HUNTING
ABIGAIL
By
Jeremy Costello
HUNTING ABIGAIL
Jeremy Costello
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2020 by Jeremy Costello
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.
First paperback edition June 2020
Cover design by Andrew Heads
Cover photography: Lalesh Alderwish; Alexander Krivitsky; Johannes Plenio
Edited by Terry Flinn
ISBN 978-1-8380901-0-4 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-8380901-1-1 (ebook)
www.jeremycostelloblog.com
When we get out of the glass bottles of our ego
and when we escape like squirrels turning in the
cages of our personality
and get into the forests again,
we shall shiver with cold and fright
but things will happen to us
so that we don't know ourselves
DH Lawrence
HUNTING ABIGAIL
2011
A violent shudder passed along the undercarriage jarring her awake. She prised her eyelids up, the dimly lit cabin drifting into focus. Next to her, Milo, her business associate, was sleeping, his head lolling against the headrest.
She leaned forward and checked the rest of business class. Those who were awake didn’t seem rattled or panicked.
‘Excuse me.’ She stopped a passing steward. ‘Did we just hit some turbulence?’
‘Turbulence?’
‘I was just wondering if I’d dreamt it.’
The steward offered up a practiced smile. ‘It was a little bit bumpy back there for a while, but there’s nothing to worry about. The captain would’ve put on the seatbelt light if he thought there was.’
She nodded and glanced out the window, streaks of light in the distance splitting the night in two. She closed the shutter.
The plane rocked again, vibrated harshly through strong pockets of wind. This time the captain deemed seatbelts a necessity. Behind her, she noticed a steward replace the onboard receiver and hurry past them. He was being beckoned to the cockpit.
Something was wrong. She could feel it.
‘Milo,’ she whispered, jabbing the kid’s arm. ‘Milo, wake up.’
‘Uh, wha…what…What is it?’
Emerging from the cockpit, the steward hurried past them again. ‘Something’s going on. The flight attendants seemed panicked. We’ve been hitting some pretty harsh –’
As if on cue, the plane was slammed by a violent shock of wind. This time it wasn’t brief.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we appear to be hitting some rather heavy turbulence. Please make sure your seat backs are in the upright position, your seatbelts are fastened, and your tables are stowed. We may be in for a rough ride.’
Milo looked up at her and smiled. ‘Relax, babe. Everything’s fine.’
Perhaps it was just her distrust for all objects lacking self-awareness, but she couldn’t close out the peculiar feeling of vertigo. The captain’s calm voice had done little to appease her.
Flipping the port cover back up, she stared out into the night. Rain thundered against the side of the plane, hammered there by the battering wind, pale blue tongues of electricity flashing into view and then disappearing like the flick of a switch.
‘How much of this can these tin cans take?’ she muttered to herself.
‘Stop panicking,’ said Milo firmly. ‘Pilots experience weather like this all the time, it’s nothing new to them. These machines are put together pretty well, you know.’
She sat back and rechecked her seatbelt, her watch. The time was gone eleven. They’d been in the air for almost eight hours, which meant they were probably over water.
Driven by invisible hands the elements continued to pummel the aircraft, buffeting her through the sky like she was made of straw.
The flight attendant came stumbling back down the aisle. ‘Everybody, please remain calm. Everything’s alright. We’re just experiencing a little turbulence.’
‘No flies on him,’ said Milo.
Towards the cockpit door, the attendant tripped and fell through the curtain, crashing against the refreshments trolley as the plane banked sharply to the right. It felt like they were falling out of the sky.
Then, as suddenly as it was born, it died.
The buffeting stopped.
The plane leveled out.
Beyond the curtain, she could see the steward picking himself up from the floor. He smoothed his shirt and brushed off his shoulders. Straightening the curtain, he pulled it across and disappeared from sight.
‘Holy shit,’ muttered Milo, ‘that was intense.’
‘Apologies for any discomfort there, ladies and gentlemen. We’re flying through some pretty nasty weather so we’ll do our best to keep the bumpy rides down to a minimum. In the meantime, if you could keep your seatbelts fastened –’
In that split second, the captain’s words became engulfed by the unified screams of the passengers. An impossibly white bolt of lightning tore through the sky and crashed into the wing mere metres from the window. In one swift movement the plane plunged to the left, arching downwards.
As the intensity of the screams pierced the confines, she glanced at Milo, tears spilling from his eyes.
‘Focus, Milo,’ she yelled.
He didn’t reply.
Along the cabin, oxygen masks dropped from the overhead panels. Without hesitation, Milo pulled his down and strapped it to his head.
Another violent shudder; the plane dipped further.
Daring another look out of the window she saw the engine ignite, flames blazing from the rotor.
Falling.
If anybody was still listening, the captain’s words echoed hollowly above the terror inside the cabin, its pressure plunging: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please put on the oxygen masks. We’ve lost the portside engine and the starboard side is presenting difficulties.
