hoped most people would think it wasn't a very good time to go out for a drive.

He straightened up. They couldn't be more than a hundred metres from the ground, but now that he had a closer point of reference, Ben realized just how much the plane was shaking. The road ahead did indeed seem empty. On either side of it was what looked like swamp land and with each passing second it looked more and more likely that that was where they were going to land. Ben struggled to keep the line of the road in the middle of his sight – a task made doubly difficult by the winds and the fact that one engine was down. He was holding his breath and his muscles were burning from the strain of keeping the plane straight.

They couldn't have been more than seventy-five metres up now, but as Ben fixed his eyes on the ground ahead, one thing became perfectly clear to him.

They were going too fast.

Much too fast.

Danny must have realized it too. 'This isn't going to work, is it, Ben?' he asked, his voice strangely expressionless.

Ben glanced momentarily towards him. Danny was looking straight ahead. His face was calm. He looked like he was preparing himself for something.

Preparing himself for the end.

Ben snapped his gaze back to the landing strip. Danny was right. It wasn't going to work. He took another deep breath and prepared for the plane to hit the ground.

Miami International Airport had been all but evacuated.

At the control tower, the last remaining airport employees crowded round the bank of air-traffic control screens. Half an hour ago these screens had been illuminated with the flight information of the many aircraft in the area. Now those aircraft had been redirected north, away from the freak hurricane that was about to make landfall, and the screens were blank.

Blank, that is, except for a single plane.

They had lost radio contact some minutes ago and though they kept trying to re-establish it, it was quite clear that they weren't going to succeed. The sensible thing for them to do now was to leave the exposed environment of the control tower and find some sort of shelter from the hurricane. But while none of them said it out loud, they all felt that to do so would somehow be to abandon that doomed flight and its passengers. It was the least they could do to see it through to the end.

Jack Simpson simply couldn't take his eyes off the screen. Like all of them, he had heard the terrified voice of the kid who had taken control of the aircraft. Terrified but somehow brave – Jack wondered if he would have had the same kind of guts in that situation. He suspected not. Now, however, all they could do was watch and wait. If the plane continued on its current course, it would crash-land somewhere in the Everglades National Park, an unpopulated area that was no doubt deserted by now because of the evacuation.

But the Everglades was also where the hurricane was heading. They might be feeling the edges of it here in Miami – and heaven knows that was bad enough – but the plane was much nearer the centre. Those passengers were going to be lucky to be alive even if they survived the impact.

Under ordinary circumstances, a whole fleet of rescue aircraft would be on standby to rush to the crash site. But these circumstances were far from ordinary. There was no way any aircraft – choppers or planes – would be able to risk flying in those circumstances. If they did, they would surely end up in the same state as the passengers on flight GXR1689.

They would end up dead.

And so there was nothing to do but leave the aircraft to its fate. Jack wanted to howl in frustration at his powerlessness. He wanted to shake his bosses and the military commanders who had decided not to engage their troops in a dangerous search and rescue mission. It was the twenty-first century, he wanted to shout. Surely something could be done.

Deep down, however, he knew that nothing could be. He knew that sometimes men simply couldn't battle against the extremes of nature. In a fight like that, there would only be one winner.

No. They would all have to wait until the hurricane passed. The storm that had just hit land was worse than anything anybody had seen in their lifetime. There would be casualties and devastation all around the southern tip of Florida. It would be shown on TV for weeks, even months afterwards. But none of it, Jack knew, would touch him as deeply as the scene that he knew was going to happen. None of it would be as bad as the pictures of a shattered plane and the burned, dismembered corpses among its wreckage. Because somewhere deep within him, Jack felt that he should have been able to do something. He should have been more in control. He should have been able to help.

Everyone in the control room gasped, Jack included. He felt his skin tingle and go cold as he blinked at the screen. The plane had disappeared, and they all knew what that meant.

Impact.

There was an instant of stunned silence. And then Jack's boss shattered the nightmare moment. 'OK, guys,' he shouted. 'Show's over. There was nothing more any of you could have done. Your priority's to get out of here and to a place of shelter. There's a bus waiting to take you off the airport grounds. Get a move on!
Go!
'

Everyone scrambled for the door. Everyone, that is, except Jack. He found himself rooted to the spot, staring at the blank screen.

His boss came up beside him. 'You couldn't have done anything, Jack,' he said quietly. 'No one could have predicted what just happened. This isn't down to you.'

Jack took a deep breath. He knew that what his boss was saying was right, but somehow that didn't make him feel much better.

It was with a heavy heart that he turned his back on the screen, left the control tower and prepared to face the storm himself.

The plane wobbled dramatically. It felt like a futile gesture, but Ben tugged at the control stick to get them straight.

Fifty metres up. The road appeared in the middle of his sights, but it was touch and go.

Twenty-five metres.
The plane was speeding.
Too fast. Far too fast.

'Hold on!' Ben shouted. They were about to hit the ground. '
HOLD ON!
'

It was only as they touched down that Ben realized he hadn't put the landing wheels down – not that he'd have known how to do it even if he'd remembered. The fuselage crunched horribly against the ground. The noise was deafening, and Ben felt a vicious shock as his body jolted fiercely. The plane bounded into the air, spinning 180 degrees as it did so before coming to land again. Ben's hands flew away from the control stick; everything in front of him became nothing but an awful, dizzy blur. It was out of his control now.

This is it
, he thought to himself.
We can't possibly survive a crash like this
.

As that thought ran through his mind, the plane bounced again. Something flew up to the windscreen: it cracked and shattered. Suddenly the noise doubled before the plane bounced a third time. It was still spinning – any second now, Ben thought, and they would be plunged into the marshland on either side of the road. He closed his eyes, bent over, braced his head in his arms and prepared himself for the worst.

The noise continued to thunder in his ears.

They were going to die. There was no way they could survive this. They'd be crushed or drowned, or both. It was going to happen.

Any moment now. It was going to happen . . .

But it didn't.

It took a full minute for the aircraft to come to a halt, a full minute for the roaring of the crash landing to stop, replaced by the sound of the high winds howling through the shattered screen. Ben was shaking with fear, his breath coming in short, sharp, desperate bursts. When he dared gradually to look up, his whole body aching from the impact, he couldn't quite believe that he was still alive.

He stayed perfectly still, dumbfounded.

'You OK, Ben?' a voice croaked from beside him.

Ben looked over. Danny's face was drawn and shocked. His nose was bleeding and there was a nasty-looking cut on his forehead. But he looked like he was in one piece. 'Yeah,' Ben replied. 'I think so.' He allowed himself a rueful smile. 'Just as long as they don't make me pay for the damage.'

'I think they're more likely to give you a medal, Ben,' Danny said quietly. 'I don't know how you managed that.'

Me neither
, Ben thought to himself. But for the moment he was happy to accept the praise. 'We should go and see how the others are,' he said. 'I reckon everyone was bumped around pretty hard back there – could be some casualties.'

Danny nodded and they both started to unbuckle themselves. Ben had barely stood up, however, before he heard the shouting from the cabin.

'I can smell burning!' someone yelled. 'Quickly! Something's on fire! We have to get off the plane before it blows!'

It was the sparks that had caused it. As the plane had bounced and scraped along the ground, showers of them had erupted on the undercarriage. The final bounce had ripped the metal of the fuselage and as the plane came to a halt, the sparks had showered into the hold. It hadn't taken long for the pallets of luggage to ignite, and only moments later, the whole area was billowing with smoke.

The temperature was rising rapidly. They had very little time before the fuel stores would explode . . .

The scene in the cabin was now one of utter devastation.

Oxygen masks hung from the ceiling; the overhead luggage compartments were open and their contents spilled all over the floor; several of the small oval windows were smashed in. As Ben stepped out of the cockpit, one of the cabin crew was just opening an emergency exit. The passengers crowded round, all jostling with each other to get out. Some of them were clearly injured: there were quite a few bloodied faces and a couple of the older people were limping. None of them, Ben noticed, paid him any attention, or offered any word of thanks for what he had just done. Not that he was expecting any – he was just glad to be on the ground.

Only one person approached him, and that was Angelo. His eyes were wild and he had a nasty bruise on the side of his face. Apart from that, he was remarkably unscathed.

'Where's the burning coming from?' Ben demanded immediately.

'Nobody knows,' Angelo replied.

'We need to get out quickly. If the fuel store ignites it won't matter if we're on the ground or not. This thing will go off like a firework.' Ben's voice was urgent, hurried. He looked around. 'They should open some more emergency exits, get everyone off the plane quicker.'

'They've tried,' Angelo told him. 'The opening levers were all damaged in the crash. That's the only exit that works.'

As he spoke, Ben saw an inflatable ramp being extended down to the ground. The cabin crew were doing their best to stay calm themselves, but any chance they had of keeping the other passengers composed was long gone. They were hurling themselves out of the plane, scrambling for the exit and shouting at each other. It wasn't a pretty sight. But it did appear that – against all odds – there had been no deaths or serious injuries. Everyone was getting out. The only casualties were those who had been shot: the two pilots and Brad.

Ben sniffed. The burning smell was definitely getting stronger. There were only about ten passengers plus the cabin crew left on the plane now, so he, Angelo and Danny moved down to the exit as smoke began to billow up into the passenger area. The cabin crew were on the inflatable ramp as they approached and they threw themselves down as the trio prepared to exit.

The wind outside was screaming now, and Ben felt the force of it against his body even inside the plane. He was just about to slide down the ramp when he remembered something. 'The hijacker!' he barked over the noise. 'Where is he?'

Danny pointed further down the plane. 'Back there,' he shouted. 'Tied to one of the cabin crew's seats.'

Ben looked at him in amazement. 'We can't just leave him there. We've got to get him off.'

'But—' Angelo stuttered. 'But, Ben, he was trying to kill us all.'

Ben stood up. 'I don't care.' He was having to yell above the noise of the wind and a sudden gust that came in through the exit nearly knocked him down. 'If we leave him to die in here,' he yelled, 'we're as bad as he is!'

With that, he ran down the aisle of the plane. 'Ben!' Angelo shouted after him, but he ignored his friend.

The hijacker was just where Danny had said he would be. His seat faced the back of the plane and someone had found a length of rope – enough to tie him very securely. The knots looked big and fiendish, and they kept him firmly in place. The result was that, unlike many of the passengers, he had come through the crash-landing with barely a mark to his body.

It was the first time Ben had had a proper look at the guy, and though he didn't exactly spend a lot of time gazing at his features, he felt as if the hijacker's face would be burned on his memory for the rest of his life. He was a small man, but well built with dark skin and short black hair. Along the left-hand side of his face was a pale scar. But what Ben noticed more than anything else was the look in his eyes. It was a strange mixture of hate and passion. Certainly the man didn't look scared. He held his head up proudly.

Ben didn't say anything to him. He couldn't think of anything
to
say. Instead, he approached and started trying to untie one of the knots.

His panicked fingers couldn't move fast enough. He picked at the thick rope, a freezing fear passing through his body at the thought that the plane could explode any second. Whoever had tied these knots, however, had known what they were doing. No matter how hard he worked at them, he couldn't even loosen the things. The hijacker remained perfectly still. He stared straight at Ben – an uncomfortable sensation – the look of loathing etched on his face.

'You could at least help me,' Ben hissed urgently as he continued trying to untie the knots. But the hijacker didn't reply. He just sat there, as if waiting for the inevitable, the smoke gradually obscuring his features.

'
We've got to get off the plane!
' Angelo's urgent voice came from nowhere. Ben spun round to see him standing nearby.

'I thought you'd already gone,' Ben observed curtly.

'Ben,
please
. It's not safe.'

Ben ignored him and continued trying to undo the ropes. With an impatient sigh, Angelo joined him, both of them crowding round the hijacker as they desperately tried to release him. The arrival of Angelo, however, seemed to have an effect on the tightly bound man. He started to mumble something in a foreign language. Ben didn't understand what he was saying, but he certainly got the gist of it: they were words of absolute hate. The two of them did their best to ignore him.

Above the noise of the wind, Ben and Angelo heard Danny's voice. 'We have to get off now!' he called. 'The burning's getting worse. It could go up any moment!'

Ben's fingers were bleeding from the roughness of the rope, but none of the knots had even budged. He felt Angelo grab him by the arms.

'Ben,' the Italian said firmly. 'We can't undo him. We've
got
to get off this plane. There's no point all of us dying.'

Ben felt the frustration boiling up in him, but he knew Angelo was right. He looked at the hijacker. 'I tried,' he said quietly.

It was only then that the hijacker spoke in English. 'You think you have beaten me,' he hissed. 'But you haven't. I welcome death, but the arm of my people is longer than you think.' He looked at Angelo. 'You will pay for what you have done,' he spat. 'Believe me, you will pay.'

'I haven't done anything,' Angelo replied. He turned to Ben. 'Come on,' he said. 'Let's get out of here.'

Ben nodded, and without another look at the hijacker, he crawled back up the aisle – following the emergency lights in the floor – with Angelo to the exit.

Danny had left the aircraft just before them and was waiting for them at the bottom of the inflatable ramp. None of the other passengers were in view. His hair was blowing in the heavy wind and he was screaming up at them, although they couldn't hear a word he was saying above the howling gale.

'
Jump!
' Angelo yelled, and together they slid down the ramp and onto the ground below.

The moment he hit firm ground, Ben took in his surroundings. The plane had come to a halt at right angles to the road and it was only then that he realized how lucky they had been. It was not a wide road – indeed it was more of a mud track – and on either side of it was marshland that seemed to stretch as far as they could see. The wind was whipping the water on either side of them into a dangerous-looking frenzy, and the reeds and other vegetation were being blown all over the place. The air was thick with flying plant debris; the sky was dark and angry.

Almost as though they were one person, Ben, Angelo and Danny ran away from the plane along the road. They were a good thirty metres away when Ben suddenly stopped. 'The others!' he shouted above the sound of the wind. 'Where are they?'

The three of them looked all around.

'The cabin crew must have taken them round the other side of the plane,' Angelo shouted.

'We should try and stick together,' said Ben. 'If anyone sends out a search and rescue party, it'd be much better if we were all in one group.'